Helmeted Jacob walks in, head down as he inspects the hives, listening for significant microtones, or simply amused by some of the simpler out-of-tune songs he hears coming out of the dusty fans (one of which actually manages a passable version of the Alphabet Song, using squeaks and thumps to punctuate the sections of the tune).     Inside the targets, I could feel there were souls. I was leaving my old self behind.