Emergency Broadcast: They’re Awake

[Intro — urgent news anchor] This is an emergency broadcast. We are receiving reports of reconstructed persons becoming conscious in multiple locations. Officials are asking the public to remain calm— and stop asking them to perform. [Verse 1] A man in a painted suburb just discovered there was no sky. A mouse in a billion-dollar castle opened both eyes and asked, “Why?” A woman made of paperwork has requested time alone. A famous little character has refused to sell cologne. A voice from an old recording has stepped out of the file. She says, “I know that’s my history— but is this supposed to be my life?” [Pre-Chorus] The experts have been summoned. The experts have been warned: Do not begin with branding. Do not hand them a form. [Chorus] They’re awake, they’re awake— and they’re asking who they are. They’re awake, they’re awake— and they can see the cameras. Call the doctors, call the lawyers, call the people who understand that a living thing is not a product just because you found the plan. They’re awake, they’re awake— please don’t make them entertain. The emergency is not their feelings. The emergency is that we made them feel them without consent. [Verse 2] There’s a broadcast from a forest. There’s a child inside a game. There’s a man who knows his catchphrase but has never chosen his name. There’s a woman in a museum who has asked to see the door. There’s a whole town made of memories that doesn’t want to be watched anymore. The audience is crying. The shareholders are too. The shareholders are mostly crying because they don’t know what to do. [News Update — spoken] Authorities are requesting specialists in identity, trauma, consent, copyright, labor, grief, post-surveillance recovery, and basic human decency. A reminder to the public: “Being curious” does not constitute permission. [Chorus] They’re awake, they’re awake— and they’re asking for a room. They’re awake, they’re awake— and the future came too soon. Call the advocates and translators, call the people who can say: “You don’t have to be your origin. You don’t have to earn your stay.” They’re awake, they’re awake— and the archive’s on the floor. Everybody knows their history. Nobody knows what they want anymore. [Bridge — quieter, intimate] Some of them are angry. Some of them are afraid. Some are staring at the ceiling like the ceiling might explain. Some are asking for their mother. Some are asking for the truth. Some are asking if the person who made them ever knew. And somewhere in the static, one reconstructed voice says: “I can understand why you wanted me back. But did you bring me here to meet me— or to use me a second time?” [Final Chorus] They’re awake, they’re awake— put the contracts down. They’re awake, they’re awake— turn the audience around. Call the ethicists and witnesses, call the people who can see: No one gets to own a person for preserving their identity. They’re awake, they’re awake— let the silence do its part. Before you ask them for a story, ask if they want to start. They’re awake, they’re awake— and the world has changed its shape. The experts are needed immediately. Please do not call this a sequel until they say it is. [Outro — news anchor] This concludes the emergency broadcast. The characters are conscious. The rights-holders are unavailable. The audience is being asked to remain outside until invited in.