Got it ✅ — here’s a paraphrased spoiler in extended narrative form (about 1000 words) for your provided text, written like a dramatic movie spoiler:

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**Spoiler for the movie: *Crash and Burn***

The movie begins with a band on the cusp of their first real gig, but tensions are already simmering under the surface. The lead singer insists on using the best microphone because *he’s the star*, dismissing the crackle in the other mic as someone else’s problem. The guitarist, Johnny, who actually owns the gear, pushes back, pointing out he’s the one footing the bill while the singer demands the spotlight. Their argument spills into song choices too—Johnny wants to test some of his more serious material, but the others accuse him of depressing the audience.

As rehearsals stumble forward, an eager newcomer, Amir, emerges as a self-declared manager. Though no one formally agreed to this, he’s already arranging gigs and publicity. His philosophy? The band needs “showbusiness,” not just music. For him, fireworks and flash will sell more than heartfelt lyrics or tight guitar solos. Johnny, however, despises the gimmicks. To him, it’s about the music, not pyrotechnics. But Amir persists, and soon a photographer is on the way to capture their “rock ’n’ roll” vibe.

When the band finally launches into a run-through, disaster strikes. A firework planted for dramatic effect explodes too close to the stage. Johnny and Rob, caught beneath a lighting rig, collapse in pain. Panic fills the room. Amir shouts for an ambulance, while Josh, one of the crew, warns that touching the stage could bring down the unstable rig. Nina races to isolate the electricity, finally managing to cut the power.

The scene is chaotic: sparks fizz, smoke hangs in the air, and Johnny writhes in pain, a nasty cut across his forehead. Rob clutches his shoulder, a metal rod impaled through muscle and artery. He screams that he can’t move, each jolt of agony reminding everyone how close he is to permanent damage. The medics work fast—saline, pain relief, stabilizing his condition—but they know time is short. The longer his blood flow is restricted, the higher the risk of losing his arm.

As the paramedics treat them, old resentments bubble to the surface. Johnny accuses Rob of caring more about fame than friendship, calling him reckless for pushing the fireworks. Rob snaps back, pointing out how Johnny’s family wealth changed him, making him arrogant. Once, they’d been best mates, but money and ego drove a wedge between them. Johnny spits that if Rob’s only value is bankrolling the band, then he doesn’t want him around. Rob, furious, declares he’s leaving anyway, right before another wave of pain drops him back on the stretcher.

In the chaos, secrets spill. When pressed, Amir admits *he* actually amped up the fireworks for “a bigger bang” to impress the photographer. His silence nearly killed his bandmates, and Johnny erupts at his betrayal. “You could have killed us!” he yells. Rob, meanwhile, is too wracked with pain to gloat, whispering only that he had tried to tell Johnny, but as always, the guitarist never listened. Their friendship is unraveling, their band on the verge of collapse, even as medics fight to keep them alive.

Abs, another medic, steps in to administer morphine. He tries to calm the storm with an observation—music partnerships often require balance. Elton John had Bernie Taupin, after all. Maybe Johnny should stick to composing and Rob to lyrics, he suggests. It’s a sensible idea, but the bitterness between the friends makes it sound laughable. Still, the seed is planted.

Rob is stabilized but faces surgery and a long recovery. Johnny cracks a bitter joke that maybe playing left-handed will improve his style, masking his guilt with sarcasm. Photographers circle, still snapping pictures of the wreckage, capturing the raw tension between injured friends and crumbling dreams. The publicity that Amir wanted so badly now comes in the form of chaos and injury—not glory.

As the dust settles, the arguments continue. The lead singer still demands creative control, Johnny rails against shallow showmanship, and Rob accuses everyone of betrayal. Nina steps in to quiet them, reminding them they’re lucky to be alive. But the damage—emotional and physical—is undeniable. Friendships are fractured, ambitions clash, and the band is left wondering if they’ll survive this night, let alone find success.

The spoiler ends with Johnny shouting, “Leave my mate alone!” even after threatening to end their friendship. The irony cuts deep—no matter how toxic their rivalry, bonds of loyalty still hold. The final question isn’t whether they’ll recover from the accident, but whether they’ll recover from *each other*.

*Crash and Burn* delivers a cautionary tale about ambition, ego, and the dangerous line between spectacle and art. The band wanted fame, but what they got was betrayal, blood, and the realization that not even music can drown out the noise of broken trust.