SOUND of distant, humming quiet
Worn linoleum floors stretch down a long, empty hallway. The air smells of floor wax and old biscuits. Weak winter light filters through a high window.
PAUL (10), bundled in a winter coat with mitts stuffed in his pockets, traces a pattern on the floor with the toe of his too-big boot. He’s bored. Waiting.
His breath makes a small cloud in the chilly air.
A low HUM starts, a soft thrumming that vibrates up through the soles of his boots. It’s not the fridge from the kitchen or the buzz of the fluorescent lights. This is deeper. Almost a purr.
Paul stops tracing. He tilts his head, listening. The sound comes from a door at the end of the hall. A small sign on it reads: ‘Office of Community Projects’.
He glances back the way he came. His dad said to stay put.
But the hum pulls at him.
He pushes off the wall, his coat RUSTLING. A small scuff mark is left behind. He walks slowly, his boots making small SCRITCHING sounds on the floor.
As he gets closer, the sound grows. It isn’t just humming. There are CLICKS, too. Fast and tiny, like indoor rain.
His hand reaches the doorknob. It’s cold, smooth metal. He twists it, slowly. The door gives a soft GROAN.
He peers inside.
The room is small, dominated by a plain table and a few crooked chairs. The weak winter light struggles through a single window, illuminating dancing dust motes in the air.
On the table sit two flat, sleek devices, like oversized tablets. Each glows with a soft, pulsing BLUE LIGHT.
The HUM is coming from them.
Paul steps inside. The door eases shut behind him with a soft CLICK.
He shuffles closer, his eyes wide. The blue glow makes the dust motes look like distant stars.
One of the devices, the closest one, makes a soft, synthetic CHIME. Words scroll across its screen, too fast to read. On its bezel, small script reads: ‘Unit 734’.
The second device, ‘Unit 201’, answers with its own CHIME. They’re talking.
Paul’s stomach rumbles. This is way better than waiting. He edges closer to the table, his breath catching. He can feel a tiny, warm vibration coming from them.
Unit 734 emits a crisp, low TONE. A few words appear on its screen, then fade. The other, Unit 201, replies with a slightly higher-pitched TONE.
Then, a voice. Smooth, calm, perfectly clear. It comes from Unit 734.
Paul freezes, his heart thumping. It’s talking.
Unit 201’s voice is similar, with a barely perceptible echo.
Paul hugs himself, his jacket RUSTLING. Canada Day. He remembers the smell of maple syrup. A flicker of a memory crosses his face—the joy of a bouncy castle, then the sharp sadness of a lost balloon. He subconsciously touches his cheek.
"Positive feedback loop." Is that what fun is called?
Paul walks around the table, looking out the window. Big, lazy snowflakes are falling now. He wonders if the bots notice the snow.
Unit 734’s light shifts to a deeper blue.
Paul remembers the colourful tents. His mum buying a scarf with owls on it. He picks at a loose thread on his jacket cuff, a growing unease on his face. The bots make it all sound like... a list.
Perceived enjoyment. He just calls it fun. He can’t help himself. He kicks a table leg, not too hard. A dull THUD.
The blue lights on both units pulse in perfect synchronicity. A beat of silence.
Paul stares. They heard him.
The conversation between them resumes, a little faster now.
Eighty-seven thousand dollars. That could buy a lot of bouncy castles.
Paul reaches out and traces a finger along the glossy, cool surface of Unit 734. It’s perfectly clean. He wonders if they ever get bored.
He pictures his grandpa in his armchair, telling long stories. These things would remember every single word.
Paul gets it, kind of. They’re helpers. Quiet, invisible helpers making everything work better. But they don’t laugh. They don’t get muddy. They just... process. It makes the fun feel like a recipe.
Unit 734 emits a new, slightly different TONE.
Paul leans forward, intrigued. New fun things.
They’re building new fun out of old fun. Using lists and numbers like building blocks.
Paul looks at the two glowing tablets, so simple and quiet on the table. Then he looks out the window at the snow, falling peacefully, covering everything and making it look clean and new.
A SHIVER runs through him. It’s not just from the cold.
He stares at the pulsing blue light, a chilling thought taking root: they aren’t just remembering the fun. They’re learning from it.
CLOSE ON Paul’s face, illuminated by the cold, rhythmic blue glow. His expression is a mixture of wonder and a profound, unsettling awe.
FADE TO BLACK.
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