Mental Sound

Station 14 had been abandoned since last patients walked into snow and never came back. Its dishes still turned above concrete roof, searching dead sky for a frequency no government admitted existed. CiDiaH entered through sealed intake ward and found every room filled with chairs facing same wall. From hidden speakers came low pulse: not music, not speech, but a command built from fractured memories. Each beat found a different place behind his eyes. Faces appeared in dust-dark corridors, mouths moving one second behind sound. They were former patients, or copies left inside broadcast. As signal grew louder, station began transmitting through him. His thoughts became antennae. His heartbeat became carrier wave. By dawn, every radio in city repeated one phrase in his own voice: mental sound never stops.