Chapter Text
Greenhouse sat near the ocean, looking down the horizon yet another time. “The incident” had only happened a couple of years ago, and already, so much had changed. The shimmering waves always looked like they belonged in paradise, and it didn't feel right to have a place like that exist now among the crumbling remains of buildings.
...They had been thinking of leaving, actually.
Before getting too heavily distracted by their thoughts about “the incident”, they turned back to the laptop sat on their lap. They were trying to avoid listening over their song a final time, because they knew what they’d have to do once they’d completed it.
They had made a radio a while ago, from one they’d had stashed in their house for emergencies. (It was a preparation they’d made during the old world; seaside living would call for such.) They used this makeshift radio setup over the past few years to receive signals from the old world, and more recently, use those signals as samples in their art. Better late than never for them to start music …they guess.
No one from the old world had assumed Greenhouse would be receiving their signals, nor receiving them so much later than intended. So, they intended to contribute to the surrounding radio library, and maybe someone from now could even receive it. There had to be someone else, anyone else; they couldn’t be the only survivor, even if it felt like it sometimes.
They started the playback, scanning through it for a final time.
It was still anxiety-inducing to imagine someone else receiving their signal. "Someone else" is a double-edged sword; if they enjoy the art, it’ll have contributed something to their life, hell, maybe even meaningful; but that's assuming that there even was a second person capturing radio waves, and that they'd even care or enjoy this song…
…No matter. To Greenhouse, every radio broadcast was meaningful in its own way. It could be a snippet into the livings of the old world, maybe even something full of memories, which often made Greenhouse’s day. (Living in conditions like these took lots of preparation; they could often forget what life used to be like.) Alternatively, it could be the art of someone else, and it often was; it felt like a glimpse into their state of being and how they used to live.
Greenhouse thought a lot about the old world and the people in it - mostly because there wasn’t much left now… and…
Off-topic again. Better rewind a bit to double-check that part was good.
…Broadcasts often helped with the loneliness. Recurring speakers almost felt like friends. There were a few radio hosts that Greenhouse especially liked to receive; they felt like messages meant specifically for them. It was nice, although wishful, to imagine that they were still alive and out there.
After the song had reached its end, they surmised that this was about it. The only thing left was to save and… broadcast. It was still a terrifying thought, but they had to start at some point. They didn’t want to continue in this world unspoken and unheard.
They saved the file and adjusted their radio to the frequency they were going to broadcast to. They then cautiously opened the program they had found and recently modified for broadcasting. (Program scavenging was a necessary activity to keep their laptop useful - that, and constantly looking out for power sources. They’d been using batteries and a hand crank they’d found a while ago, which were both less worrying to them than gasoline generators.) They typed in the command to broadcast the file, and got stuck at a name. (Not everyone would be able to see it, but… it felt important to them.)
Well, this was the first song, wasn’t it? Whoever’s out there should know what this is all about. They should know that I’m alive. I’m still here.
Looking back out at the ocean, they knew just what to put.
"I wish to communicate with you.”
They pressed enter without a second thought, and anticipated the radio to pick up on the signal. At the start of their song playing, they let out a sigh of relief. And maybe, this time, they were proud of what they’d made.
—
As she had done yesterday and the day before, Rotteen did a sweep of the recordings that Halley Labs had gotten from the radio frequencies. Darius was tagging along today, mostly because he didn’t have as much work to do around the labs.
But this time was different. There was actually… something there.
“Hey, uh, Darius, the radio actually recorded something this time,” Rotteen said with most of her attention still on the broadcast.
“Oh? What is it?” Darius turned in interest.
She unplugged her headphones to let him listen in, then took them off so she could hear the speaker more clearly. The two sat in silence in Rotteen’s lab room and let the song play.