A mechanomancer’s turntable which is as dangerous as you would expect.

DJ Kanada’s Theory of Everything could best be described as hyper-materialistic, as one would expect from an eccentric, overzealous mechanomancer with a tendency to dig too deeply into his own thoughts. According to Kanada, the Universe is a vast and perfect machine with humanity as its most vital cogs and power source. Unfortunately, humans make very inefficient machinery, wasting their psychic energy on thoughts and emotions and souls like so much exhaust and entropy.

Kanada saw a simple way to fix that.

By creating a single point of memetic anti-entropy, Kanada reasoned that he could reign humanity’s exhaust in, turning it into pure energy, causing the Universe’s input to equal its output, and thus bringing about cosmic permanence.

Of course, it was very vital that the anti-entropy not be confused with the non-entropy of dead batteries, as corpses and vegetables didn’t actually reduce the exhaust of the entities around them, and did not continue to function as part of the Universe besides. Further, he had to figure out a way to reign his own entropic reversal in, lest he cause the Universe to explode like a perpetual motion device. He needed something pure, something sustainable. Something elegant.

He found it in song. By creating droning sounds which mimicked but permanently neutralized human brainwaves, Kanada reasoned that he could create a catalyst point of Human Efficiency, which would then spread out and save the world. Being an enterprising sort, and one who was not altogether fond of his own thoughts and feelings, Kanada chose himself as the catalyst.

And so, Club Victoria was born. With its steam-powered staff and Rube Goldberg-esque drink mixer, the Club was a hit amongst the jaded clientèle of Kanada’s city. He built the club up, earned it name recognition, and then one night pumped every thought and feeling and memory he had ever had into his Turntable, a mess of phonographs and one-man bands.

The clientèle danced, the music spread.

Today, Kanada is permanently bound to his turntable, playing late into the night and seemingly sleeping inside the club building itself during the day. People will come, dance at the club for a night, and get Kanada’s hypnotic song stuck in their head. They will return, night after night, drawn to HypGnosis.

There’s no way to tell who’s been to Club Victoria enough. They act the same they always did, though careful observers may notice they’ve no need to eat or sleep. They’re too efficient for that. They smile like they used to, laugh like they used to, though their minds and souls are blanks, replaced by the song. And as they’re laughing and smiling they’ll smirk at you and say “Hey, there’s this great club downtown…”