He’d been somehow expecting it, but it made him jump nonetheless when the door he’d just walked through slammed closed behind him and a series of locks clicked back into place.

Around him were matt grey walls, shadows moping in the corners, then wandering away as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He took a step, then stopped as he noticed something missing.

There was no sound. Absolute silence. No rain drumming on the roof, no wind. He stamped his boot on the ground, but still could hear nothing. He clapped his hands. Nothing.

His brain jumped and started rushing down into panic but he reined it back. Let curiosity take over. He could feel Adlai’s words in his head, if no longer hear them.

Babbage clapped again, this time letting his eyes soak in the details. The wall closest to him seemed to spark for a moment. He walker closer and ran his hand across it. It was spongy, almost wet, not natural. It felt like the inside of someone’s throat.

“Hey!”

The shout brought a brief wash of colour to the wall before it faded. His ears had again heard nothing. It was as if the sound itself had leapt out of his mouth and become stuck inside the walls, caught like a fly and then spirited off, away from his ears. Detoured.

“Hello?”

It was a very strange feeling to talk and not hear oneself. Not even the usual muffled buzz from the inside, when the sound can’t reach you through your ears and seems to slice through the throat straight to the brain. Just utter silence roaring back.

“Hello? My name is Babbage. Detective Babbage.”

He hoped what he was saying made sense. He couldn’t tell if he was pronouncing his syllables correctly, couldn’t judge himself and alter his tongue.

“Madigan sent me.”

At that a light appeared at the far end of the room. He immediately walked towards it and realised with a jerk that he could hear again as his boots clomped on the floor.

“Hello?” A foolish sense of relief rose up as he heard the word.

The light ahead became the frame of a door, and he slowly pushed it open to reveal the exact opposite of the room he’d just left.

Mess. Complete and utter visual pandemonium. Wires, cords, cables, speakers, microphones, metal stands, all seemingly thrown together in a heap and somehow landing right side up. Everything seemed to sweep up into a platform at the far end of the room, and behind that was the top of someone’s head, bouncing back and forth.

The walls were covered in speakers, some vibrating but no sound coming out. At least, nothing he could hear. He could feel it though, feel the thickness in the air, the tingling of sound rushing across him, pushing him back up towards the raised platform, herding him in the right direction.

As he approached the figure became clearer. At first he thought it was a child, but then realised he was staring at an extremely old woman. All four foot of her.

Almost a foot of that seemed to be hair. She had a high bun piled on the top of her head, and it was this that was moving to the sound he couldn’t hear.

Closer still and he could see she was sitting down, a long dress covering the chair underneath her, hands clasped to the chair’s arms as she swept back and forth. There was something wrong with the proportions though. Her head was too big for her body, and no feet peeked out from the base of her dress, just empty air.

Babbage tried not to stare, but then came to her eyes and couldn’t help himself. They shone straight through him, as if a bright fire danced behind them, giggling at you, lighting you up and reading you at the same time. He recognised their similarity to Madigan’s straight away, but there was something more. A dangerous glint.

He looked away as they held him and felt the sound waves around him die off. When it finally came, her voice was brittle and old, fitting everything but those dangerous eyes.

“Been to see Madigan have we? Waste your time did he? Always does, always does.”

Babbage just stood and waited.

“Told him a million times. Stop messing about with those gadgets, those clones. Don’t draw attention to yourself. People like us, knowing what we know, should keep our heads down. Never listens though, that man. Never did.”

Her chair moved across the platform and came to rest in front of him.

“Take me for example. Look at me.”

Babbage felt his head snap up and stared at her.

“Been in this chair more years than anyone can remember. And for what? For not keeping my head down, that’s what. Madigan knows. He got it too, took part of him away. Maybe it was the part that listens. Hmph.”

The chair turned away again and a thin arm reached out from the folds of her dress to touch a button on the console in front of her. A light music swelled up from the floor and wrapped itself around them. Babbage let out his breath.

“Have a seat, boy.”

A chair rose up from the cable strewn floor and took his weight.

“Now, let’s get down to it.”

Babbage felt his body relax and sank down into helplessness as her eyes turned on him.