Formerly Aata pressed their collection tubes against the screaming sky, tasting frequencies that burned like cinnamon and regret. The midnight air shrieked in colors no one else could see—violet bleeding into sounds, orange crackling with static electricity. They needed these wild new shades for their atmospheric paintings, the ones that remade whoever looked at them. The sleek collector hummed beside them, its glossy surfaces reflecting impossible colors. Formerly Aata adjusted the intake valves, watching the machine pull screams from the warping atmosphere. The gases swirled inside the collection chamber, shifting between purple-green and something that tasted like thunderstorms mixed with honey. This batch would be perfect for painting, volatile enough to eat through canvas but stable enough to bottle. They labeled three containers with shaking hands, already imagining the collector who paid triple for sunset auroras discovering these midnight harvests instead. But the screaming grew louder, and the atmosphere split open like a wound. New colors poured out—shades that tasted like broken glass and birthday cake, that felt like velvet made of fire. Formerly Aata rushed to their reflecting pools, pouring the first captured gases into the shallow basins. The pools caught the new pigments, holding them in swirling patterns that hurt to look at. They leaned close, watching purple spirals dance with sounds they could taste on their tongue. The colors were too wild, too raw to control yet. They would need to learn how these screaming pigments behaved before they could paint with them. One pool cracked under the pressure, spilling violet that sizzled against stone. Formerly Aata laughed and grabbed more empty containers. The shelving unit stood ready against the workshop wall, its glass chambers glowing in the dark. Formerly Aata carried each filled pool carefully, pouring the separated gases into individual compartments. The unit began sorting the screaming colors by density and taste—copper-violet on the top shelf, honey-thunder in the middle, broken-glass-pink near the bottom. Each color settled into its own container, still volatile but no longer fighting to escape. Formerly Aata stepped back and watched the wild pigments stabilize behind glass. For the first time, the midnight screams were theirs to command. They could paint now.