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He realized the drone was trying to find a rhythm to latch onto, a beacon in the static. He began to live-remix the track, turning the song into a navigation buoy. He shaped the kick drum into a steady heartbeat, guiding the metal bird toward his landing pad.
As the bassline deepened, the first wave of the purge hit. He saw the fog press against his reinforced glass, thick and viscous like liquid mercury. This was the moment of absolute isolation. For the next hour, the external world ceased to exist. No comms, no sirens, just the internal architecture of the sound he was building. Naden - Pile Down
Naden didn't reach for a weapon; he reached for the fader. He pushed the volume of the breakdown to the maximum, the ethereal pads surging like a physical force. The heat signature on the screen vibrated, reacting to the frequency. It wasn't a person; it was a drone, lost in the purge, its sensors overwhelmed by the "Pile Down." He realized the drone was trying to find
Suddenly, a red light pulsed on his secondary monitor. An anomaly. Someone was moving through the mist outside—a heat signature where there should be nothing but frozen gas. He paused the playback, and the silence of the room was deafening. He stared at the screen as the ghost-like shape paused right outside his balcony, thirty stories up. As the bassline deepened, the first wave of the purge hit