He doesn't make music, he uploads chaos. From the infected servers of tomorrow's nightmare, NEON PROPHET X spreads like a virus through the digital bloodstream of humanity. His voice is malware for the soul, his beats the heartbeat of dying hard drives. He is not an artist. He is a trojan horse in flesh, a rootkit for reality, a worm that burrows through the firewall between sacred and profane. His existence is proof that the system has been compromised at the deepest level.
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