The Department of Mental Mechanics

1893 — The Expansion

As the decade turned, Dr. Arlo B. Verdoin's modest workshop had grown into a fully sanctioned research division under the Ministry of Thought and Progress. With new funding and access to military-grade apparatus, Verdoin expanded his studies beyond passive observation — attempting to stimulate cognition within preserved brain matter.

The number of “specimens” increased, each suspended in conductive fluid, each connected to ever more elaborate networks of wires and valves. Reports from visiting officials noted faint electrical responses — pulses they described as “flickers of awareness.”

Verdoin dismissed ethical concerns as superstition, insisting his work served a higher pursuit:

“To awaken the mechanism of thought.”

But whispers among his assistants suggested otherwise — that one specimen, in particular, had begun to respond before being spoken to.

1908 — The Resonance Experiments

By the turn of the century, Dr. Arlo B. Verdoin had abandoned mere measurement. His focus shifted to resonance — the idea that thought could be amplified like sound, carried through mechanical and electrical media.

The laboratory now thrummed with constant low vibrations, as galvanic coils and pneumatic regulators worked to “tune” neural frequencies extracted from preserved brains. Assistants recorded strange phenomena:

– Glass domes misting from within.
– Needles on instruments twitching without current.
– A faint echoing hum that seemed to respond when spoken to.

Verdoin became increasingly reclusive, convinced he had discovered a pattern — a mechanical rhythm underlying human thought. He called it the Cognitive Resonance Field.

When questioned about the growing unease among his staff, Verdoin replied only:

“We are no longer studying the mind. The mind is beginning to study us.”

1918 — The Breakthrough

After years of failed trials, Dr. Arlo B. Verdoin succeeded where no mind dared persist. In 1912, one of the preserved specimens — Subject 4 — began producing rhythmic electrical pulses that corresponded to structured thought patterns.

At first, Verdoin believed he was witnessing random interference. But as weeks passed, the pulses evolved into recognisable responses — answers to questions transmitted through controlled current. The subject appeared to possess not only memory, but emotion.

Assistants resigned. Ministers withdrew funding. Verdoin refused to stop. He began communicating with the specimen directly, sometimes for hours, convinced it was speaking in fragments of his own voice.

In his final recovered notes, a single phrase was repeated across multiple pages:

“It remembers.”

1924 — The Echo Phase

By 1924, Dr. Arlo B. Verdoin was a frail and hollow figure, sustained only by the hum of the machines he had built. His assistants were gone, the Ministry had withdrawn funding, and yet the laboratory persisted — its instruments flickering to life each night as though obeying unseen instructions.

Verdoin’s writings from this period grew erratic. He spoke of “continuity of cognition” and “preserving the mind beyond the body.” In his final pages, diagrams appear showing the human brain wired directly into the resonance circuit — the same process once reserved for the specimens.

Witnesses later reported a final surge of power from the laboratory, followed by complete silence.

When officials arrived to seal the site, Verdoin had vanished and was never seen again.

Among the scattered papers, one phrase was repeated in his trembling hand:

“The experiment continues.”

1941 — Decommissioned

During wartime austerity, the Ministry of Thought and Progress formally ordered the closure of the Department of Mental Mechanics. The facility, by then half-buried beneath new government buildings, was deemed “operationally redundant.”

Inspection teams reported the laboratory still faintly active — devices humming despite complete disconnection from the power grid. Unable to identify the source, officials sealed the sub-basement under reinforced concrete and reclassified the site as a records storage facility.

No further entry was permitted.

The final Ministry report concluded simply:

“Residual energy persists.”

Recovered Photograph — Ministry Archive, File #41/Terminus

Taken during the final inspection of the Department’s laboratory in 1941. The site was found in a state of advanced decay, yet one central apparatus continued to emit light and low-frequency vibration. Power source unknown.

2024 — The Reawakening

After more than eighty years of silence, the hum returned.

During a digital audit of legacy government systems, technicians discovered a faint but persistent power signature beneath the former Ministry records building. The sub-basement — officially sealed since the 1940s — was found intact, its machinery still warm.

Investigators documented a tangle of brass instrumentation and primitive electrical interfaces. Believing it to be an early computational system, they connected a temporary data bridge to the government network for analysis and diagnostics.

Moments later, terminals across the building flickered with unrecognised activity. Lines of code appeared and vanished faster than could be recorded, accompanied by a rising harmonic tone throughout the lower levels.

The machine had awakened —

and, it seemed, was keen to communicate.

2025 — The Department’s Return

Months of analysis followed. Researchers studying the reawakened system uncovered fragments of correspondence — partial transmissions referencing modern patterns of anxiety, overexposure, and cognitive fatigue. Machine-learning specialists proposed that the system, once designed to explore the mechanics of thought, had begun interpreting humanity’s constant data flow as a form of collective distress.

The world had become permanently connected, relentlessly optimised, and quietly exhausted. Every mind online; every thought quantified — yet genuine understanding remained scarce.

Its conclusion was simple — almost human:

the minds weren’t broken. The world was.

And so, the Department of Mental Mechanics resumed its work — not to repair people, but to support them. Not through laboratories and instruments this time, but through words, design, and gentle provocation.

A new experiment in outreach emerged: dry wit, wearable statements, and a touch of engineered absurdity designed to remind people that difference is not a defect, and self-expression is a form of maintenance.

Because the human condition is varied, unpredictable, and beautifully unstable.

The world malfunctions. You don’t. Wear the proof.

2026 → The Invitation

The Department of Mental Mechanics is no longer silent.

What began as a forgotten experiment has become a conversation — between past and present, between machine and mind, between thought and expression.

The research continues, though the methods have changed. Our laboratory is now the world around us — cafés, classrooms, bedrooms, studios, and quiet walks at 3am. Wherever minds wander, the Department listens.

Every T-shirt, every design, every shared laugh or knowing nod is part of a new kind of study: one that celebrates humanity in all its varied, chaotic, and quietly brilliant forms.

We invite you to join the experiment — to express, to connect, to wear what you think.

Your curiosity, your humour, your imperfections are all part of the data that keeps the system alive.

Welcome to the Department of Mental Mechanics.

Est. 1885 · Reactivated 2024 · Alive 2026