The Forgotten Symphony

“Do you know why you hate them so much?”

Daryl’s deep voice rolled and echoed around the cavernous metal space. The words seem to be reflected in the shimmering walls and glittering consoles that descended in rows like desks in a college lecture hall.

Tom didn’t hear a word of it. He was awestruck, all consciousness was driven out of him to make space for the wonder invoked by the scene in front of him. Mere minutes ago he had been on the surface, sitting in a dingy bar amidst the ruins of Manhattan. Now, he had to squint against the bright, fluorescent light in an immaculately maintained control room. Computers, dials, and headsets sat neatly at each station in the gradually descending rows below him. And where he would have seen a podium if this were a lecture hall, was a piano inlaid into another metal console, with a few buttons and dials above it. On the far wall, a series of massive screens stretched from floor to ceiling, all black and dead but standing at attention, ready to spring to life at the touch of a button.

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