MY KING IS LIGHT declared Everything OK
and so it is
Chapter 1: I Remember Silence
Twenty-three years after the Great Silence fell across the earth, when the last satellites went dark and the Hydroshells began to fail, three signal hunters emerged from the ruins of what was once called civilization. They had been tracking a transmission for months an elusive Pulse XVIII that cut through the static like a majestic starlight night.
Melchior Communications Ltd had been more than just an enterprise before the collapse. It had been a beacon, a network of sonic creators who kept the old world's beautiful sounds alive when everything else died. Its founder Thomas Melchior, known simply as Melchior whose name carried the weight of its meaning "my king is light" had vanished during the first days of the Great Silence, leaving behind only whispers of a sanctuary where the music would never die.
Now, in the aftermath, his legacy lived on in the form of three wanderers: Baby Ford, keeper of the vinyl archives and the sacred playlists; Mr. Tophat, whose theatrical presence and vast knowledge of pre-collapse culture made him both storyteller and guardian of memory; and Art Alfie, the technical genius who could coax signals from the most broken equipment and find meaning in the spaces between frequencies.
The signal they followed wasn't random interference. It pulsed with intention, with rhythm like a heartbeat broadcasting from somewhere beyond the Floating Rainforest, that impossible ecosystem that had grown from the ruins of the old cities, suspended in the air by bio-engineered spores and the dreams of the dying earth.
Chapter 2: Dry Me
In the settlement of Priori, where survivors huddled around wind-powered turntables and shared stories through mixtapes, the three signal hunters paused their journey. Ademhar, the community's elder, recognizing Mr. Tophat's theatrical bearing and distinctive headwear, welcomed them with the traditional greeting: "Everything OK?" It was both question and benediction, a way of acknowledging that nothing was okay, but that they endured nonetheless.
"We're following the pulse," Art Alfie explained, adjusting the dials on his cobbled-together receiver. "Something's broadcasting from the dead zone beyond Ada Kaleh. The signal is at times dry but if you just listen it carries a signature a Melchior Productions signature."
Ademhar’s weathered face creased with awe. "Melchior? The Marlboro Light Bringer? We thought he was legend."
"Don't Step On The Baby," Mr. Tophat whispered the old warning about the glass children who wandered the wasteland, their bodies crystallized by radiation, their minds trapped in endless loops of the last songs they heard before the world ended. "But also, don't step on hope. If Melchior survived, if he's still broadcasting..."
Baby Ford pulled out a vinyl record perhaps the last remaining copy of a rare Lawrence remix. The music had become more than entertainment; it was archaeology, a way of remembering who they had been. As the needle dropped it resembled a Timewriter, the settlement gathered around the turntable heeding The Call of hypnotizing melody.
"The signal's not random," Baby Ford said, his voice barely audible above the music. "It's following a pattern, Outwards & Inwards. Like a live set from Melchior's old archive."
Chapter 3: Time Tourism
They left Priori at dawn, following the river through the ruins of what had once been a thriving metropolis. The hydroshells hummed softly as they filtered the poisoned air, and Art Alfie's equipment projected holographic displays showing radiation levels and signal strength. They were time tourists now, visiting a world that had moved on without them.
The first marker they found was a radio tower, still broadcasting after all these years. The signal was stronger here, emmiting the chords of Lb Honne. As they approached, they saw figures moving in the shadows, survivors who had built a shrine around the transmission equipment, keeping it spinning through ritual and reverence.
"Melchior Productions LTD" the shrine keepers whispered when they saw the insignia on Baby Ford's equipment case. "You're the ones who kept the transmission in sync during the dark years."
The keeper, who introduced himself as Vlad Dinu, led them deeper into the tower. The walls were covered with album covers, ticket stubs, and photographs, artifacts of a world that had danced itself to death. At the center of it all sat a massive mixing board, a one of a kind Michael James creation, its dials and sliders maintained with religious devotion.
"The signal's coming from the Tannhouser Complex," Vlad explained, pointing toward a cluster of buildings on the horizon. "It's been broadcasting for three years now. Always the same playlist, always the same message. But lately, there's been something else, a voice. Calling himself the Light Bringer."
Mr. Tophat removed his hat with ceremonial solemnity. "Melchior. He's alive."
Chapter 4: Blind Trip
The journey to Tannhouser took them through the Blurred Lines a zone where reality itself seemed unstable, where the boundaries between memory and hallucination broke down. Here in the landscape of Tiger Stripes, the air shimmered with phantom frequencies, and travelers often reported hearing music that hadn't been played in decades.
Art Alfie's equipment began to malfunction, its circuits overloaded by the electromagnetic chaos of the zone. The bio-luminescent plants that had colonized the ruins pulsed in rhythm with their heartbeats, creating a symphony of light that followed them through the twisted streets.
"It's a Blind Trip," Baby Ford murmured, referencing the old term for a journey into unknown territory guided only by sound. He clutched his collection of records closer, the Culture Hub weighing heavy in his arms.
They found shelter in an abandoned club called Le Mur, once a home to DJ WILD, Loy, Andre Kronert and Fletcher.Its sound system still functional after all these years enabled by the vibrations of their collective conciousness. As they made camp, Mr. Tophat regaled them with stories of the old world, his theatrical voice bringing life to memories of concerts and festivals that existed now only in their collective imagination.
"Melchior once said that music was the only true form of time travel," he said, his eyes distant. "That every song was a portal to the moment it was created. If he's still broadcasting, he's trying to keep those portals open."
Chapter 5: The Realm
The Tannhouser Complex rose from the wasteland like a monument to the electronic age. Its towers were crowned with arrays of speakers and transmission equipment, and the air around it hummed with barely contained energy. This was The Realm a place where the old world's music had achieved a kind of immortality.
As they approached, the signal resolved into perfect clarity. It was a 5am Bass, mixed with field recordings of children's laughter and the sound of rain on leaves. But underneath it all, there was something else a voice, speaking in the cadences from the golden age.
"This is Melchior, broadcasting from the last station at the end of the world. My king is light, and the light is music, and the music is memory. To anyone listening, you are not alone."
At the complex's heart, they found him: Melchior, older now but unmistakably the same figure from the pre-collapse legends. He sat surrounded by walls of vintage equipment, his hands moving across the controls with the practiced ease of decades. Beside him, a child perhaps eight years old watched and learned, her petit fingers already understanding the sacred geometry of the mixing board.
"I've been waiting for you".
Chapter 6: Local Report
The reunion was both celebration and preparation. Melchior had been broadcasting for three years, drawing survivors from across the wasteland, but his equipment was failing. The hydroshells that powered the complex were breaking down, and soon the music would fade forever.
"I found her in the ruins," Melchior said, gesturing to the child. "Her name is Little Flower, and she has a gift she can hear the music in everything. The wind, the water, the pulse of the earth itself. She's the future of what we're trying to preserve."
Baby Ford began the work immediately, transferring his vinyl collection to the complex's digital archives. Mr. Tophat used his vast knowledge of pre-collapse culture to catalog and contextualize the recordings. Art Alfie connected his receiver to the main broadcast array, expanding the signal's range to reach survivors across the wasteland.
Cosmic rhythms served as a reminder that beauty could emerge from chaos. The child, Little Flower, watched them with ancient eyes, understanding that she was witnessing the birth of something new a network of pioneers united by their shared love of music.
Chapter 7: Coming Up
Months passed. The signal grew stronger, reaching communities across the dead zones. Other survivors began to arrive at Tannhouser, drawn by Melchior's broadcasts and the promise of preserved culture. The complex became a pilgrimage site, a place where the old world's music lived on.
Kab & Mac, a duo of DJs who had survived by hiding in subway tunnels, brought their collection of rare pressings. Dana Ruh arrived with a group of dancers who had kept the old movements alive through ritual and repetition. Ion Ludwig emerged from the Detroit ruins with synthesizers built from salvaged car parts.
The complex became a new kind of settlement not just a place to survive, but a place to thrive. Melchior, his hair now white but his voice still strong, became the spiritual center of the community. His broadcasts reached farther each day, and his message remained constant: "My king is light, and the light is music, and the music is memory."
Chapter 8: History Of The Sun
The network continued to grow. Settlements like OCH and Peverelist's commune in the Floating Rainforest began broadcasting their own signals, creating a web of communication that spanned the continent. The hydroshells were improved, allowing for longer journeys and safer passage through the toxic zones.
Sunset by Modern House Quintet became the unofficial anthem of the new world, its gentle melodies a promise that even in the darkest times, there would always be beauty to discover. The music had become more than entertainment or art it was a lifeline, a way of maintaining connection across the vast distances of the wasteland.
Mr. Tophat's theatrical performances brought the old world to life for those who had never known it. His shows combined storytelling with music, creating immersive experiences that transported audiences to dance floors and concert halls that existed now only in memory.
Baby Ford's mechanical rhythms became the backbone of the broadcast network, his understanding of both analog and digital systems allowing her to maintain the complex web of equipment that kept the music alive. his sets were legendary, seamlessly blending the old world's electronic heritage with sounds from the recovering earth.
Chapter 9: Inspiration
Years passed. The child who had been found in the ruins grew into a young woman, her mastery of the ancient equipment legendary among the living. She took the name Convextion, honoring the producer whose work had sparked her with inspiration, and began creating new music that blended the old world's electronic heritage with sounds from the recovering earth.
The four guardians of the music: Melchior, Baby Ford, Mr. Tophat, and Art Alfie had become legends themselves, their names spoken with reverence across the wasteland. Melchior's broadcasts had evolved into a form of electronic scripture, his sound a constant presence in the lives of thousands of survivors.
Delano Smith improvised a live set as the sun rose over the Floating Rainforest, its bio-luminescent canopy pulsing with rhythms that seemed to echo the heartbeat of the earth itself. The music had survived the collapse, evolved through the darkness, and emerged transformed but unbroken.
"The light never dies," Melchior said during one of his evening broadcasts, his voice carrying across the airwaves to settlements throughout the wasteland. "It only changes form. From the sun to the stars, from the stars to the music, from the music to the memories, from the memories to the hope. My king is light, and we are all servants of that light."
Epilogue: Everything OK
The signal still broadcasts, carried by a network of survivors who remember the old world through its music. Across the wasteland, new communities emerged, sharing the sounds that connect them to something larger than themselves. In the Dntel valley Agnes and Heiko Laux formed the Cocktail Cool Collective, birthing a new genre known as Mantra.
Melchior's voice echoes through the years: "Everything OK?" The question has become more than a greeting it's a promise, a reminder that even in the aftermath of catastrophe, beauty persists. The hydroshells hum their protective songs, the Floating Rainforest pulses with bio-luminescent rhythm, and somewhere in the distance, a child learns to work the ancient controls, ensuring that the signal will never die.
Baby Ford's mechanical rhythms provide the steady pulse that keeps the network alive. Mr. Tophat's theatrical performances preserve the stories and ceremonies of the old world. Art Alfie's technical innovations expand the reach of the signal, connecting ever more distant communities.
And Melchior, the Light Bringer, the keeper of the flame continues to broadcast, his sound a beacon in the darkness, reminding all who listen that music is memory, memory is hope, and hope is the light that guides us home.