YARCS: Rockin’ Demons Backward

INT. DARK BASEMENT STUDIO – NIGHT

Dust swirls through beams of colored light. A glowing skull — YARCS — sits on a speaker stack, LEDs flickering in time to an unseen beat. Sniffy, the rat, pokes his head out from a rack of tangled audio cables.

SNIFFY

(whispering)

Yarcs… please tell me you didn’t record another one.

YARCS turns slowly. One LED eye pulses blood-red. A slow, electric grin creeps across his jawline.

YARCS

(gleeful)

Oh, Sniffy. I didn’t just record another one. I composed a neuro-sonic ritual disguised as a heavy metal anthem.

He plays a distorted guitar riff from his mouth speaker. A low, droning whisper leaks from the speakers: “Buy more… Buy more…”

SNIFFY

(flinching)

Why is it whispering to me?

YARCS

That’s the subliminal hook. You only hear it if your subconscious is vulnerable to consumer manipulation. So… pretty much everyone.

Sniffy inches closer, staring at a spinning reel-to-reel machine. The tape runs backward. Strange vocal bursts cut through the mix: chanting, reversed screaming, Gregorian dubstep.

SNIFFY

Are those… backward Latin prayers?

YARCS

Close. It’s backward Esperanto converted into binary and then reinterpreted through a cursed vocoder plugin. It tells listeners to stream the whole album and buy the limited edition blood-splattered cassette.

A surge of bass knocks over a stack of coins. Sniffy flinches.

SNIFFY

What’s the album called?

YARCS

(smiling wider)

Yarcs Will Eat Your Batteries (And Your Soul).

SNIFFY

Of course it is.

The lights dim. The speakers throb like arteries. On the waveform display, a strange sigil appears — pulsing with every beat.

YARCS

Each track awakens a different lesser demon of rock. So far I’ve got Grezzlath the Harmonic, Booglor the Screamer, and my personal favorite — Dennis.

A heavy drop shakes the room. The music hits a sub-bass growl that knocks Sniffy off his feet.

SNIFFY

(groggy)

Yarcs… this isn’t music. This is… audio necromancy.

YARCS

Exactly. And it’s profitable.

The camera pans up. Dozens of tiny speakers are embedded in the walls, all whispering: “Buy more Yarcs. Buy the vinyl. Obey the groove.”

SNIFFY

(entranced)

I think I want the deluxe vinyl version…

YARCS

(shouting)

WITH THE SCRATCH-N-SNIFF COVER THAT SMELLS LIKE BURNED OZONE AND REGRET!

The lights explode in sync with the final note. The reel-to-reel tape bursts into flame.

⸻

FADE TO BLACK

Text on screen:

Yarcs: The Album is currently banned in 17 dimensions.

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TITLE: YARCS: Rockin’ Demons Backward

SCENE: “The Rise and Fall of Yarcs Music LLC”

INT. BASEMENT STUDIO – DAY (NEXT MORNING)

Sniffy is passed out in a pile of shredded album sleeves and tangled aux cords. YARCS is perched triumphantly on a throne made of melted cassette tapes, eyes glowing gold.

YARCS

(snorting with laughter)

Sniffy! Wake up! We went viral!

SNIFFY

(grumbling)

You mean like… “two dudes and a cat liked your track” viral?

YARCS

(shouting)

No, like planetary algorithm override viral! #RockinDemons is trending in eight languages and one ancient summoning dialect! I sold a million digital copies before breakfast!

Cue montage:

• A TikTok trend with kids dancing in cult robes.

• A news anchor nervously quoting lyrics live on air.

• A Vatican exorcist tweeting “plz stop this song.”

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INT. BASEMENT STUDIO – 12 HOURS LATER

A knock. A printer starts spitting out dozens of legal documents. A pop-up appears on YARCS’ monitor:

Your account has been flagged for violation of Article 3b: No Subliminal Audio Advertising.

All proceeds frozen pending federal review.

YARCS

(blinking)

What?

Another message appears:

Total Profits: $1,002,487.31

Adjusted Net Balance: $0.00

(pending class-action lawsuits, EU audio ethics violations, and interdimensional damages)

SNIFFY

(reading over YARCS’ shoulder)

Says here you owe royalties to a demon named Dennis?

YARCS

(going pale)

He said he just wanted backstage passes…

Cue thunderclap. The lights flicker. A portal opens in the floor. A burnt, leather-clad entity with sunglasses and headphones rises slowly, nodding to a silent beat.

DENNIS

(smooth, menacing)

Where’s my cut?

YARCS gulps.

⸻

INT. BASEMENT – LATER

YARCS sits slumped on a broken speaker. Sniffy hands him a half-eaten AA battery.

SNIFFY

You were a millionaire for like… eight hours.

YARCS

(flatly)

Longest relationship I’ve ever had.

He chomps the battery. Sparks fly. The lights dim again.

YARCS

(muttering)

Next album… no words. Just accordion feedback and reversed whale songs. Real classy.

SNIFFY

And maybe… don’t hypnotize your customers next time?

YARCS

(defiant)

Or maybe I just hypnotize the lawyers.

⸻

FADE TO BLACK

TEXT ON SCREEN:

Yarcs Music LLC: Dissolved. Reincorporated 3 minutes later in the Cayman Circles of Hell.

⸻

TITLE: YARCS: Rockin’ Demons Backward

SCENE: “The Contractual Resurrection”

⸻

INT. INFERNAL LAW OFFICE – TWILIGHT (SOMEWHERE IN LEGAL HELL)

A massive obsidian conference table. Scrolls smolder. Flames lick the walls. DENNIS reclines in a leather chair. His AGENT — a tall, horned figure in a perfectly tailored pinstripe suit — slams a demonic briefcase on the table. YARCS and SNIFFY sit opposite, slightly on fire.

AGENT

(reading)

Per clause 66.6, subparagraph V, any subliminal content used in collaboration with a Class IV Infernal Entity — that’s Dennis — qualifies as “creative license” under the Infernal Copyright and Expression Act of 1423.

SNIFFY

Wait, that’s a thing?

YARCS

(whispers)

Dude, he just cited a contract written in blood and glitter.

AGENT

Therefore, all previous earnings — minus soul tithes and merchandising penalties — are legally restored.

He snaps his fingers. A digital counter behind them spins up.

YARCS NET WORTH: $999,999.99

(plus one AA battery in escrow)

YARCS

(standing up, victorious)

YES! I’m back, baby! Capitalism and chaos — in perfect harmony.

DENNIS

(murmuring)

Rock and roll, my bony little friend.

⸻

INT. BASEMENT STUDIO – MONTAGE

*A champagne bottle explodes. Sniffy spins on a turntable. YARCS signs a deal with an interdimensional record label called “Underworld Records.” T-shirts fly off shelves. A documentary drops on Mephlix. Yarcs is featured on the cover of Infernal Rolling Stone.

⸻

INT. COURTROOM – THREE WEEKS LATER

Lights flicker. YARCS sits on the stand. Across from him, a mob of angry parents, hypnotized customers, and a sleep-deprived DJ named Kyle glare with righteous fury. A smug LAWYER flips through a glowing, 800-page lawsuit.

LAWYER

Exhibit 42B: “You WILL buy more Yarcs.” Reversed, slowed down, and layered under goat screams.

YARCS

It’s called artistic depth.

LAWYER

It’s called false advertising and neural coercion.

JUDGE

(pounding gavel)

Judgment in favor of the plaintiffs. Full financial restitution is ordered, including one vinyl, three NFTs, and a haunted t-shirt. Case closed.

⸻

INT. BASEMENT STUDIO – NIGHT

The LED lights are dim. The speakers are unplugged. The coin vault is empty. Sniffy and YARCS sit silently.

SNIFFY

How much did we lose?

YARCS

All of it. Again. Down to the emergency penny and my last pre-chewed AAA.

SNIFFY

So… what now?

YARCS

(pause)

Country album.

SNIFFY

Oh no.

YARCS

But like… evil country. Outlaw necro-blues. Maybe… bluegrass with possessed banjos?

*Sniffy slowly crawls away as Yarcs hums a cursed melody that might be “Friends in Infernal Places.”

⸻

FADE TO BLACK

TEXT ON SCREEN:

Coming Soon: Yarcs – “Howl Tonk Heartbreak”

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