Cicadas are truly fascinating creatures. Marvelously simple, yet undeniably unique, living for one purpose alone while the rest of the world toils away aimlessly with the illusions of progress and success, of troubled times and of happy ones. The world spins on its wailing axis, humans follow the steady spiral of worry towards their ultimate demise, and the cicada lies in wait, burrowed under the Earth's surface, with nothing to do but exist. Seventeen years, they grow in restless anticipation, preparing for the destiny assigned to them at birth. And yet they are patient, waiting for exactly the right moment to act, to protect their species, to fulfill their collective fate. Perhaps we could all learn from this immovable composure, and draw inspiration from the beautifully deafening uprising that these organisms dedicate their whole lives to. Or maybe we are not meant to be so predictable.

The following is a transcript of a recording found by HATCHET, only moments after the original events, and a few months after the death of SONGBIRD.

No names were surrendered in the making of this record.

--

It is quiet. The only noises are that of gentle snoring, accompanied by the slowly dying sounds of the once mighty fire. It has since begun to extinguish itself, and the still night air contains a rare calmness. [ = ] and I whisper in hushed tones, a conversation fuelled by the twins of the dark: insomnia and paranoia.

[ = ]: Oh, I don't know. I think I'd rather be in The Ka than become Forgiven. At least then I'd keep my humanity.

ME: You'd rather be forced to fight against your will? Frozen in time forever?

[ = ]: I mean, we don't know for sure that that's what happens, right? It's just a theory. Plus, I'd have to work for The Sanctuary either way. That's kind of how it works.

ME: That's true. But are the Forgiven really there anymore? Are they consciously doing what The Sanctuary wants? Or is it more of a puppet situation?

[ = ] (scoffing): You're the one with the journal, you tell me.

ME: Sorry, you're right, stupid questions. I got carried away again.

[ = ]: Not stupid questions, just ones without answers. I mean that's why we're all here, right? Looking for answers?

ME: I guess.

[ = ]: I just hope neither of us ever has to find them out ourselves.

An evening breeze extinguishes the remains of the fire with a hiss, and a soft sigh can be heard against the gentle backdrop of the sleepless night.

ME: Seriously though, how are you feeling?

[ = ]: What? I'm fine. I promise.

ME: Okay. Just... let someone else take the lead today. Please.

[ = ]: I told you, it wasn't as bad as it-

Silence.

[ = ]: Alright. I'll take a step back.

ME: Thank you.

[ = ]: Yeah.

A long pause. The only sounds are the usual backdrop of noises, and for a moment, it almost seems as if at least one of the restless two have finally fallen asleep. Then the ground begins to shake, creating a rumble that echoes across the hillside.

HATCHET (groggily): Woah-

[ ~ ]: What the hell is that?

[ = ]: Earthquake maybe?

HATCHET: Never heard of one in The Sanctuary.

ME: Me neither.

[ -- ]: Will you all just shut up?! Some of us like to sleep.

HATCHET: Get up.

[ -- ]: Why would I do that-

[ = ]: Stand up. Now.

[ -- ]: We just set up camp a few hours ago, we can move in the morning.

[ ~ ]: That isn't a choice we get to make anymore.

[ -- ]: What do you mean-

HATCHET: For god's sake, get yourself up and be quiet. Something's happening.

The rumbling grows. It overpowers the sound of [ -- ] grumbling, filling the soundscape in its entirety. There is a moment where it seems impossible that the blistering noise could get any more invasively loud, but it is shortly interrupted by a buzzing that grows louder by the second, slowly rising to overpower the very movement of the earth.

HATCHET: Grab whatever you can. Let's go.

[ ~ ]: Hey, this is new, right?

ME: I think so.

[ ~ ]: That's great.

[ = ]: Nothing in your notes then?

ME: Uh, no. Nothing.

[ -- ]: I'm starting to think that the book is just empty.

[ = ]: I don't see you making one.

[ -- ]: Because I know it's a waste of time.

HATCHET: Guys.

[ ~ ]: Where do we go?

[ = ]: South? Head back across the valley and work towards The Absence?

[ -- ]: And die in the void? No thanks.

[ = ]: I'm just saying, if this noise has anything to do with powering the monster on the other side, we'd cut it off there. Plus, we know The Absence. We've survived it before.

[ ~ ]: It's risky.

HATCHET: I don't see another choice. We can change direction later, but we have to start moving now.

[ ~ ]: South it is.

A myriad of sounds erupt from the camp as belongings are hastily packed away and lifted over shoulders, quickly transforming into footsteps that are only barely audible through the abrasive call flooding in from somewhere in the distance.

ME: I know this sound.

[ -- ]: Conveniently found something in your scribbles?

ME: No, I recognize it from... before.

[ -- ]: You're kidding.

ME: From a trip I made to America once. Research.

[ ~ ]: Wait, are you saying that the noise is-

ME: I think so.

HATCHET: Cicadas.

[ -- ]: What's a cicada?

ME: Type of insect. Native to parts of North America. Infamous for their chirp.

[ = ]: Chirp isn't the word I'd use.

[ ~ ]: It's more of a... well, just listen.

The screeching grows louder still, and while the rolling earthquakes have stopped, the space has been completely filled by the song. The voices of the travellers are faint and strained against the whirring.

HATCHET: Great, so place your bets then. What did The Sanctuary do to these bugs?

[ ~ ]: Not sure, but if they're making this much noise, they're either massive or-

[ = ]: There's a lot of them.

[ ~ ]: Exactly.

[ = ]: No, look. Quickly.

A pause. The footsteps stop momentarily, before resuming faster and more panicked than before.

[ -- ]: I'm guessing they don't usually look like that?

[ ~ ]: No.

[ -- ]: Lovely.

[ = ]: Alright, left up ahead.

HATCHET: You heard him.

Conversation falls to a minimum as the sound of laboured breathing subtly breaks through the insectoid sound barrier. The footsteps grow quicker with every passing moment, as the group tries to put as much distance between themselves and the horde as possible.

[ ~ ]: They're getting closer!

[ = ]: I guess we could try fighting them off as we run?

[ -- ]: With what weapon?

ME: Nothing we have would take out more than one or two at a time. There's no fighting.

[ ~ ]: So we keep running.

HATCHET: Here, right at the path.

Somehow the deafening buzzing grows even louder, until it is the only sound audible through the recording, causing noticeable amounts of physical discomfort. When HATCHET speaks again, his voice is barely discernible amongst the chaos.

HATCHET: Take the right again!

[ ~ ]: What was that?!

HATCHET: Right turn up ahead!

[ -- ]: They're too loud!

[ ~ ]: I can't hear you!

HATCHET: Just follow me!

For a few minutes, it is only the sound of the cicadas. They scream into the night as a threat and a warning, the very trait that once made them so easily hunted now transforming them into a terrifying hunter. Something resembling the voices of the travellers can be heard on occasion, but their words are lost in the swirling hum, and it is a peaceless emptiness that follows. [ ~ ] can be heard calling out through the droning, but the next voice is clear as the sound of a body hitting the earth rings through the cry of the daunting creatures.

HATCHET: Ow!

[ ~ ]: Come on, get up! We're not losing you too!

ME: What happened?!

[ ~ ]: He tripped on a root. I tried to warn him, but he couldn't hear me!

[ = ]: Come on man, get up!

HATCHET: I'm trying!

The swarming grows louder and louder, the group still running as their voices grow more and more faint in the distance. There is a moment in which only the sound exists, and the travellers are no longer of any significance. Only one sound cuts through the building chorus of metallic horror, and it is the deep plea of HATCHET's scream as the swarm consumes him.

And then there is silence.

[ -- ]: What happened?

[ = ]: It...

ME: It took him.

[ -- ]: It what?!

[ = ]: They were faster.

[ ~ ]: Damn it.

ME: We should keep moving.

[ ~ ]: Right now?

ME: I'm afraid so. His death is a loss for all of us but I personally don't want to be around to find out what happens when they start making noise again.

[ -- ]: He's right.

[ ~ ]: I guess so.

[ = ]: Okay then. We keep running, set up camp, and then we can name him.

[ -- ]: We can worry about the details later.

[ = ]: I know, he just... didn't deserve to die.

ME: None of them did.

The sounds of footsteps resume, now the only break in the haunting quiet.

HATCHET: Ah-

The buzzing begins again, softly at first but growing louder with every second that passes. Shouts can be heard in the distance.

[ ~ ]: Guys! He's alive!

[ = ]: Oh my god, uh... I'm going back.

ME: Hey.

[ = ]: It's okay.

Sounds of running surrounded by the muffled groans of a struggling HATCHET, and the increasingly furious song of the cicadas.

HATCHET: They won't let go!

[ = ]: Here, grab my hand.

HATCHET (grunting): Fuckin' pests.

[ = ]: Okay we're gonna have to pull.

HATCHET: Do it.

[ = ]: Three... two...

HATCHET: Just pull!

[ = ] and HATCHET breathe heavily as the sounds of their straining combat that of the rising drone of the swarm, and with every exhausted pull on his arms, HATCHET exclaims in pain, the insects becoming more furious.

[ ~ ]: Let me help.

[ = ]: Grab his other arm.

[ -- ]: Hey! Try and hurry it up? They don't look happy.

HATCHET (under muffled breath): C'mon-

[ = ]: Pull!

The three all groan as they tug HATCHET from the grips of the restless mass, and the sounds of laboured running quickly burst against the once again ravenous backdrop of hunger.

[ -- ]: You have to move faster!

[ ~ ]: We're trying!

HATCHET: I think it's sprained.

[ -- ]: That's better than the alternative, now run!

The volume of footfalls grows as the entire group begins to sprint as one, fleeing from the still growing wall of sound.

ME: Here! Turn right.

[ -- ]: That's-

ME: I know.

HATCHET: Dunno if that's a good idea for me in this state.

[ ~ ]: What could be worse?

The footsteps stop, and over the course of a few minutes, the screams of animalistic fury fade into the distance. Wordlessly, the sounds of movement begin again once the world has turned to silence. A small fragment of the droning remains, a single voice that has split from the group. It is soon stopped abruptly with the unnerving crunch of crushed exoskeleton, and a grunt of disgust from [ ~ ].

[ -- ]: Why didn't they follow us?

ME: The cicada life cycle. They just came from underground, and now they wander the surface and try to fulfill their purpose before they die. We should be safe in the caves for now.

[ = ]: Any ideas about their purpose in The Sanctuary?

ME: A few seconds longer and we probably would have found out.

It is only footsteps for a while, and when HATCHET speaks, his voice echoes off of the cavernous walls.

HATCHET: Wait, I think I see something.

[ = ]: What is it?

Silence. The case of the cassette scrapes against the ragged stone ground as HATCHET picks it up.

HATCHET (voice dripping with contempt and exhaustion): Here. For your records.

-End of Recording-