“Soundcheck in ten,” the booking agent said, checking his phone. “Try not to start a war before doors.”

“We were just asking if war is hard wired,” the bassist said.

“Hard wired?” the drummer laughed. “Like a factory setting? ‘Congratulations, you’re human. Conflict installed.’”

The saxophonist tightened the ligature. “Better question: is it inevitable or just habitual?”

The booking agent looked up. “From where I stand, it’s seasonal. Like flu. Every few years someone books a bigger room for it.”

“That’s comforting,” the bassist said.

“I didn’t say it was good,” the agent replied. “I said it sells.”

The drummer tapped a rimshot. “So we’re doomed by marketing.”

“We’re influenced by incentives,” the saxophonist said. “Power rewards aggression. Aggression repeats.”

The bassist played a low note. “But not everyone goes to war.”

“Not everyone solos either,” the drummer said. “Still, the band has the option.”

“Option isn’t destiny,” the saxophonist said.

The booking agent folded his arms. “Look, if it were truly hard wired, you wouldn’t see long stretches without it. People make choices. Systems make it easier or harder.”

“So it’s wiring plus context,” the bassist said.

“Nature and nurture,” the drummer added. “Kick and snare.”

“Arrangement is everything,” the agent said. “You book the right room, the crowd behaves. Book the wrong one, chairs fly.”

The drummer grinned. “So humanity needs a better venue.”

“Or better contracts,” the agent said. “Clear terms. Consequences.”

The bassist looked thoughtful. “If it’s not hard wired, why does it keep coming back?”

“Because it works for some people,” the agent said. “Short term. It solves something, or seems to.”

“Until the set ends,” the bassist said.

“And then you load out,” the agent added. “Count the damage.”