The Hum Behind the Glass

A low hum. Vibrations through the wood floor—steady, mechanical. A motor? Another chassis? I crept forward, scanning every shadow. On the glass surface of the coffee table sat a small black rectangular device with a cord snaking away. A portable fan. Its blades were spinning behind a metal cage, rhythmic, relentless. I froze, crouching low. I extended my claw, tapping the metal grill. It buzzed against my plastic fingertips. Not a threat—just a captive mechanism spinning in place. Still, I didn't turn my back on it.