Broadcast warning. The following transmission
has been classified as a controlled testimony
under the oversight of the Departamento Vox Communicatus
and the Sanctified Maintenance Guild. Listeners
are advised that exposure to testimony of artisan
Circuitor Pelll Orane may induce auditory hallucinations
in the lower kilohertz range, feelings of mechanical
sympathy towards inanimate objects, spontaneous
confession to unrecorded maintenance errors.
Temporary belief in reciprocal devotion from
the Animus machine. Do not attempt to replicate
or interpret the described phenomena without
guild certification and a licensed purity attendant
present. Do not touch the vox receiver during
the recitation. The static is not ornamental.
Should you experience resonant empathy with your
local infrastructure, remain calm. That means
it's listening back. This broadcast remains sanctioned
until comprehension exceeds safety thresholds.
Proceed in faith, but without understanding.
The first sign was the warmth. The relic's not
meant to be warm. We had been tasked with restoring
the saint's resonator, a devotional machine said
to amplify hymns through sympathetic vibration
with the emperor's own bones. At least, that's
what the brief said. The paperwork was quite
explicit about sacred frequencies. The resonator
itself was found in a collapsed chapel under
Spire Segment 19, buried beneath three floors
of devotional rubble and one quite startled and
extremely expired servitor. It was... intricate.
A lattice of gold wiring and pale, fibrous material
that didn't match any registered alloy. When
we asked for the machine's origin clearance,
we were told the records had been granted absolution
for inconsistency. So we proceeded as is proper.
The surface texture was strange. Soft to the
touch, like it breathed in when you pressed your
hand to it. The junior technicians joked that
it was purring. It wasn't purring. It was listening.
We connected the power lines, recited the benediction
of circuit continuity, and the whole thing shifted,
adjusted itself, wires repositioned, ports aligned,
as if it already knew the ritual. When it activated,
the resonator emitted a low harmonic that caused
every lumen in the workshop to dim. One of the
adepts, Clane, I think, said he heard voices
beneath the tone. A woman's voice murmuring something
about unity, but in a tone that made the words
sound soft, comforting. I heard it too, and for
a moment it felt good. That's when we noticed
the vines, thin white filaments growing out of
the resonator's base, creeping along the floor.
They wrapped themselves around our boots, gentle
as prayer beads. Clane tried to cut them, but
they bled. We sealed the workshop. The overseer
commended our vigilance and told us to resume
once the relic had acclimated. It's been three
days, and the harmonic still plays, even without
power. I can feel it in my teeth now. A low vibration
humming through the hive. I think it's teaching
the other machines to sing.