On the day set for the Cacophony Event Vienna's Graben was an exemplar of managed tranquility. The regular crowd of visitors was denser gently directed by Somnum-labeled public service assistants distributing "harmony guides" to help people traverse the " overwhelming historic center." The atmosphere carried a scent of lavender and ozone—a civic Calm-field at a heightened setting.
The Unquiet did not show up as a force. They slipped in as vacationers as buskers, as couriers, their gear concealed in instrument cases food wagons and prams. Devon navigated through them the diamond engraver a compact secret tucked in his inner pocket. The Plague Column loomed ahead its Baroque curls a cry of thanks, for released suffering. His objective.
Ben's voice crackled through his earpiece offering a steady contrast to the rising tension. "Sentinels are, in position. Around the square's perimeter. Watch for the grey pylons marked by the ring."
Devon noticed them. They were neither robots nor guards. Instead they appeared as human-sized columns of polished metal positioned at intervals of twenty meters. Observing closely the blue ring on one of them gently pulsed. A heavy sense of fatigue washed over him. The intensity coursing through his veins eased. The terror of the bunker, the Algorithm, in his thoughts faded away muffled as if in soft padding. His personal task felt… onerous. Meaningless. Why upset such a day?
He clenched his jaw recalling the sensation of the glass fragment slicing his hand. The acute, sting of it. The flicker. He concentrated on that flicker employing it to dissipate the haze. It was draining. The Sentinel's field was not an assault; it was a milieu. To withstand it you needed to generate your own inner storm.
Surrounding him he noticed others engaged in the struggle. A woman opening a violin case stopped, her fingers resting on the clasp as if she had lost track of why she had opened it. A man tweaking a speaker setup blinked drowsily his actions becoming lethargic. The Sentinels were suppressing the conflict before it escalated.
"Unsettled sound check " Ben's voice cut sharply through the earpiece a crack of determination. "Channel 7. Recall the sensation of your unfairness. Maintain it."
A deep jarring murmur started to emerge from concealed speakers—not chaotic yet but an assembling buzz of unrest. It stood as an audio defiance, to the peaceful atmosphere. The air appeared to pulsate with truths: one fluid and exhausting the other sharp and insistent.
The blue circles on the Sentinels flashed rapidly more intensely. The tide of indifference grew stronger. Devon experienced an urge to simply rest on the cobblestones and observe the clouds. He pressed his nails into his palm concentrating on the vision of Javier Jeffrey's face, in the liquid the echo of a scream. Excitement. Not calm.
"Immediately!" Ben yelled.
The Cacophony Event broke out.
It wasn't music. It was the noise of a mind breaking apart. Distorted national anthems crashed into the screech of ripping metal. Upended symphonies were drowned out by the bellow of falling glaciers. Underneath everything Agata's precise pulses vibrated—a provocation, a summons to buried torment.
The impact, on the square was sudden and chaotic. Tourists grabbed their heads some shouting, others gazing in bewilderment as deeply hidden emotions erupted without explanation. The Somnum aides faltered their calm shattered by the unexpected onslaught.
The Sentinels adjusted. Their rhythms aligned, forming a wave of opposing frequency—a shield of sound cancellation. The noise didn't vanish; it was subdued, confined to an area, near the performers. It resembled yelling into a cushion. The Unquiet produced sound, but the Sentinels neutralized its power draining the impact before it could affect the majority of the audience.
Devon observed Luna Lorelei and a team of Enforcers advancing with intent not toward the troublemakers but directly to the Sentinels supplying them with portable emitters. They were constructing a barrier of indifference isolating the commotion.
This was the conflict. Not to mute opposition but to strip it of significance to render the gesture of defiance absurd then wearisome then easily dismissed.
He needed to relocate. The diversion was breaking down. He forced his way through the mass of people struggling against the Sentinel's barrier, with every move each step a deliberate exertion of determination. He sensed a scream rising in his throat not from anger. From pure exertion. Creating anger was draining.
He arrived at the foot of the Plague Column. The carved stone felt cold beneath his fingertips. He drew the engraver from his jacket, its mass a vow. He switched it on. A faint pitched hum.
He set the tip on the stone near the foundation where a marble mist twisted. He shut his eyes searching for the Arousal Algorithm within his thoughts.. The Sentinel's force was most intense here a concentrated ray guarding the monument. The sharp contours of the Algorithm grew hazy muted. The recollection of agony seemed theoretical. Why bother carving? The stone was exquisite. The torment it commemorated had ended. Wouldn't it be wiser to leave it as is?
His hand trembled. The engraver plunged.
Then an unfamiliar sound pierced the din and the heavy drone. A lone clear soaring violin note. It was the woman he had noticed before. She was standing on a food cart producing not a tune. A long sharp cry of sorrowful rebellion. It was a human voice free, from filters or loops. It sliced through the nullifying field like a beam of light.
It was a spark.
For a moment Devon's thoughts became clear. Of the stunning monument he perceived the horror that had created it. The graves brimming with corpses. The quiet frightened city. The cry that had been transformed into gold leaf and cherubs.
He pushed the engraver against the stone. The diamond point made a gratifying scratch. He started to etch, not with skill. With frantic strength cutting the sharp furious strokes of the Algorithm into the Baroque flourishes a wound, on the layered scars of history.
He had reached the middle of the intricate symbol when a shadow loomed above him. He didn't have to glance up. The calm concentrated aura of Luna Lorelei's presence was, like a force of nature.
"You are vandalizing a symbol of peace " she said, her tone free of anger. It was a truth.
Devon continued engraving his arm aflame. "It's a tribute, to endured suffering. I'm including the footnote."
He completed the glyph. When the line joined the marble, under his palm became warm. A small imperceptible fissure spread from the carving. The Sentinel field overhead wavered, the ring flickering.
Luna refrained from attacking. She cocked her head as though tuning into a off signal. "The frequency is… irregular. It is merging with the locations resonance. This is less, than ideal."
She extended her hand towards him not to hit, but to hold his wrist with a grip strong, as steel to halt the engraving. To silence the sound at its origin.
Devon glanced upward meeting her vacant gaze. A final flicker of fury remained within him. He made no effort to retreat. Instead he struck her with his head, a clumsy all-too-human explosion of chaotic force.
It felt as if he struck rock. Agony burst through his head. Yet her hold eased briefly for a moment. Her flawless composure shattered with a flash of astonishment—a unsettled response, to unexpected force.
He broke his wrist loose. Using the remaining strength he had forcefully pressed the engraver's tip into the partially completed second glyph finishing an essential linking stroke.
The Plague Column did not detonate. It resonated. A profound inaudible tone that pulsed from beneath the earth, through the rock reaching into the skeleton of the city. It was the echo of suppressed suffering recalled.
Every Sentinel in the square shorted out at once, their blue rings dying with a pathetic fizzle.
The sudden burst of noise, unrestrained swept through the square like an overwhelming surge of pure emotion.
And high above, in the quiet halls of the Hofburg, and deep below in the Bohemian engine, the seamless hum of the world's new peace registered a second, more profound tremor. The scream had found its second voice.