03. CONTACT

afterdarc

Wave, Hardwave, cyberpunk

[Mysterious alien groove already playing]
[Soft electronic pulse]
[Wide synths slowly emerge]

[Female spoken journal — quiet, tired, natural, over the music]

Journal entry.
Day nine.

Something woke me up last night.

Not a sound.

A light.

It came through the window
and moved across the ceiling.

[Instrumental]
[Deep clean sub-bass enters]
[Crystalline signal moves slowly across the stereo field]
[Gliding synth motif develops]

[Female spoken journal]

At first I thought
the power was back.

Then I looked outside.

There were lights
above the city.

Dozens of them.

Moving slowly.

Perfectly together.

[Instrumental]
[Electronic drums strengthen]
[Wide Wave synths expand]
[Distant coded transmissions]
[Multiple signals answer across the stereo field]

[Female spoken journal]

I haven't seen anything fly
since the outbreak started.

For a second...

I thought someone had come for us.

[Instrumental]
[Music briefly becomes wider and almost hopeful]
[Gliding alien melody]
[Deep bass groove continues]
[Something enormous passes overhead]

[Female spoken journal]

They've been there all day.

They don't move like planes.

They don't make any sound.

One of them came down
over downtown tonight.

It just...

stopped.

Right above the buildings.

[Instrumental]
[Harmony begins darkening]
[Low-frequency pressure builds]
[Scanning tone passes over the listener]
[Alien signals become stranger]
[Electronic groove continues]

[Female spoken journal]

Then every light in the city
turned on at once.

Every building.
Every street.
Every car.

For maybe three seconds.

Then everything went black again.

[Instrumental]
[Electrical surge]
[Music abruptly darkens]
[Deep ominous bass movement]
[Low alien transmission]

[Female spoken journal — quieter]

The dead started moving.

All of them.

In the same direction.

Toward the light.

[Instrumental]
[Dark Wave motif]
[Distant infected sounds]
[Alien signal answers]
[Groove continues]

[Female spoken journal]

Those ships aren't ours.

[Instrumental continues]
[Crystalline transmission sweeps into the distance]

[Recorder clicks off]

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[Mysterious alien groove already playing] [Soft electronic pulse] [Wide synths slowly emerge] [Female spoken journal — quiet, tired, natural, over the music] Journal entry. Day nine. Something woke me up last night. Not a sound. A light. It came through the window and moved across the ceiling. [Instrumental] [Deep clean sub-bass enters] [Crystalline signal moves slowly across the stereo field] [Gliding synth motif develops] [Female spoken journal] At first I thought the power was back. Then I looked outside. There were lights above the city. Dozens of them. Moving slowly. Perfectly together. [Instrumental] [Electronic drums strengthen] [Wide Wave synths expand] [Distant coded transmissions] [Multiple signals answer across the stereo field] [Female spoken journal] I haven't seen anything fly since the outbreak started. For a second... I thought someone had come for us. [Instrumental] [Music briefly becomes wider and almost hopeful] [Gliding alien melody] [Deep bass groove continues] [Something enormous passes overhead] [Female spoken journal] They've been there all day. They don't move like planes. They don't make any sound. One of them came down over downtown tonight. It just... stopped. Right above the buildings. [Instrumental] [Harmony begins darkening] [Low-frequency pressure builds] [Scanning tone passes over the listener] [Alien signals become stranger] [Electronic groove continues] [Female spoken journal] Then every light in the city turned on at once. Every building. Every street. Every car. For maybe three seconds. Then everything went black again. [Instrumental] [Electrical surge] [Music abruptly darkens] [Deep ominous bass movement] [Low alien transmission] [Female spoken journal — quieter] The dead started moving. All of them. In the same direction. Toward the light. [Instrumental] [Dark Wave motif] [Distant infected sounds] [Alien signal answers] [Groove continues] [Female spoken journal] Those ships aren't ours. [Instrumental continues] [Crystalline transmission sweeps into the distance] [Recorder clicks off]

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