At the console, Ben slammed the "Emergency Broadcast" switch and patched in his phone. He didn’t play a siren. He played the one sound guaranteed to trigger a shot of pure adrenaline in the modern human soul.
As they reached the town square, they hit a "Huddle"—a mass of fifty people leaning against each other in a giant, snoring pile. The sound was like a low-frequency hum, a siren song of sleep. [S2E3] The Yawn of the Dead Adventure
They sprinted the final block to the tower, their lungs burning, fighting the heavy-limbed sensation of a 3:00 PM crash. They scrambled up the ladder, Sam fending off a particularly sleepy golden retriever that tried to nuzzle his ankles. At the console, Ben slammed the "Emergency Broadcast"
Outside the glass windows, a figure shuffled past. It was Mr. Henderson, the retired mailman. He wasn't snarling. He was wearing a bathrobe and dragging a tempur-pedic pillow behind him like a security blanket. He stopped, let out a yawn so wide it looked painful, and leaned against a lamp post, instantly snoring. As they reached the town square, they hit