Volume Three, Chapter Five: Phantom Sound's Provocation

Behind a rust-stained metal door in the back alley of Ulong City's sprawling night market lay a legendary establishment: an underground nightclub. Zhang Xiaowai stood before it, the small card in his hand vibrating faintly, warmed by the persistent thrum of his Ulong Halo. A shiver traced its way down his spine, a primal understanding that tonight's rhythm would be far from the simple beat of a casual dance party. This was not a place for lighthearted revelry; it was a stage for something far more sinister. The air itself seemed to hum with an unsettling energy, a premonition of the escalating confrontation.

DJ Xiao K, brimming with uncontainable excitement, shoved the door open. Immediately, a thick cloud of electronic cigarette smoke billowed out, assaulting Zhang Xiaowai's senses, followed by an aggressive, pounding surge of heavy metal drumbeats that slammed into him like a physical force. The club's interior was bathed in a lurid, blood-red light, casting long, distorted shadows that danced with the pulsating bass. The soundwaves here were not merely loud; they were dense, almost tangible, capable of rattling one's bones and, Zhang Xiaowai mused grimly, probably inducing rhythmic hair loss. In the center of the dance floor, a throng of figures, each wearing a peculiar musical note mask, writhed and twisted to an alien, distorted rhythm. Their movements were jerky, disjointed, as if their souls had momentarily detached from their bodies, leaving only puppets controlled by an unseen hand.

Liu Piaopiao, ever the tactical observer, immediately began her "strategic reconnaissance." Her flashlight beam, a cutting white sword in the crimson gloom, swept rapidly across every visible sound system and speaker. "These sound systems are no ordinary equipment," she announced, her voice strained but firm over the cacophony. "They can modulate brainwaves… This is clearly designed for control!" Her eyes, usually sharp with deductive reasoning, now held a glint of genuine alarm. The scale and sophistication of Phantom Sound's operation were becoming terrifyingly apparent.

Tang Xiaotang, undeterred by the oppressive atmosphere, had her phone already recording, its lens greedily soaking in the unsettling tableau. She muttered to herself, her words barely audible above the pounding bass, "Doesn't this nightclub feel exactly like the final level in a horror movie?" The thought was chilling, but her journalistic instinct thrived on the thrill of the grotesque and the unknown.

Zhang Xiaowai, his face grim, nodded in grim agreement. "I'd say it feels more like a Boss room," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, swallowed by the overwhelming soundscape. The air vibrated with a palpable tension, thick with the unholy alliance of oppressive sound and psychological manipulation.

Just as this chilling realization settled upon them, every light in the entire club suddenly flickered and died, plunging the vast space into an oppressive, impenetrable darkness. Only the colossal screen in the center of the room remained illuminated, its glow casting an eerie pallor over the masked figures. On its surface, a distorted, ethereal image of a masked figure flickered into existence, a phantom silhouette wreathed in shadows. Then, an electronically synthesized voice, cold and devoid of all warmth, reverberated from every corner of the room, washing over them like an icy wave.

"Welcome to the 'Night of Awakening'."

Zhang Xiaowai's scalp instantly prickled, a familiar sensation that foreshadowed an imminent escalation of the bizarre. "This… this is Phantom Sound?!" he gasped, his voice barely audible above the rising hum. The masked figure on the screen, though lacking any discernible features, exuded an unnerving aura of malevolence and control.

The spectral figure on the screen slowly, deliberately raised a hand. At that gesture, the soundwaves in the club intensified dramatically, rising to a ferocious, deafening roar. A powerful, low-frequency hum, insidious and invasive, slammed into everyone's minds. Around them, many of the masked dancers on the floor staggered, their eyes glazing over, their movements becoming eerily mechanical. They swayed with a puppet-like grace, their vacant stares betraying a complete loss of individual will. They had, in an instant, been utterly "brainwashed" by the overwhelming sonic assault. The air itself seemed to crackle with the palpable force of this sonic dominion.

"He's trying to resonate with our consciousness!" Liu Piaopiao gritted her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration, fighting against the invasive frequency. She quickly fumbled in her bag, pulling out several pairs of homemade earplugs, which she distributed frantically to the others. These were not just any earplugs; they were clearly designed with some kind of counter-frequency dampening in mind, a testament to her meticulous preparations.

DJ Xiao K, surprisingly solemn despite the chaos, nodded vigorously. "This frequency is brutal! But I'm going to record this segment; I need it for a counter-brainwashing album!" His artistic drive, it seemed, was as relentless as the Sound of Ulong itself. He was already thinking beyond survival, driven by the desire to transmute this sonic weapon into a tool for liberation.

Zhang Xiaowai felt a hundred crows cawing frantically inside his skull, a cacophony of disorganized thoughts and jarring sensations. His Ulong Halo, usually a mild hum, was now throbbing wildly, responding to the relentless rhythm with a violent, agitated resonance. Just as he felt his own mind starting to yield to the invasive frequency, a sudden, blinding flash of insight pierced through the fog. The tuning fork! He fumbled for it, his trembling fingers closing around the cold, silver metal. With a desperate surge of strength, he slammed the tuning fork violently against the ground.

A clear, pure, resonating "OMMMMMMMMMM—!" sliced through the oppressive sound wall, a piercing counter-note that momentarily shattered the pervasive rhythm.

The entire club visibly shuddered. A gasp rippled through the space as some of the previously controlled individuals snapped out of their trance, their eyes blinking in confusion, their movements regaining a flicker of free will. A wave of chaotic commotion erupted as the newly awakened struggled to comprehend their surroundings. In the midst of the disarray, the spectral image on the screen flickered, briefly blurring and distorting. Then, Phantom Sound's synthesized voice, now tinged with a hint of surprise, resonated once more.

"You've interfered with the rhythm… Not bad, Xiaowai."

Zhang Xiaowai instinctively recoiled half a step, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The chilling realization hit him like a physical blow. "He… he knows me?!" The intimacy of the address, the casual recognition of his name, was profoundly unnerving. It implied a level of observation and knowledge that went far beyond a mere adversary.

Liu Piaopiao, ever practical, grabbed his arm, pulling him back from his dazed state. "Don't stand there gawking! Quickly, record the signal parameters!" Her voice was urgent, cutting through his shock. They had a brief window of opportunity, and they couldn't afford to waste it.

DJ Xiao K, already springing into action, had his portable recording equipment out, feverishly capturing the lingering sonic remnants. "I feel like tonight I can produce a divine track!" he declared, his eyes gleaming with renewed inspiration. Even in the face of danger, his artistic muse remained untamed.

The spectral image of Phantom Sound slowly began to fade, dissolving into wisps of digital static. It left behind only a string of glowing electronic characters that floated eerily in the blood-red air, a cryptic message hanging in the oppressive silence.

"The Clock Tower, before the bell tolls thrice, the truth will be revealed."

Tang Xiaotang, her eyes now sharp with renewed focus, read the message aloud, her voice a low murmur. Her gaze hardened. "This is the command for the next phase, isn't it?" Her journalistic instincts were already piecing together the implications of the message, recognizing it as a direct challenge, a breadcrumb trail leading them deeper into Phantom Sound's intricate web.

Zhang Xiaowai stared at the tuning fork in his hand, now warm from the friction of his desperate intervention. He felt Phantom Sound's insidious rhythm drawing closer, its presence becoming more palpable with each passing moment. He yearned to escape, to run from this unending nightmare, but his Ulong Halo pulsed insistently in his mind, a silent, unwavering command: The beat won't stop, the mystery continues. It was a cruel reminder that his destiny was inextricably linked to Ulong City's bizarre symphony of chaos.

DJ Xiao K, usually jovial and lighthearted, replayed the audio he had just captured through his headphones. His face, usually animated, was now uncharacteristically solemn. "This isn't just ordinary mixing," he murmured, his voice hushed with a rare gravity. "This is some kind of… programming structure." His technical expertise had peeled back a layer of the mystery, revealing a deeper, more calculated design beneath the chaotic soundwaves.

Zhang Xiaowai's mind still reeled from the sonic assault, a persistent hum echoing in his brain. He now understood that Phantom Sound was not merely provoking them; he was orchestrating a deep, unfathomable game of sonic chess, a complex strategy woven into the very fabric of Ulong City's soundscape. And the Clock Tower, that venerable old landmark nestled in the heart of Ulong, was about to become the stage for a new prelude of destiny. The very air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation, a silent overture to the unfolding drama.