CHAOS NOISE BLASTERS

The cult had a hymn. Then the hymn had a cult. Six casings that were honest machines once, dragged out of a looted sound-shrine and fed prayer for nine nights straight until something came back down the cable. Metal remembers. Metal, given enough screaming, eventually learns to scream on its own. Look at them too long and you start finding the faces. A horn pushing up through the housing like a thought that got out. Grilles that stopped being grilles somewhere around the fourth night and became…

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