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Summary
Alarms were a fixture at any Lobotomy Corporation branch. They sang out their song from trumpeted speakers as electricity flings light from bulbs in its channeled course. They came with the territory, as clouds forming and reforming in the night sky: endemic, precipitous, inevitable and true. Their absence would have been more remarkable and more concerning in turn. It hadn’t always been that way. But it was now, and that was what mattered, the shape of the world – as it was – eternal until one day it was simply different.
It made Devon’s heart ache. It used to be better. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, exactly. It wasn’t Ayin’s, that was for sure. But it did used to be better.