"Draft another ten thousand copyright strikes."
The senior proxy executive slammed his fist onto the glass conference table.
A dozen corporate lawyers typed rapidly on their silver laptops. They sat inside a fortified Manhattan high rise. They represented the legal terror of the Elysium Summit.
Today, their legal terror was useless.
"We cannot keep up with the upload volume," the lead attorney said. His voice cracked with fatigue. "The automated scanners are failing."
"The scanners belong to us," the executive shouted.
"The users are manipulating the raw audio files," the attorney explained. "They alter the pitch by a fraction of a percent. They reverse the heavy synth bass. The copyright bots cannot recognize the ghost track."
The executive grabbed a nearby tablet. He stared at the
