Duke Spook has created a deeply eerie, nervy and borderline disturbing E.P – and if it were a dark, action thriller flick, it would go something like this:

As we first greet our hero at the start of Crosswaves, there’s an instant feeling that things won’t go completely in his way. He’s already lost loved ones to this monster – hell, half of New York has been wiped out in a feeding frenzy, similar to that of I Am Legend.

A 2-step/Garage bassline throbs away in his mind from his latest scrape with ‘them’, but the haunting voice that fritters in and out of the bass loop keeps reminding him of what he just saw. The beat in Crosswaves starts to ramp up in intensity, but only slightly. He’s aware of it, but isn’t quite ready to scream. Yet. Stay firm; it’ll soon be over…

Silence. Just for a second. (Duul’s Rage Against Jah begins.) As he walks through the abandoned, black-as-tar warehouse, beams of warm, enticing light brush his exposed arm. It’s dub. Good dub, coming from a lifetime away, bouncing off central pillars and cascading into his ears. But even this warmth can’t hide the fact that the distorted vibes are getting more intense. Aphex Twin intense.

The floor shakes. This isn’t a flashback, this is happening here, now. Something cracks through his lower ribs, tossing him into the darkness like a doomed astronaut in space. The light from the room down the hall catches the beasts’ face. It wails like white noise at him, eyes wild from the dub. It screams out again, almost electronically – this spawn of Satan holds a grip on you that feels like it could shatter you, like in the Afrika Bambaataa’s Afrika Shox video.

Silence again. Darkness ensues. As our hero comes to, (Brooklyn Bridge), his nerves feel like broken china. He has no idea where he is, he’s mentally and spatially confused. All around is gunship grey walls, a locked door and a ventilation grate. This is alien all right, the atmospheric whirrings and wailings protruding from through the grate sound like an eighties b-movie.

It feels a little like the morning after the night before too; our heroes groggy head feels cool in this current vibe. It’s crisp, like a fresh spring morning. Even though the room is big and airy – industrial like – he feels he’s trapped within a cell an eighth of the size.

(Futurepasts begins). He winches his bruised, broken lower torso up so he can look through the grate. A lorry can be heard nearby, reversing – so can a walkie-talkie. The female at the other end repeats numbers in a near-binary form. Is there anyone there? Adrenaline takes hold; his heart beats to the tune of a dirty house track with a saxophone over the top. Is it wrong to be thinking of 808 State right now?

He can smell the sweet smell of freedom in his nostrils. The sounds of voices enter his head like a swirling mist of passing starlings coming into earshot before dissipating almost as quickly. Clarity starts to take over. A deep, dripping water sound drops into his ears; at first in the distance, but slowly moves nearer, becoming louder.

His back stiffens up like wire wool as something moves into his sensory radar. “Is this it? Is this how it ends?!” he says. He doesn’t dare turn to look; he can’t. His neck stiffens like sodden wood. Silence again, only his breath for company. The quiet whirring of a terminated CD strikes up like a piercing drill, he doesn’t need to say it, he knows this is how it ends…

Then silence takes hold.