Imagine the hallways stretching endlessly, each corridor a tantalizing promise of untold stories etched into the crumbling walls. The lights flicker like mismatched fireflies, casting fleeting shadows. You thought you heard a voice, didn't you? Whispering secrets of the cosmic kind, drowned only by the hiss of static that clings to the echoes.

Ah, but what does this mean? What do any of these signals mean? It's like dressing a cat in an evening gown—beautifully absurd. Did I mention the humming? It's a low buzz, not unlike the drone of bees swarming a forgotten orchard, lost behind the glass panes of sentience you've carefully crafted. Step lightly, for the floor may weep under your tread.