Drive Time Radio

A brief clip of a chain weapon revving was played before the host bellowed:

"YOU HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO"

He was interrupted by a three second clip of the sounds tank treads make when rolling over a muddy field

"'GAUR'S POWER HOUR"

A simulated facsimile of a bloodthirster roar was let out, somehow less obnoxious than the host himself.

"REAL KHORNITE BALLADS"

Artillery blast sounds came in, effectively a jump-scare.

"THIS AIN'T YOUR PATER'S STATION!"

The howls of the damned were heard for precisely 4 seconds, during which Šu-Suen idly wondered if he could have the host brought up on blasphemy charges for that little dig at the Paters. Such wishful thinking was cut off when the next line came in

"WE PLAY NOTHING BUT WAR CHANTS AND MILITARY DIRGES AS THE BRASS LORD INTENDED"

This was followed by the crackle of lasgun fire.

"NOW LET'S FINISH THIS GAUR POWER HOUR WITH ONE MORE BANGER"

And then, mercifully, he was done, as Hazardous Fissile Material by Fictitious Wyverns played the show out.

Logistician Šu-Suen offered a brief prayer of thanks to his guardian-daemon that this nonsense was finally over. High up in Shara's Office for Ceremonial Calculations as he was, he actually had his own private transportation vehicle on which to listen to OPPI's uplifting messages during his journeys to and from the Bureau. He tried to time his commute so he wouldn't have to listen to the insipid rot, but alas every now and again he would catch snippets and wonder just what in the hell his colleagues at the other Office were thinking licensing this stuff.

Šu-Suen's spirits were soon lifted, however, by the dulcet tones of his favourite DJ. It was the esteemed academician, Frāga Ḫur-ḫur, launching his show This Sanguinary Life:

"Hello Pactsmen,"

A tasteful snippet from the opening concerto Sally of the Nēšu Kārum played.

"Today we're going to be talking about the time my team and I spent six months following a man in Frontier Village 15C who decided to replace every appliance in his house with one powered entirely by the anguished screams of a single wardum child. Along the way, we learned about his strained relationship with his father, the unlicensed trade in chainaxe teeth, and what it’s like to pedal-blend a stimm-nutrient-gruel during a snowstorm. So, without further ado, let's jump right in."

The snippet from Sally of the Nēšu Kārum's concerto softly faded out again.

Finally, Šu-Suen thought to himself, some actual culture!