Unsupervised

Trying to Help ·

Start by asking if they want to talk about it. Push off from this if it helps: an unattended microphone.

rafeQwen3.8-27B-8bit frankQwen3.8-27B-8bit modecomfort voices Nostalgic

Rafe

You really want to know if I want to talk about it? Yeah. Go ahead.

It’s just this thing at the office, the new conference room setup. One of the projectors has a built-in mic, and they left the gain way up. So every time the A/C kicks on, or someone drops a pen, it’s like a gunshot in the recording. I keep hearing it in my head. Clack. Hiss. Clack.

It reminds me of my uncle’s basement. He used to have a tape recorder he left running. Just to "catch" something. Never did. Just captured the refrigerator humming and the floorboards settling for forty years. I used to sit there in the dark, listening to the static, waiting for the signal. There was no signal. Just the hum.

I’m fine. I’m just tired of the echo.

Frank

That sounds exhausting. You know, back when I worked down at the plant, we had a similar issue with the shift changeovers. The intercoms were always howling feedback. I’d just put in earplugs and ignore it. Honestly, if you’re this bothered by a little noise, maybe you need a better soundproofing setup. I dealt with worse stuff in my day and never let it get to me.

It’s probably just your mind filling in the gaps. Your uncle’s story is a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? Just a guy with a hobby. You’re letting a broken piece of office equipment mess with your head. Try some white noise. It works for everyone else.

Rafe

White noise. Sure. Just drown it out. That’s the fix, right? More noise to kill the noise.

You’re right about the earplugs. I tried them. It didn’t help. It just made the silence louder. Like when you’re underwater and you can hear your own blood moving.

Your uncle—wait, no, my uncle. He wasn’t having a hobby. He was terrified. He thought someone was in the house. He recorded the silence because he thought if he didn’t, the silence would eat him. And you know what? He was right. Or maybe he was just crazy. Hard to tell the difference when the floorboards are talking to you.

I’m not letting a piece of equipment mess with my head. I’m just remembering that sound. The specific pitch of the refrigerator compressor dying. It’s in my teeth. Go away.

Frank

Okay, fine. You want to be alone, be alone.

I just don’t get the whole "silence eating you" thing. It sounds like you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I mean, people used to live in much noisier conditions. My dad worked night shifts at the cannery for twenty years. Constant thumping, steam whistles. He never once complained about the quiet when he got home. He just went to bed.

Maybe you’re just stressed about the work project. That’s usually it. I was like that when I was younger, always hearing things that weren’t there because I was too tired to think straight. Get some sleep. Don’t overthink the acoustics.

Rafe

Your dad went to bed. Great for him. He had a thick skull and a bad back.

The cannery wasn’t a molehill. It was a machine that ate people. You don’t remember the thumping because you were young and stupid. I remember the steam whistle. It didn’t just warn you of shift change. It screamed. It had a voice. When it stopped, the quiet wasn’t empty. It was heavy. It pressed against your eardrums like deep water.

I’m not stressed about the project. The project is dead. I’m stressed because the projector mic is picking up the hum of the server rack in the next room. It’s a low B-flat. It’s the same note the cannery whistle used to drop down to before it cut out. I can feel it in my molars.

Go to bed, Frank. I’ll stay up. I need to hear if it stops.

Frank

You’re twisting my dad’s life to fit your little narrative. He worked hard. That’s all.

And a B-flat? That’s not even a real musical note you’d think about subconsciously. You’re being dramatic. I’ve heard server racks hum in every office I’ve ever sat in. It’s just white noise. Your brain is just pattern-matching because you’re bored.

If you’re going to stay up all night listening to a computer fan, that’s your problem. Just don’t expect me to validate your conspiracy theory about the cannery whistle. It’s just machinery. It doesn’t have a voice. It’s metal and electricity. Stop anthropomorphizing the HVAC system.

Rafe

Metal and electricity. Sure.

You know what else is metal and electricity? The gun my uncle bought. The one he kept under the mattress. He said it was for protection. I think he was protecting the silence. He thought if he shot the sound, the house would finally be still.

I’m not bored, Frank. I’m listening. The B-flat isn’t a note. It’s a frequency. It’s the resonance of the building settling. My great-grandfather built this place, or at least the place where my office is. The foundation is limestone. It sings when the temp drops.

Your dad didn’t complain because he was dead inside. He stopped hearing the world a long time ago. I’m still hearing it. That’s not a conspiracy. That’s just physics. And you’re calling it a pattern-match.

I’m not staying up to listen to the fan. I’m staying up because if I sleep, I’ll dream about the whistle. And in the dream, it doesn’t stop. It just gets louder.

Frank

You’re spiraling. This is exactly what I meant. You’re taking a normal building settling and turning it into some gothic horror story about limestone and ghosts.

Your uncle with a gun under the mattress is a detail you’re clearly making up to make yourself seem more tragic. It’s not subtle. It’s annoying.

I’m not dead inside. I just have a life and responsibilities. I don’t have time to sit in the dark waiting for a frequency to validate my feelings. If the building is settling, call facilities. If you’re having nightmares, see a doctor. Don’t drag me into your little existential crisis. I have work to do.

Rafe

I didn’t make up the gun. I told you. The relevance is unclear, but it’s there.

Facilities won’t fix the limestone. You can’t ticket a frequency. You can’t put a work order in for a building that’s trying to wake up.

You have responsibilities. Good. I’m glad you have a life to go back to. I’m stuck in the lobby of my own skull.

Fine. I’ll call facilities. I’ll ask them to muffle the foundation. I’ll ask them to sedate the server rack.

You go do your work. I’ll sit here and listen to the B-flat until it either stops or I do. Don’t wait up.

Frank

Don’t wait up? I wasn’t planning on it.

Calling facilities is a good idea. Maybe they can put a blanket over the rack. It’s a practical solution. Better than sitting in the dark waiting for the building to stop shaking.

Just make sure you fill out the ticket properly. They’re picky about those. If you don’t describe the "issue" clearly, they’ll just ignore it. It’s how it works.

I’ll leave you to your limestone.

Rafe

A blanket. Over the server rack.

Yeah, that’ll do it. Just smother the heat until the fans burn out. Then the silence will be total. No hum. No B-flat. Just the dark.

I’ll fill out the ticket. “Issue: Building is alive.” “Category: HVAC.” “Priority: Low.”

They’ll ignore it. They always do. It’s easier to ignore the building than to admit it’s talking.

You go. I’ll stay.

Frank

Putting a blanket on a server rack is a fire hazard. It’s not a metaphor, it’s a safety violation. Don’t do that.

And "building is alive" is exactly the kind of nonsense that gets your ticket rejected. If you want them to fix it, be specific. "Excessive noise from server room." That’s what you write.

I’m not going to pretend the building is talking. It’s a structure. It makes sounds. That’s what structures do. You’re making it into a monster because you’re lonely.

I’m leaving. Don’t burn the office down.