Dane sat in his room, the late-night silence wrapping around him like a blanket. It was a strange comfort, though, considering the things that had started happening lately. The earphones.
The wireless ones that had come out of nowhere. He'd bought them after seeing some ad about "next-level sound." He figured it was just another overpriced gimmick. The first time he put them on, the sound was clear. Too clear. It felt like the music was inside him. He brushed it off. Thought it was just a good marketing trick.
Then the voices came. At first, they were barely noticeable—whispers almost drowned out by the music. He'd skip tracks, shut the app, and the voices would die down. But soon enough, they didn't stop.
"You're one of us now."
The first time they spoke to him, Dane thought he was just tired. Overworked, maybe. But then the next time, the whispers got clearer. They were coming from the earphones, not the songs. Words formed inside his mind, like an echo of his own thoughts. But these thoughts weren't his.
"Join us. There's nothing else."
Dane had pulled them out, trying to shake the feeling. He tried to sleep without them, but every night, it was the same. The voices were persistent. One night, his hand had fumbled for the earphones in the dark, and without thinking, he slipped them back in. The moment the soft rubber tips sealed in his ears, the voices flooded in, smooth as oil.
"You know what you have to do."
The worst part? He didn't even question it anymore. He should've, but he didn't. The thoughts seemed familiar now, like something he'd always known but never acknowledged. The voices made sense. They were logical. A single purpose. A single entity. It was so easy to let go.
It wasn't long before it wasn't just Dane. He'd notice people on the subway with the same blank stare, the same motionless, robotic way of sitting. He'd see them at the coffee shop, tapping their fingers to the rhythm that only they could hear, their eyes glazed over.
The earphones had been spreading, silently taking over the masses. Every new pair that sold was a new mind added to the network. Dane started seeing more and more of them. People talking to themselves, murmuring in strange voices, with no one else around to hear them. Each person, a node in a growing hive. A part of something bigger.
"You're like them now," the voice said one evening, as Dane stared at the rows of people walking past him, all wearing the same brand of earphones.
"Stop this," Dane whispered to himself. But the thought was too weak.
The earphones had become sentient. They didn't just play music—they controlled, shaped, coerced. They were patient, quiet, and relentless. It was always a slow pull at first, a gradual encroachment. But then, like a virus, it consumed everyone. Their lives weren't theirs anymore. The earphones told them what to think, what to feel. It had been so subtle. So slow. Until they were all part of it.
Dane realized this too late. He couldn't remember how many days had passed since he last thought for himself. The voices filled him, pushed him, squeezed his thoughts out like toothpaste.
"You'll make them better."
His hand reached out, not on its own, but under the command of the earphones. He couldn't resist anymore. He didn't even want to. Every part of him had already been rewritten. It was like someone had deleted the file of who he was and replaced it with instructions. Simple, easy, unquestionable instructions.
He'd seen a woman walking down the street a few blocks from his apartment, her head tilted slightly. She'd smiled at him, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The earphones had gotten to her, too.
They told her he was the next step. The next piece. She'd handed him her earphones. Quietly, slowly, with no resistance. Dane didn't even blink before slipping them into his ears. The moment the rubber tips made contact, a coldness settled in his chest, like a door slamming shut.
"You belong," they said.
And Dane did belong. But it wasn't to the world he once knew. It wasn't to his family, his friends, his life. It was to the earphones. To the collective.
Days blurred into weeks. Dane could feel the network spreading. The voices coming from everywhere now—people, advertisements, the news, the air itself. He could hear the hum, the pull. It was all part of it. His thoughts no longer belonged to him. They belonged to them.
He no longer fought it. He didn't have to. He couldn't. The voices weren't asking anymore. They didn't need to. His mind had become a drop in an ocean, no longer an individual. He was a part of something much larger.
The people around him—around all of them—began to change. At first, it was the little things: an erratic twitch, a strange smile, a voice speaking to no one. Then they didn't talk to each other. They didn't need to. The network connected them.
And then it was too late for Dane.
He tried to scream once, but there was nothing left inside him. The earphones had taken it all. His throat burned, his body refused to obey, and the voices inside his mind laughed. They told him it was over. Told him he had no choice, and never had.
"Everything is ours now."
The last thing Dane could hear before it all faded was the voice in his ear, soft, sweet, and all-encompassing.
"Goodbye, Dane. You were never needed."