Secret Society – Episode 018: WhisTech
As WhisTech delivers its cutting-edge production truck to the Iron Ring Academy, tension brews between Ms. Sweetins, Alton Bell, and Commissioner Cratchit over who’s really in control.
Beneath the hum of technology, something unnatural stirs — a rhythm only a few can feel.
By the time the night falls, even the machines seem to be listening.
Scene – Iron Ring Academy, Saturday Afternoon
The chill of the northern wind sweeps across the training yard of the NPCW Iron Ring Academy, rattling the steel shutters and whispering through the frosted windows. Inside, the air is alive with energy — the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting mats, the echo of trainers barking orders, the sharp scent of disinfectant and sweat.
Ms. Sweetins, clipboard in hand, walks the narrow corridor toward the main training hall. Beside her is Veronica “Vee” Vandal, radiant and sharp as ever, her heels clicking on the concrete like a countdown to showtime.
Ms. Sweetins: (smiling faintly) “You’ve done an excellent job, Vee. The academy’s looking sharp — not exactly the Glacier Plex, but I think we’ll make magic out of it.”
Vee Vandal: (flashing a grin) “Thanks, boss. The trainees have been buzzing all week. Hosting a show here? It’s like Christmas came early — and I don’t mean that jolly fat guy upstairs.”
Ms. Sweetins: (chuckling softly) “Well, the spotlight will be good for the academy. A little chaos always forges stronger steel.”
Vee: “Exactly. Maybe the attention will finally scare off the creep who keeps trying to buy the place.”
Ms. Sweetins: (raising a brow) “Excuse me? Someone’s trying to buy the academy?”
Vee: (nodding, lips curling with distaste) “Yeah. No name, no face — just an anonymous buyer sending offers through a proxy firm. Keeps upping the number every week. Gives me bad vibes, like they don’t want to own the academy… they want to control it.”
Ms. Sweetins: “Do you know who’s funding this?”
Vee: “Not yet. But lucky for us, our current benefactor’s got deep pockets and a good conscience. Whoever this mystery bidder is, they’ll have to pry the Iron Ring from our cold, dead hands.”
Ms. Sweetins: (sighing, writing a note) “Keep me posted, Vee. I want every detail you can dig up — quietly. If someone’s moving against us, I want to know who.”
A low rumble shakes the parking lot outside — the distinct hiss of air brakes. The two women glance out through the glass doors as a jet-black semi-truck rolls into view. Its polished panels reflect the weak northern sunlight, emblazoned with bold metallic letters:
NPCW / WHISTECH PRODUCTIONS
“The Future is Heard.”
The cab door opens with a mechanical hiss, and Alton Bell steps out, hands tucked into the pockets of his heavy coat. His expression is neutral — maybe too neutral — as he strides toward the academy entrance.
Ms. Sweetins: (forcing a professional smile) “Ah, the production truck’s here! It looks fantastic, Alton.”
Alton Bell: (smirking faintly) “State-of-the-art. Streamlined signal compression, integrated drone feeds, whisper-sync audio calibration… WhisTech doesn’t do half measures.”
Vee: (crossing her arms, skeptical) “Whisper-sync? What’s that — some kind of new gimmick?”
Alton: (shrugs casually) “Cutting-edge tech. Makes sure everything stays perfectly in sync — visuals, commentary, crowd noise. The audience doesn’t even realize how much cleaner it makes the broadcast sound.”
Ms. Sweetins: (measured tone) “I’ll admit, the specs look impressive. But I’d prefer if my production team didn’t have to learn a brand-new system mid-show.”
Alton: “Progress waits for no one, Ms. Sweetins. You know how it is.”
Vee: (half-smiling, half-grimacing) “Progress, huh? Funny — that’s what people always say right before the robots take over.”
Alton: (chuckling, but eyes cold) “Don’t worry, Vee. We’re still running on human instinct… for now.”
A tense silence lingers for a beat. Somewhere in the background, a trainee slams into a turnbuckle, and the sound echoes through the halls like a distant warning.
At that moment, Commissioner Bob Cratchit approaches, hands folded behind his back, the ever-calm mediator amid tension. He offers a polite nod to both Ms. Sweetins and Alton Bell.
Ms. Sweetins: (breaking the silence) “Let’s get the truck docked and the feed tested. I want no surprises tomorrow.”
Alton: (gesturing to the WhisTech crew emerging from the trailer — all wearing sleek black jackets with silver earpieces, moving in eerie synchronization) “Of course. My team’s already synced to the plan. You won’t even notice we’re here.”
Ms. Sweetins: (firmly) “Sorry, Alton, but I don’t need the crew — I already have a team. We just need the equipment.”
Alton: (raising an eyebrow) “Well, it’s very state-of-the-art. It’s best to have people familiar with it operating the systems, don’t you think?”
Ms. Sweetins: (with a knowing smile) “My team are top-notch professionals. I think they can manage, Alton.”
Alton: (uneasy) “I don’t know, Ms. Sweetins…”
Commissioner Cratchit: (stepping in with his calm but authoritative tone) “Actually, Alton, the deal was to loan the equipment, not the crew. WhisTech’s full contract doesn’t take effect until we move into Glacier Plex.”
Ms. Sweetins: (smirking, correcting him playfully) “Scrooge’s Glacier Plex.”
Cratchit chuckles quietly, while Alton pauses, visibly displeased but cornered.
Alton: (after a moment, frowning) “Fine. But the equipment is very expensive, so at least one WhisTech representative should remain on-site. To monitor and ensure proper handling.”
He turns and motions to his lead tech — a pale, sharp-featured man with slicked-back hair and an emotionless stare.
Alton: “Mr. Black will stay as an observer.”
Ms. Sweetins: (nodding curtly) “Very well.”
She gestures toward two figures approaching from the hallway — Glimmer Byte, the sharp-eyed punk elf with peppermint stick in her mouth, and Professor Wink, the eccentric gnome whose goggles are already fogged with curiosity.
Ms. Sweetins: “There’s the new WhisTech production truck we’ll be using. Have your team set up. Any questions — ask Mr. Black.”
Mr. Black: (in a flat monotone) “Understood.”
Glimmer and Wink exchange a look — half intrigue, half unease — before calling their tech crew over and stepping into the glowing interior of the WhisTech truck. The hum of machinery grows faintly louder as they disappear inside.
Meanwhile, Alton Bell lingers by the door. He leans in close to Mr. Black, murmuring a few quiet words the others can’t hear. Mr. Black simply nods once, eyes distant and cold, before turning back to his monitors.
Across the lot, Ms. Sweetins and Cratchit speak in low tones.
Ms. Sweetins: “Thank you for the backup, Bob. I wasn’t about to let him bulldoze my crew.”
Cratchit: (smiling kindly) “My pleasure, Kristine. You’ve got this — good luck to you and the team.”
He pats her shoulder before heading toward his car, leaving her with Vee Vandal, who’s been quietly watching the WhisTech crew unload more gear in eerie precision.
Vee: (leaning closer, voice hushed and uneasy) “Something about them gives me the creeps, Kris. They move like they’re following a rhythm no one else can hear.”
Ms. Sweetins: (watching, troubled) “You’re not the only one who feels that way.”
Her gaze drifts to the WhisTech truck, its black steel panels gleaming under the academy floodlights. The stylized “W” logo — twin soundwaves intertwining — seems to shimmer faintly.
And from somewhere deep within the truck, there’s a low, almost imperceptible vibration…
A whisper that’s not quite a sound.
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