No Sound, No Music.

The relentless drone filled Price's ears as he stepped out onto the cold, dark street. A noise he'd grown so used to that he barely even noticed it anymore, yet, in his fleeting moments of awareness, he could still sense the surreal aspect to this sound that accompanied him everywhere he went. The banal hum seemed to follow him, but in truth, it followed them all. Or did they follow the hum? Price was so inured to the sound now that he could barely tell the difference, or even if there was a difference at all. What did it matter anyway?

Price had just left the Toil building where he spent most of his days. He, like most of the people in his caste system, was a labourer. His days were filled with stacking and unpacking whatever goods were going to the Upper Sector. Price didn't know what the vast majority of the things he handled were, never mind enquiring to find out what they were for, but, of course, he was not an inquisitive man, and he had long since accepted that it was not his place to know these types of things. After his latest 16 hour shift, Price was headed back to his bunk where he would recharge ready to start again the next day. Whatever day tomorrow happened to be.

This was the regular existence for those at the bottom end of the Lower Sector. They had no need for anything else. Price had heard talk of things like emotions and feelings, but anyone who had ever mentioned any such thing had been taken away to the psychiatric wards so Price had just come to the conclusion that such things were extraneous to a fulfilling life of servitude; which was just the life that he had been deigned worthy enough to be given.

Arriving at his bunk, Price shut the door and closed his eyes. It was a relief to be here, as this was the only place where the hum wasn't present. He had no need of sustenance at this time, having been injected with proteins while at the Toil building. Price was 48 years old and had been living in exactly this fashion for as long as he could remember. The only reason that he knew he was 48 was because it was written on the inside of his jacket. Come to think of it, perhaps that wasn't what it signified because Price was sure he'd had the jacket for more than a year. Although what was a year?

Soon enough, the time came for him to open his eyes again. Soundlessly, he got up and slipped on the jacket, and once he did so, he heard it give a whirr as it cleansed him, making sure that he wasn't carrying any viruses that could infect the other labourers. With that, Price left his bunk and moved on his way down the corridor, heading back towards the incessant hum.

The Toil building was 60 feet away from Price's bunk building. Price had never travelled any further from his dormitory, but today was to be different. Productivity was up, and the most adept labourers were being selected to work for a different member of the aristocratic society, serving their specific needs. Price wasn't one of the lucky ones who were being selected for this job, but this particular job required the movement of goods from the building directly behind the Toil building into his own department. He himself had no idea about the significance of such a demand, but as a labourer, it never even crossed his mind to ask any questions. He was to go to the building behind his own, pick up the goods and carry them to the Toil building. That was all he knew, and that was all he needed to know.

Price had no qualms about going to the new building. It just so happened that that was his job today, and even if he had had the awareness to recognise any sense of trepidation, he certainly didn't possess the wherewithal to know that that was what it was. Nervousness was an emotion, and labourers had no need for such things.

Upon entering the new building, Price reached into the jacket for his identity card. Having scanned past security with the minimum of fuss, he headed for the stairs, and started to climb.

Suddenly, a hand reached out from the darkness under the stairs and put something in Price's jacket. Naturally, Price didn't react to this incident, but he did briefly pause to see what was going to happen next. The answer was nothing. The hand seemed to disappear just as quickly as it arrived. Price carried on up the stairs and didn't think about the hand again. Who had it belonged to? What was its purpose? Labourers weren't required to know the answers to questions like these, and Price wasn't of a mind to be the first one to buck that trend.

A few hours later, his shift once again finished, Price stepped out into the hum once again. His only thoughts were of getting to his bunk and recharging his system, preparing himself for yet another day of purpose to come. Arriving at his bunk, Price stepped inside and took his jacket off.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar noise infested Price's ears. A solid clank, which lead to a ringing sound repeating throughout Price's dorm, almost as if the sound hung in the air. He felt a sudden pang of culpability, as if he had heard something forbidden. None of this seemed correct to Price and he could feel something different in his chest. He seemed to be breathing harder than he ever had before. Looking down, Price saw the strangest shaped object that he'd ever seen lying on the floor of his bunk. It had a double curvature at the top, and two slopes on either side that met at a point at the bottom. Instinctively, he stooped to pick the object up. It felt so smooth in his hand, and Price felt something again welling up in his stomach. It was a slightly different, and more pleasant sensation to the one Price had felt just seconds earlier, but it was no less alien. He turned the object over in his hand, and noticed that it had a lever on the back of it.

The lever seemed to be begging for Price to touch it. It was a compulsion that the man could not resist. He turned the lever towards the left hand side of the object. A strange, shrill sound emanated from the device, but it was not in any way similar to the one that he had heard upon finding the object. This one was more... more like speech?

He turned the lever again, faster this time. When he let it go, the shrill sound continued, but it seemed to change as the lever sprung back in the direction of its original position. The sound was intoxicating. The noises coming from the object seemed to fit together in a way that Price just could not comprehend. He started to experience a strange sensation on his spine. A coldness that he'd never felt before moved up his back, and even more strange, it seemed to be accompanied by strange little lumps appearing on his arm. What was this forbidden magic? Price's mind swam with illicit responses to what was happening. He could feel the corner of his mouth moving upwards in a direction that was liberating and yet terrifying at the same time. What on earth was happening? Price had completely forgotten about the disembodied hand from earlier, but suddenly the memory was front and centre within his mind.

Once he remembered the incident, another brand new sensation struck him. He suddenly felt like vomiting, but as he'd only received sustenance when it was required, there was nothing in his stomach but bile. Price knew what was coming, and he knew that he had two choices.

He decided to choose the only option that made any sense to him now. He carried on turning the lever and letting the sound play, enjoying the emotions that were aroused in him by doing so, as he waited for the inevitable knock on the door.

The feeling, if this was what it was, was definitely worth it.