The world remained intact. The Engine continued without faltering. The response, in the Silence Reserve was more nuanced and revealing.
The Arousal Algorithm inscribed on the wall acted as a lightning conductor, in a sanctuary of calm. The Enforcers who entered did not attempt to detain Devon. They remained at the entrance their calm expressions twisted by a subtle unease their gazes fixed on the sharp marks. The emblem appeared to hum at a pitch that clashed with the maintained silence of their thoughts.
Hugo Hubert felt even worse. He slumped against the hallway wall looking pale and drenched in sweat as though hit by a intense migraine. "Delete it " he murmured, his voice losing its calm tone. "Conceal it. Immediately."
The harm was already inflicted. The Algorithm was more than a sketch; it was a concept, implanted within the sealed system.. At the heart of the Engine the specter had stirred. Devon sensed it—a strain, in the murmur a faint urgent tug.
He was escorted not to his quarters. To a secured observation room. This chamber lacked windows featuring a mirror with walls covered in a muted noise-dampening fabric. They had taken away his glass fragment, dressed his wound and abandoned him. To monitor. To watch if he would falter or if the Algorithm would.
He remained awake. Sitting on the floor with his back resting against the wall he concentrated on the glyph within his mind. He allowed it to resonate, not attempting to project but to hear what it intended.
The images did not originate from the ghost. From the Algorithm itself. It wasn't merely a counter-frequency; it was a key.. A key requires a lock. Three locks.
Three locations. Not coincidental. Not tranquil. Sites where the weave of emotion was frayed, tattered by unhealed historical suffering. Places where the shared emotional intensity was so strong it had transformed into a sort of landscape—Chaos Nexuses.
The Algorithm revealed to him:
A trench of sucking mud and twisted metal under a perpetual, weeping sky. The collective trauma of industrialized slaughter. A wound of meaningless sacrifice.
A courtyard of stones faded by the sun, the atmosphere, with the remembrance of shackles and the brine of countless sorrows. The heart of agony, where humans were treated as merchandise.
A concrete housing block, stark and grey, pulsing with the silent rage of failed promises and extinguished futures. A monument to modern alienation and systemic despair.
The Somnum signal required still water. The Algorithm demanded lightning rods planted in tempest regions. It aimed to capture the lingering cry of history to fuel its explosive tone.
The door of the cell swung open. Flavio Fergal appeared by himself. He seemed worn out. His gaze bore a dreadful captivated gleam. In his hands was a tablet.
"You discovered the limb " Flavio remarked, his tone stripped of its typical theatrical composure. It was the manner of a scientist facing an enigma. "The Arousal Algorithm. Kanes ultimate prank. We were aware of it. We regarded it as a defect. A glitch, in the logic of the Calculus. We removed it."
"You removed the heart and left the body behind " Devon said, remaining on the floor.
"Maybe." Flavio entered, the door closing behind him. He presented the tablet to Devon. On the screen was a world map, covered with the blue grids of Somnus-Omnia. Yet three locations on the map emitted a dim flickering light. One in France. One along Ghana's coastline. One, in a city once part of the Eastern Bloc satellite nations.
"Our monitoring units are picking up… an echo. A sympathetic vibration emanating from these sites. Your minor vandalism is resonating with them. Its validating your theory." He set down the tablet. "Do you realize what steps are necessary? To 'trigger' this Algorithm? You must travel to these injuries. These raw lesions, on the soul of the world. You would need to carry out a ritual at that location utilizing this math to channel all that disorderly dreadful energy into one concentrated precise psychic strike."
"That would destroy your Engine " Devon remarked.
"It could " Flavio admitted. ". It could just generate a disastrous feedback cycle destroying every mind connected to our frequency. It might trigger a psychic collapse. You're not presenting awakening, Devon. You're suggesting a seizure."
Is that trepidation, Flavio?. Perhaps admiration, for a force you can't contain?
Flavio disregarded the poke. He crouched down to meet Devons gaze directly. "I'm proposing a collaboration. Not muteness,. Mutual comprehension. You've demonstrated that the system isn't sealed. There exists an alternative. That insight holds worth. Assist me in incorporating it. Not, as a tool of harm. As a… safety release. A managed healing discharge of feelings. We might refine it. Provide a catharsis membership. Individuals might undergo a planned short burst of intense excitement afterward reverting, refreshed, to their calm. We could also profit from the shout."
The proposal was so absurd, so entirely fitting that Devon nearly chuckled. The Industry of Idleness would even market your insurrection, packaged neatly and available, for a limited time.
"No " replied Devon.
Flavio exhaled deeply rising to his feet. "In that case you're a vandal.. You've disclosed the sites of your personal cache." He started to walk then hesitated. "The Engine is reaching stability. Javiers ghost is being… subdued again. The Algorithm is a spark, Devon. However a spark requires tinder. You're trapped here. Your tinder lies away.. We intend to arrive first providing healing comfort to those exact injuries. We shall transform your Chaos Nexuses into our latest deepest Silence Reserves.
He departed.
Devon found himself solitary more yet the equation had shifted. He possessed the key. Flavio held the map. It was a contest, towards the planets scars.
He gazed at his wrapped hand at the empty soundproof walls of his cell. The Algorithm seared through his thoughts a cry begging to be noticed. He needed to escape. He needed to touch the mud, the stones, the concrete. He had to force the world to experience its agony once more one final dreadful essential moment.
The quiet was no longer absolute. It was pregnant with a coming storm. And Devon, the burned-out profiler, was the only one who knew the lightning's true target.