[ IP ] Oppressed

It had been a week since the construct had landed. That's what they were calling it now, `` The Construct''. The science fiction parallels were amusing, but it really was the best name for the object. Now, London has seen it's fair share of strange things, Galvanism, the electric light and such, but we really could n't tell what this particular object could be. To me, the oddest thing about it was how people had reacted to it over the course of the week. 
 
 When it first pierced the dull grey cloud layer on a rainy Sunday afternoon, people panicked, calling it a `` sign of the end-times'' and other similarly hysterical names. Over the next few days, people got curious, then bold, trying to penetrate the peculiar metallic substance of its shell to no avail. It shattered even the sturdiest of our tools. 
 
 After realizing that it was n't going to do anything, and we were n't going to get any more answers out of it, people just left it there. This mystical creation had become just another part of London's skyline over the course of a week. 
 
 Today is Monday morning, and it is raining again. I was on my way to work, just as always when something happened that no one expected. The construct started to *sing*. For a good few minutes, I watched, dumbfounded in the rain as wondrous overlapping melodies radiated outward from the spire of the object. It was music unlike anything I had ever heard before, light, flowing harmonies and deep growling basses swirling in a concoction of heady tones that delighted me as much as haunted me. Then it stopped, sheer and discordant, like a tablecloth being ripped away. After a moment, I continued on to work. Perhaps it will do something else, but I've stopped caring. I've got better things to do than concern myself with some stupid singing totem.
