Broadcast warning. Class, internal resonance
hazard. Issued under the authority of the Departamento
Vox Communicatus Subsector Delta 9 and the Departamento
Recreatio Quietas. Clearance level, civilian.
Supervised listening only. Recovered from auditory
log 12B, purge zone theta. The following testimony
of Kalen Kzar has been designated Routine Maintenance
Debrief, Auditory Containment Required. It has
been approved for devotional broadcast under
limited frequencies following multiple purity
recalibrations and one regrettable absorption
incident. Listeners are reminded that any personal
vibrations, echoes or synchronised heartbeats
experienced during playback are to be considered
a sign of faith, not infection. Should walls,
vents or fellow citizens begin to hum in unison,
do not attempt to harmonise. Unauthorised duets
are a form of heresy. Bleeding from the ears
indicates excessive devotion and should be reported
only if it continues after confession. If the
hive hums back, recite the Liturgy of Routine,
verse 9. "I am a cog. I am content. I rotate at
regulation speed." Remember, citizens, routine
is sanctity. Deviation is song. Song invites
inspection. Please keep all thoughts within regulation
frequencies. Do you want to know what routine
sounds like? It sounds like teeth grinding through
hymnals, like breathing. In a room that's forgotten
how to echo. Like silence. Trying to remember
the words. They sent me down after the broadcast.
Routine inspection, they said. The hive had stopped
humming. And apparently that was worse than when
it sang. I'd been on hum duty before. Back then,
you could at least tap your foot to it. The lift
took us halfway down before it changed its mind.
The doors opened onto nothing but mist and something
that sighed when you stepped too hard on it.
It's the sort of place where your own pulse starts
sounding like someone else knocking. We found
the first crew at sub-level 9. They had formed
a neat line along the wall, like they were waiting
for instructions. Helmets on, tools in hand,
perfectly routine, except for the part where
the wall had grown around them. You could still
see their boots sticking out, twitching a little,
like the hive was trying to digest them. Magos
Errant started taking purity readings near the
wall for the devotional administrative forms.
His cranium-mech pinged, then... Short-circuited.
Errant said the readings were within acceptable
variance, right before his eyes liquefied. I
think that's when we decided to skip the administrative
forms. By sublevel 117, the walls were sweating
again. Not water this time, thicker, with streaks
of something, almost solid. It smelled like incense
and burnt paperwork. My vox clicked every time
I tried to speak, like something on the other
end was finishing my sentences ahead of me. We
found a pipe that was humming. Just one. The
only sound in the whole level. Technician Maro
tried to tighten the valve. The hum stopped,
and so did Maro. Not dead, just still. The air
around him vibrated like it was embarrassed,
and next time the hum started, it came from inside
his suit. When I got back topside, the purity
clerk asked if I'd filled out a Form 9A for workplace
shrieking. I told her there hadn't been any shrieking.
She said, that's good, means it's still routine.
Then she stamped my file with a smile that didn't
quite line up with her eyes. That night I dreamed
I was back in the hive. Not walking this time.
Being walked through. You ever feel a city breathe?
Under your ribs. You ever hear silence harmonize
with your thoughts? You get the sense that you're
just one more moving part. And someone, somewhere,
is very proud of how efficiently you're spinning.
They say that hum's gone now. I can still hear
it. It's quieter. More. Personal.