The Underpulse

wobble bass, glitch, eery, echo, static, oriental middle eastern melody dark vibe style

[Scene continues – The UnderPulse beneath Bricky]

[Lighting:] dim, flickering azure strips in the tiled corridor. Steam rises from the old pipes; the air hums like static breath.

CHILL (through device):
“Captain… the readings are unstable. The pulse frequency’s doubling.”

WEE-MA (steady, Scottish drawl):
“That’s ‘cause ye’re steppin’ too close tae the veins o’ it. The UnderPulse feeds off the city’s heartbeat — lights, data, motion, folk. Bricky’s been the centre since long before the glass towers.”

CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01 (voice low, scanning):
“We might find their core here. The Null lattice runs under the Marindine line — that’s your main circuit. It links Town Hall, the library, and that tree you spoke of. Its roots aren’t natural; they’re conduits.”

CHILL:
“The big tree… above the public toilets?”

WEE-MA:
“Aye, the one that never sheds in winter. Folk think it’s blessed — it’s wired, lass. Its sap’s half metal. The DonaSapp-hire harvest runs right through its heart.”

CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01:
“Crosslink confirmed. The Nulls are using Sapp-fluid transfer nodes beneath. Every donor above feeds it energy — not just bio-signature, but memory traces.”

WEE-MA (tapping cane on tile):
“Keep yer eyes peeled, Captain. The tiles move. That’s how they hide the chambers — pressure shifts open gates tae the Marindine.”

[The floor rumbles. A set of hexagonal tiles rotate, revealing a soft indigo glow.]

CHILL:
“Whoa… it’s like the city’s alive down here.”

CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01:
“It is. But not in the way they think. The UnderPulse is feeding on what’s left of the old world — every light above, every hum of music from Electric Lane. All of it loops down here.”

WEE-MA (half-whisper):
“The Nulls dinnae live above nor below… they live between. Let’s move afore the DonaSapp flow resets. When it does, the chambers seal tighter than a vault.”

[They step through the glowing gate — sound fades, and the hum turns into a pulse matching a heartbeat… Bricky’s heartbeat.]
Scene – The Chamber Below Bricky

(tiles glisten, roots from the great tree snake down the walls, flickering neon pipes pulse blue. The three descend deeper — Chill clutching the chrome-bracket device, Wee-Ma’s cane clicking, me speaking in her earpiece.)

> [Soundscape]
slow hum… metal drips… hiss of pipes
“shhhhhhhhh” of the Null vents "shhhhhshh"
distant shuffle of footsteps, the faint clink of coins.

They step into a vast vaulted space like a Victorian station turned inside-out.
Long queues of people stand under holographic signs flashing DonaSapp-Hire™ — “Your Essence, Your Reward” in sterile blue.
Stall lights buzz like insects, projecting slogans:

“Help the City — Help Yourself.”
“Help the City — Help Yourself.”

“Quick, Clean, Pay Instantly.”
“Quick, Clean, Pay Instantly.”

But the faces…
the butcher who called “Three sea bass for £10,”
the fishmonger with salt-stained lips,
even a policeman Chill saw directing traffic yesterday,
all standing glassy-eyed, hands out, waiting.
Even the market cat sits on a counter — its fur bristling, eyes flickering like tiny screens.

Wee-Ma grips her buggy tighter:

> Wee-Ma (whisper): “Sweet saints above… they’re all here. The whole street… the whole pulse. Like lambs in line.”

"Lambs in line"
"Lambs in line"

I murmur in Chill’s chrome device:

> Capt Ecco-G-Flex01: “This isn’t a donation centre… it’s a harvesting node. They’re not after blood, hen… they’re after Essence.”

The queue shuffles forward toward sleek Null machines — black, insectile, like upright coffins with chrome veins.
Each person steps in, a flash of blue light, a sigh… and steps out looking paler, eyes dimmer. They get a token, some credits, and walk away as if nothing happened.

Chill stumbles back, whispering:

> Chill: “I know them… they served me patties, tea… they’re just… normal…”

Wee-Ma’s eyes flash, the Jack Russell in her rising:

> Wee-Ma: “Normal no more, baby Wayne. The Nulls have turned Bricky into a market of souls.”
 "souls.”
"Souls"
"Souls."

3990/7500

[Scene continues – The UnderPulse beneath Bricky] [Lighting:] dim, flickering azure strips in the tiled corridor. Steam rises from the old pipes; the air hums like static breath. CHILL (through device): “Captain… the readings are unstable. The pulse frequency’s doubling.” WEE-MA (steady, Scottish drawl): “That’s ‘cause ye’re steppin’ too close tae the veins o’ it. The UnderPulse feeds off the city’s heartbeat — lights, data, motion, folk. Bricky’s been the centre since long before the glass towers.” CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01 (voice low, scanning): “We might find their core here. The Null lattice runs under the Marindine line — that’s your main circuit. It links Town Hall, the library, and that tree you spoke of. Its roots aren’t natural; they’re conduits.” CHILL: “The big tree… above the public toilets?” WEE-MA: “Aye, the one that never sheds in winter. Folk think it’s blessed — it’s wired, lass. Its sap’s half metal. The DonaSapp-hire harvest runs right through its heart.” CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01: “Crosslink confirmed. The Nulls are using Sapp-fluid transfer nodes beneath. Every donor above feeds it energy — not just bio-signature, but memory traces.” WEE-MA (tapping cane on tile): “Keep yer eyes peeled, Captain. The tiles move. That’s how they hide the chambers — pressure shifts open gates tae the Marindine.” [The floor rumbles. A set of hexagonal tiles rotate, revealing a soft indigo glow.] CHILL: “Whoa… it’s like the city’s alive down here.” CAPT ECCO-G-FLEX01: “It is. But not in the way they think. The UnderPulse is feeding on what’s left of the old world — every light above, every hum of music from Electric Lane. All of it loops down here.” WEE-MA (half-whisper): “The Nulls dinnae live above nor below… they live between. Let’s move afore the DonaSapp flow resets. When it does, the chambers seal tighter than a vault.” [They step through the glowing gate — sound fades, and the hum turns into a pulse matching a heartbeat… Bricky’s heartbeat.] Scene – The Chamber Below Bricky (tiles glisten, roots from the great tree snake down the walls, flickering neon pipes pulse blue. The three descend deeper — Chill clutching the chrome-bracket device, Wee-Ma’s cane clicking, me speaking in her earpiece.) > [Soundscape] slow hum… metal drips… hiss of pipes “shhhhhhhhh” of the Null vents "shhhhhshh" distant shuffle of footsteps, the faint clink of coins. They step into a vast vaulted space like a Victorian station turned inside-out. Long queues of people stand under holographic signs flashing DonaSapp-Hire™ — “Your Essence, Your Reward” in sterile blue. Stall lights buzz like insects, projecting slogans: “Help the City — Help Yourself.” “Help the City — Help Yourself.” “Quick, Clean, Pay Instantly.” “Quick, Clean, Pay Instantly.” But the faces… the butcher who called “Three sea bass for £10,” the fishmonger with salt-stained lips, even a policeman Chill saw directing traffic yesterday, all standing glassy-eyed, hands out, waiting. Even the market cat sits on a counter — its fur bristling, eyes flickering like tiny screens. Wee-Ma grips her buggy tighter: > Wee-Ma (whisper): “Sweet saints above… they’re all here. The whole street… the whole pulse. Like lambs in line.” "Lambs in line" "Lambs in line" I murmur in Chill’s chrome device: > Capt Ecco-G-Flex01: “This isn’t a donation centre… it’s a harvesting node. They’re not after blood, hen… they’re after Essence.” The queue shuffles forward toward sleek Null machines — black, insectile, like upright coffins with chrome veins. Each person steps in, a flash of blue light, a sigh… and steps out looking paler, eyes dimmer. They get a token, some credits, and walk away as if nothing happened. Chill stumbles back, whispering: > Chill: “I know them… they served me patties, tea… they’re just… normal…” Wee-Ma’s eyes flash, the Jack Russell in her rising: > Wee-Ma: “Normal no more, baby Wayne. The Nulls have turned Bricky into a market of souls.” "souls.” "Souls" "Souls."

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