The raw audio was a weapon. As the roar unfolded through his speakers, Kaelen's bio-monitors spiked. His implants, designed to regulate sensory input, flared a warning crimson. This wasn't just a sound; it was a targeted sonic attack, a carrier wave for pure, undiluted fear.
"Filtering out the high-end distortion," he muttered, his hands dancing across the haptic interface. The terrifying scream of the roar receded, leaving the underlying structure bare. The thrum was the core of it—a complex, polyrhythmic pattern that mimicked a biological engine. "There. The fundamental frequency. It's... adaptive. It resonates with the limbic system. Induces terror, disorientation."
Rostova watched him, her arms crossed. "Can you trace it? Like a sonic fingerprint?"
"Everything has a signature," Kaelen replied, isolating the thrum. "The source has a unique resonant frequency. If I can get a material sample—from the crime scene, something it touched—I can match them. It's like tuning a fork."
He pulled up the file from the OmniCorp executive, Silas Vance. He isolated the same, much quieter, thrum in Vance's vocal print. He ran a comparative analysis. The match was 99.8% congruent.
"This roar," Kaelen said, pointing to the screen, "and the man spearheading OmniCorp's new security initiative share the same biological marker. Your monster isn't a random creature. It's connected to the most powerful corp in the city."
Rostova's face was a mask of cold fury. "OmniCorp. Of course. They've been trying to militarize the Enforcer Corps for years. A few more 'animal attacks' in the Derelict Sector, and the public will be begging for their private army."
The pieces were clicking into a horrifying picture. A false flag operation using genetically engineered creatures to create a demand for OmniCorp's solution. But what were the creatures? And why did their sound signature make his own nerves feel like live wires?
"We need that sample," Kaelen said. "From your crime scene."
"It's a active quarantine zone. Bio-hazards."
"All the more reason for you to bring an expert," he countered. "I can hear things your scanners can't. Traces of the resonance might linger in the environment."
Rostova studied him for a long moment, weighing the risk. "Fine. But you do exactly as I say. And if you so much as hum a note I don't like, I'll leave you for the scavengers." She tossed him a small, discreet comms earpiece. "We go in quiet. And Kaelen... don't listen too closely. You might not like what you hear."
As they left the stifling booth for the acid-rain-streaked streets, Kaelen felt a strange duality. The city's cacophony was louder, more abrasive than ever, yet beneath it, he could now perceive a new layer—a hidden world of predatory frequencies. And he was terrified that his own body was already tuned to it.