The monitor went black. The lights on his keyboard died. The apartment plunged into a ringing, sudden silence.
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The sound of his own voice processed through his headphones a split second later. Playbob had sampled his speech. It stretched his vowels into a haunting, ethereal pad that played in the background of the track. It was beautiful, but deeply unsettling. The monitor went black
Yet, from the tiny speakers on his desk, Silas heard the distinct, unmistakable sound of a glass shattering—followed by a low, synthesized voice whispering his own name. DO NOT FEED IT NEGATIVE FREQUENCIES
Silas had a cheap microphone active on his desk for voice chats. He watched the glowing vector line on the screen spike as his radiator clanked in the corner. A second later, the software processed that clank, twisted it into a metallic snare sound, and perfectly integrated it into the rhythm.
Then, the ambient noise of his apartment started to bleed into the track.