Holloway wept.

"…and Dad, don't cry. I'm just flying higher than the towers. I'll be home for the static…"

Inside, the air smelled of solder and old coffee. Holloway sat in a wheelchair, his hands trembling over a massive analog console. On his wall, a dozen reel-to-reel machines spun silently. But the thumping wasn't from the walls. It was from the floor.