I hear them, and I sense what it is. It's the call of Tucson, the sirens of the desert, they are calling to me. For the moment, I'm safe. But I know what they want, and I can't go through with it.
To explain to the best of my abilities to non-Tucsonites, the call stirs a particular feeling or urge in the prey's mind or heart. The "Siren's Harmony," it's called. It aids the song of Tucson in luring its children out into the wastes, to consume them, body (if they're lucky) and soul.
Every time a Harmony begins, it is a soft refrain. The target hears the beginnings of discontent. The music swells slightly, and the damned hear the gist of their "quest." The song eventually builds to a cacophony of jangling, tumultuous nerves and instincts screaming to follow the call, whatever it may be, wherever it may lead, and damned be to anyone standing in the way. Denying the call for too long ends in madness or a kind of death in one's head.
Tucson the God-City, as has been intimated before, wants only to bring harm and hell to everyone it touches, even briefly. Pleasure soiled, love tainted, hearts, lives, souls all lying broken in the street; these are what Tucson wants, and Tucson will have them. And the more you kick and scream, the harder the end will be for you.
So yes, I hear a gentle swell in the music, ever present to The Fearful, and I hear what my god wants.
My god wants to see me run.
He wants to play a game.