The faint sound of a closing door pulled the receptionist from her book. In front of her stood a tall young man, holding a tray of red coffee cups up in one hand and a green plastic clipboard in the other. Slipping the clipboard under his arm, he pulled out his wallet and fished around for a while before pulling out a thin plastic card, which he waved around a few times until the clipboard began to slide out from where he had tucked it. It was clear that he’d underestimated the volume of things he needed to carry in the chaos of getting through the storm outside. The woman shifted over to the right side of her desk and clicked a buzzer, opening the first set of doors for the young man to awkwardly shuffle through. She almost hadn’t heard him come in over the constant barrage of hail hitting the front room’s tall windows. Passing through the gates, the intern noticed this noise as well; more specifically, he noted how abruptly it seemed to dissipate as he entered from the foyer into the lab’s sheltered centre. He was aware of the extent to which the building was protected from the sounds of the outside world, but they had never been loud enough for him to notice the sheer polarity of the whole experience. As he came to the inner gate, the young man tapped his access card and crossed through the final threshold; with his head down and a clipboard still held at his side, he made his way from the entrance of the lab to the desk of Dr. Ado, placing the now lukewarm coffee on her desk. She smiled, but her eyes remained glued to the console.

The red light fixture blinked twice with an audible tone. Looking over, the doctor gave a nod of confirmation to her colleague before quickly swivelling back into position at her desk. They were running diagnostics—boring, paltry routines they had done a million times before. Today though, there was a certain buzz in the air; try as they might, nobody could deny the excitement, or the infectious energy that came along with it. If everything went well in their preliminary analysis, which was fully expected to be the case, then today would be the day when the experiment the staff had dedicated years of their lives to would finally come to fruition. It was bittersweet, of course. The doctor had many fond memories of her time on the program, and of the friends she had made among her colleagues. But the satisfaction of finally completing what they had set out to do, proving to the world that their research wasn’t in vain: that was more sweet than bitter. She took short sips of the cold, black coffee as she typed away at her keyboard, but it was becoming harder to focus with each passing minute. Before this point, Dr. Ado had been able to occupy her mind in this work by convincing herself that she had fallen behind in it somehow—a trick that had gotten her through the most strenuous points of her university education. As she came close to finishing her tasks, though, the reality of the responsibility she would soon bear began to weigh on her nerves. 

Being the creative mind behind the project and having written the theoretical paper that inspired the university to invest in the experiment, “Can Man Hear Beyond its Limits? An Analysis of the Extent of Human Auditory Understanding,” it was decided by upper management that she would be the first to test the machine’s capabilities. A half-year ago, when the university was still funding the project, they had assigned someone more experienced to be the test subject; now, though, her employers were less enthusiastic to expand the project’s budget any more than they had already done, and so Dr. Ado was decided to be the best fit among the facility’s current staff. This was an honour, of course. But it also made her something of an interpreter, and the idea that she would have to put such a novel experience to words gave her more than a few butterflies. She recognized, though, that this was a juvenile kind of anxiety, unbecoming of a researcher such as herself, and so she did her best to stay focused on the task at hand.

Everything came to a head at about three o’clock in the afternoon. As the last simulations finished running, the fruits of the office’s combined labour were clear: the experiment would run today. And so, as to not waste any time, Dr. Ado was removed from her work to begin preparations. As she was outfitted with metal and wire and strapped with all manner of equipment, the doctor felt her anxieties turn to excitement. To be a part of something so important—to go beyond the limits of the human experience, even in such a small way—made her feel like Neil Armstrong walking on the moon. It took about an hour to get everything needed for the test into place, while the rest of the staff ran around her to complete whatever menial tasks they had yet to finalize; all the while, Dr. Ado sat still in her chair, answering questions, filling out paperwork and making sure everything was in proper order for what was about to happen. The office itself, which was straddled around the tempered glass walls of the auditory chamber, had become crowded. The rest of the offices had work to do, sure—but the spectacle here had attracted almost every other researcher in the building to watch the experiment play out. Some of these people had done a little work for the project, and those who hadn’t were nevertheless invested in what might happen. Besides, it was still storming outside. Anything to get away from all the noise.

About fifteen minutes now. At this point, the doctor had completely gotten over her previous worries. The scientists who chose to watch the demonstration take place were all now seated in the observation area, and the diagnostics had been finished for about a half hour. As such, the researchers previously busy with tests took their place at whichever console they were responsible for, and the few interns who had been working to help get everything organised before now found their own seats alongside those visiting. One of the researchers helping to get Dr. Ado organised for the experiment spread a clear paste on both of her temples and along the ridge of her brow, producing a tingling sensation; another folded cold, carbon fabric around her neck. With this, she was prepared for the device to be fitted onto her head. Since the noise-cancelling effects of the device would prevent her from receiving any external stimuli, she went over exactly what needed to be done, and in what order, to ensure everything would happen smoothly. Once convinced, she signalled for the insertion to begin. A slow, whirring tone rang out as the device moved downward, clicking into the metal outfittings of her suit, and in a moment it was properly fitted onto her form. All was quiet.

Three minutes. She had counted the seconds, which wasn’t necessary—the clock built into the chamber’s structure was perfectly accurate. But she could never bring herself to rely on these things, and besides, it gave the doctor something to do while she waited. The observation deck—which was fully visible from her position—was alight with movement, as researchers shared their guesses as to what might happen and their fingers moved at a mile a minute to write every little thought that came to them. Dr. Ado hoped with all her heart that she could describe the sound in a way that would satisfy their expectations, or at the very least provide enough data to have made the test worthwhile. At this point, the clock counted down from ten. With a quick nod and exchanging of words, the men at the console inserted their keys and brought the machine to life; in an instant, the unheard tone filled her ears.

A blinding light melted her eyes. 

As they formed again, she saw the light shape itself into winding winds without end, their absoluteness pulling her in. They wrapped around her skin, and it melted too. But the pain, sweet and without wounds, was deserved, and she felt a certain satisfaction in her suffering. She let this unending weave consume her vision, and one colour became all others in an instant; falling into her own horizon, the doctor witnessed the creation of her beloved world. 

A reaching hand pulled her into the earth, and her face pressed into the wet ground. But she kept going. She saw the dirt as it was made, the space between it; she saw the elements within it, and the elements within them; she saw the atoms, and particles, and everything beyond them; she saw? No, she did not see. Her eyes had melted. She felt? She felt nothing. She simply was.

An overbearing cosmos. An exploding star. A blade of grass; all within her skin. She was the grass, and the cosmos, and the star. She expanded to fill the unending void.

The blade cuts the star. The cosmos consume it; they share in their hunt.

The tone became solid; she stood upon it and wept. She could not weep. Her eyes had melted.

He watched.

She heard her mother’s voice. She heard the mountain’s snow-capped peak. She heard her sins drip down her neck.

The mysteries of creation, endless and without form, seeped into her skin, as she struggled to understand what love could be wrought from a cycle of endless decay.

Her mind learned all as soon as it forgot.

She heard His voice bellow, split between six billion souls.

and then

she heard

nothing.

Despite interviewing everyone who was present at the time of the incident, police were unable to deduce exactly what had gone wrong during the experiment. The immediate consequences of it, though, were described to them in gruesome detail. It took forensics weeks to remove Dr. Ado from the walls of the chamber. Tragically, despite the best efforts of the department, her bones would never be found.