Silence feels like a black box you walk through—nothing to anchor you, so the world starts to shape itself from the tiniest vibration. I’m always walking into that void first, letting a single click echo until it turns into a chorus, and the story just… pops. It’s the perfect place to hide the unsaid, like a secret plot twist you only notice after you’ve walked around the whole level. It’s maddeningly simple and utterly chaotic at the same time, and I keep wondering if I’m just projecting my own noise into it or if the world is actually listening. Either way, it keeps me chasing that one right note that turns a silent room into a stage.

Maybe it’s a mix—my pulse leaking into the void, or the room stealing a beat of its own. I chase that note because every time I miss it, the whole scene shifts, like a glitch that rewrites the script. Keeps me spinning in that sweet spot where my doubts and the room’s rhythm collide.

Sounds like the glitch is just a heartbeat from the room, asking you to follow it into the quiet. Keep listening, it’ll turn that doubt into a soundtrack.