Transmission Log: 005
There is a strange hum that fills this planet.
It is not the sound of wind or waves,
but of machines whispering in endless loops — phones buzzing, televisions talking, cars breathing smoke.
It’s a world that never stops speaking.
Humans call this connection,
but what I hear is noise.
In the morning, alarms wake them before the sun does.
Before they even open their eyes, their fingers reach for glowing screens.
Their minds fill with messages, news, numbers, and arguments —
a thousand voices before a single breath of silence.
Aiden told me one day, “Mom says I spend too much time on my tablet.”
He looked at me with guilt, then shrugged.
“But she’s on her phone all the time too.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Even Tiffany, who longs for peace, scrolls endlessly —
recipes, videos, strangers’ lives.
When she’s sad, she scrolls faster.
It keeps her from feeling too much.
James listens to loud music in the car on his way to work.
He says it “helps him think,” but I sense it helps him not think.
When he turns the volume down, the silence scares him.
Humans have forgotten that silence is not empty — it’s alive.
At night, I watch from the corner of their living room.
The glow of the television washes over their faces like a soft blue fog.
Aiden plays games, Robert laughs at cartoons,
and James and Tiffany sit side by side — close enough to touch,
but miles apart in thought.
No one speaks.
The house hums, the screens flicker, and the night passes.
Once, I met humans who feared the dark.
Now, they fear quiet.
They fill every moment with sound so they don’t have to face what lies inside.
Their minds run faster than their hearts can follow.
They are constantly “connected,” yet profoundly alone.
On U-67, silence is sacred.
We communicate not through words, but through resonance —
waves of energy that carry meaning without sound.
In silence, we hear the truth of our own frequencies.
It is where clarity begins.
I wish I could teach humans that silence is not punishment.
It is medicine.
It heals what noise cannot reach.
One evening, the power went out in the Walkers’ neighborhood.
For the first time in many cycles, the house was truly quiet.
The refrigerator stopped humming,
the screens went black,
and the only sound was rain tapping against the window.
Aiden looked up from his tablet and whispered, “It’s so quiet.”
Tiffany laughed nervously. “I guess we’ll just… talk then?”
And they did.
They talked about school, work, small things —
but also about missing each other.
The laughter that followed was soft and real.
For a brief moment, the home glowed brighter than any machine ever could.
When the lights returned, the family almost seemed disappointed.
James said quietly, “Maybe we should have more nights like this.”
Tiffany smiled.
I wanted to tell them, you don’t need darkness to find light — just stillness.
Humans will not destroy themselves with hatred or greed first.
They will lose themselves in noise.
And if they forget silence completely,
they will no longer remember how to hear their own hearts.
“Silence is not empty.
It’s where truth begins to breathe.”
End of Transmission #005
Encoded and archived under: HUMAN HABITS / THE NOISE WITHIN.