A crowded windowless room with a wall fan strung on the ceiling, pointed downwards from yellow yarn and rubber bands. It swayed in the air like a 1950s cartoon character as it pushed the air around a sweating young man in a suit that was too expensive to not have been stolen. He sat in a chair surrounded by machines, which all ended in a touch-tone phone, like the kind your great-grandmother might have used at the turn of the century. He was grinning insanely as the sweat ran down his entire body, matting his black hair. He pushed a few buttons on the screen of one of the consoles and lifted the receiver. He could hear it dial.
"Very Important Pizza, pizza for the VIP. Is this for your boss's boss or a client meeting?" A vaguely feminine voice professionally/flatly inquired.
He leaned forward, excitedly. "#gt56; Yetgtepx8?" he asked.
The voice from the receiver paused mid-breath. "We don't, with, so this is a stockholder meeting? Then?"
Only his eyes and free arm moved as he adjusted the settings on several of the machines, moving fast enough that it could have been all of them. He flipped the last switch very slowly. "Have you ever heard of unemo?" He asked conversationally.
"No" She stretched out the word such that it had no punctuation. An electric hum slowly increased in pitch from the bottom of the lungs of the universe, creeping up the Richter scale like a planet-sized slug oozing up the leg of a creation goddess.
"It stands for 'unemotional punk'. It was big back in the late 1800s." He looked at a blurry photograph taped to the side of a monitor that showed a series of slow-moving oscillating green lines, all of which were starting to overlap. "It consisted of musicians playing compositions based on pure mathematical patterns found in nature. Most of the audiences fled in pain in less than the first minute of the performance--"
The low hum turned into a wave of sound over the receiver, the pitch of the guttural throat-noise of the speaker on the other end rising to match it in a screeching sort of way.
"--Except for some!" he said said beatifically as he looked upwards. "And the people that remained in those recital chambers and opera halls became known as the people with which humanity made first contact!" he said, meaninglessly, just providing a type narrative structure that would disable the creature in it's weakened state.
The sound was now alive like fire; it contained within itself both upwards sloping scales into infinity and plunging depths. Over it, a wet series of rips and the sound of a large creature collapsing, gasping. A bit of wavering alien speech slipped through.
He quickly hung up, cackling, and hit a large trip-switch on the wall. The room went whimperingly dark, all the devices entering a hard-off mode. The fan's hum remained. He cocked his head up and counted silently to twenty. He knew that he had succeeded again: his target had entered into a receptive mate-seeking state two months too early in the cycle. That would cause all kinds of confusion, not to mention rendering her completely unable to have a brood when the time did come. It wouldn't save the world, no, he thought as he flipped the switch again, the electric womb humming back to life. It would not save the world alone, but he could by it some time. He set the devices again and reached for the still-warm receiver.