Techno Union Arch DJ, Wattage Timbre, meets with his old-money client to deliver a status update on the latest shipment of self-sealing stem bolts.

Unbeknownst to Mount Cuckoo, Wattage has been secretly embezzling billions of credits, and using the funds to create a machine so powerful, it can destroy all of the Techno Union’s enemies in one foul drop. The xenophobic, short-sighted dance union, deciding their enemies are pretty much anyone who doesn’t huff methane or conjure up sick beats.

Feeling the pressure after delivering a punishing 12 hour set while under the influence of methanite crystal, a hungover Wattage fumbles around with his sweet chest-mounted AM/FM radio, inadvertently triggering the Techno Union’s new superweapon.

The EDM Combat Automata unleashed onto an unsuspecting galaxy; a sound, light, and force projector so potent, it delivers the grime galaxy-wide, and in real-time. Something something sub-space (turns out the First Order’s Starkiller base didn't employ space magic after all, it was stolen Union tech).

An insidious device, that compels all who experience it to throw down uncontrollably, eventually resulting in death. Force-sensitive beings suffering a particularly severe effect. It’s even detected by other powerful, technologically attuned individuals across the vastness of time and space. Meanwhile, the Skakoans, with their unique physiology and protective rave gear, don't experience any symptoms beyond those of a typical all-nighter. Just the usual then.

The droids of the galaxy are also mostly unaffected; the Techno Union hoping to scoop up this army of abandoned robot slaves and employ them in their vast EDM production empire. But what droids lack in brains, they make up for in sheer emotional turmoil, so they’re compelled to vibe out hard, despite their supposed immunity. Excited to see their organic overlords overwhelmed, and relishing an experience that goes beyond the drudgery of their mundane “lives”. Little do they realise they're basically cheering on their own demise; without their organic masters, they'll be gone in 6 months tops. Working for the Techno Union would practically be a mercy.

The Picard, immune to the effects of the EDM Combat Automata, other than being annoyed with the far-off racket, phase-shifts into ground zero, from a distant, future galaxy. Intending to put an end to things, as is his way. But shockingly, an enraptured raver wizard deflects the incoming rounds with an industrial grade glow stick; the Picard’s normally all-powerful holographic tommy gun, apparently doesn't work on good guys, the safety protocols just won't allow it.

DJ Wattage finally finds the off switch, mere seconds before his patron and the other force users would’ve certainly perished. Deciding it would be premature to genocide the galaxy, he just doesn't have the energy to deal with this sh*t right now. Besides, Cuckoo was about to pay his tab. So he plays off the ordeal as a plot by their mutual enemy; the Jedites, a rival raver collective. He even manages to use it as an excuse to spin-up a few more sales. Despite their flaws, on the battlegrounds of EDM, the Techno Union always wins.

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