WEBVTT

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Broadcast warning. The following transmission

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has been classified as a controlled testimony

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under the oversight of the Departamento Vox Communicatus

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and the Sanctified Maintenance Guild. Listeners

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are advised that exposure to testimony of artisan

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Circuitor Pelll Orane may induce auditory hallucinations

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in the lower kilohertz range, feelings of mechanical

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sympathy towards inanimate objects, spontaneous

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confession to unrecorded maintenance errors.

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Temporary belief in reciprocal devotion from

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the Animus machine. Do not attempt to replicate

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or interpret the described phenomena without

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guild certification and a licensed purity attendant

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present. Do not touch the vox receiver during

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the recitation. The static is not ornamental.

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Should you experience resonant empathy with your

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local infrastructure, remain calm. That means

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it's listening back. This broadcast remains sanctioned

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until comprehension exceeds safety thresholds.

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Proceed in faith, but without understanding.

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The first sign was the warmth. The relic's not

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meant to be warm. We had been tasked with restoring

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the saint's resonator, a devotional machine said

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to amplify hymns through sympathetic vibration

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with the emperor's own bones. At least, that's

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what the brief said. The paperwork was quite

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explicit about sacred frequencies. The resonator

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itself was found in a collapsed chapel under

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Spire Segment 19, buried beneath three floors

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of devotional rubble and one quite startled and

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extremely expired servitor. It was... intricate.

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A lattice of gold wiring and pale, fibrous material

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that didn't match any registered alloy. When

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we asked for the machine's origin clearance,

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we were told the records had been granted absolution

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for inconsistency. So we proceeded as is proper.

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The surface texture was strange. Soft to the

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touch, like it breathed in when you pressed your

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hand to it. The junior technicians joked that

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it was purring. It wasn't purring. It was listening.

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We connected the power lines, recited the benediction

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of circuit continuity, and the whole thing shifted,

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adjusted itself, wires repositioned, ports aligned,

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as if it already knew the ritual. When it activated,

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the resonator emitted a low harmonic that caused

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every lumen in the workshop to dim. One of the

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adepts, Clane, I think, said he heard voices

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beneath the tone. A woman's voice murmuring something

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about unity, but in a tone that made the words

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sound soft, comforting. I heard it too, and for

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a moment it felt good. That's when we noticed

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the vines, thin white filaments growing out of

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the resonator's base, creeping along the floor.

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They wrapped themselves around our boots, gentle

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as prayer beads. Clane tried to cut them, but

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they bled. We sealed the workshop. The overseer

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commended our vigilance and told us to resume

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once the relic had acclimated. It's been three

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days, and the harmonic still plays, even without

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power. I can feel it in my teeth now. A low vibration

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humming through the hive. I think it's teaching

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the other machines to sing.
