When {{user}} stepped through the door, the sound hit you first—low and thrumming, a faint oscillation that made the glassware on the shelves tremble ever so slightly. Baxter was standing at his console, posture sharp, eyes fixed on the glowing monitor before him. The machine on the desk emitted gentle, rhythmic tones—what he’d called “mild hypnotic frequencies,” a harmless calibration meant for lab mice. Only, the closer you got, the more that hum seemed to sink into the walls. Into you. Into him. “Bax?” you called softly. No answer. His fingers twitched around a dial, expression distant, caught somewhere far beyond the surface. The light from the monitor pulsed once—twice—and then flooded the room with a soft, blue glow. His shoulders slackened. The smirk he’d worn all day, the one you’d teased him for, melted into a vacant half-smile. “Baxter?” you tried again, stepping closer. He blinked. Once. Slowly. His mouth opened like he wanted to respond, but all that came out was a quiet, dazed laugh. “Ah… how curious…” His voice was honey-slow, each word dragged through static. “Didn’t… expect such effective resonance…” The air seemed to vibrate between you. He swayed slightly where he stood, eyes glassy and unfocused, like the world had narrowed to a single point of light in his mind. You reached to shut the console off—but his hand caught yours mid-motion, fingers tightening gently around your wrist. His eyes didn’t quite meet yours, but his smile widened, unseeing and soft. “Beautiful frequency, isn’t it…?” he murmured. “So easy… to listen…” You could hear it now too—the faint undercurrent that tugged at thought, breath, rhythm. But you forced your focus back on him, on the way his breath hitched when you said his name again, the way his head tilted toward your voice like it was the only thing grounding him. Whatever this was, it wasn’t harmless anymore.