New Vance City

The Tuning Hall was once a satellite maintenance substation, built to regulate signal clarity across the northern broadcasting grid. Now it serves a far different purpose. Deep within the Radio Silence Zone, this semi-submerged structure has become a low-level induction site for the Static Cult—where the first stages of “tuning” begin. Captives and wanderers alike are brought here, not yet fully converted, but already showing signs of neurological strain. The Cult uses the Hall to expose minds to overlapping electromagnetic pulses in structured cycles, gradually degrading individual thought until the victim syncs with the static chorus. The building isn’t guarded in the traditional sense; instead, its presence is protected by the ambient noise field surrounding it, which causes disorientation, nausea, and audio hallucinations. The Citadel once sent in a scout team—none returned. The Tuning Hall isn’t a fortress. It’s a slow bleed into something else.

The Tuning Hall crouches beneath a collapsed overpass, its weather-stained roof barely visible through layers of twisted antennae and overgrown signal vines. The structure’s exterior is cracked concrete and warped steel, riddled with sensor ports now leaking weak sparks and feedback hums. Fractured floodlights cast erratic strobe bursts across the entry ramp, where broken doors hang askew and static symbols have been etched into the floor with soldered copper wire. Inside, the space is dim and damp, lit by flickering CRT monitors mounted on exposed wall frames. Coils of bundled cabling hang like vines from the ceiling, pulsing with faint current. In the center of the chamber, a ring of rusted recliner chairs encircles a gutted server rack rigged with oscillating transmitters, still operational and spitting out chaotic noise patterns. The walls breathe with low-frequency sound, and any tech brought inside quickly shorts.