The ink bleeds.

You watch it spread.

Black veins on white.

The paper is thin.

Too thin.

You press your finger down.

It smudges.

You are in the glass house.

The walls are foggy.

Outside, the sky is wrong.

It pulses.

A deep, bruised purple.

Steam rises from the ground.

Not water.

Something thicker.

Smells of iron.

And ozone.

You are here because they said you would be.

Director Halloway’s voice.

Cold.

Distant.

Through the static.

"Subject 7 is ready," he said.

You were not subject 7.

You were Dr. Elias Thorne.

A scholar.

A man of letters.

Now you are a number.

The protocol demands it.

You must write.

You must record the truth.

The truth is a beast.

It bites back.

You pick up the pen.

It feels heavy.

Lead.

Cold.

You begin.

Dear Margaret,

I do not know the date.

Time has lost its shape here.

It pools in corners.

It drips from the ceiling.

I am writing this by the light of the anomaly.

It is not a light.

It is a presence.

It watches.

It waits.

We came to the edge of the world.

Or so we thought.

The valley.

The fog.

The machines that hummed with a low, sick note.

Edward was with me.

Catherine.

Thomas.

We were the team.

The best.

Now I am alone.

The others are...

Gone.

Not dead.

Dead is simple.

They are changed.

The fog takes them.

It peels away their years.

It takes their time.

And gives it to the place.

The place grows young.

The men grow old.

I remember Edward’s laugh.

It was bright.

Now I hear it.

In the steam.

A dry rattle.

Like leaves.

Like dust.

He stood before me.

His skin was parchment.

His eyes were milky.

"Elias," he whispered.

His voice was sand.

"Look at the sky."

I looked.

The purple light.

It was beautiful.

It was terrifying.

"It knows us," he said.

"Does it?"

"Yes."

"Then it knows I am old."

He smiled.

His teeth were black.

"Let it take me."

He stepped into the fog.

He did not scream.

He just vanished.

Like smoke.

Like a breath.

I did not follow.

I was afraid.

I am still afraid.

The pen shakes.

My hand is stiff.

Arthritis?

No.

The cold.

The deep, bone-eating cold.

That comes from the center of the world.

From the heart of the anomaly.

They called it the Pale Protocol.

A name for a lie.

We thought we could study it.

Map it.

Own it.

Knowledge is a blade.

It cuts the hand that holds it.

We learned this.

Too late.

Director Halloway is in the command center.

Above us.

In the real world.

Or what we call real.

He watches the monitors.

He sees the data.

He does not see the pain.

He does not see the loss.

He wants the truth.

He wants the map.

He wants to know how to enter.

How to leave.

How to survive.

He thinks this is a puzzle.

It is not.

It is a grave.

And we are the dead.

I try to remember Margaret’s face.

Her eyes.

Green.

Like moss.

Like rain.

I remember her hands.

Soft.

Warm.

She held my face.

She said, "Come back to me."

I could not promise.

I could not keep.

I am here.

In the glass.

In the fog.

I am fading.

My memory is slipping.

Words become stones.

Heavy.

Useless.

I drop them.

I let them sink.

The fog is closer now.

It touches my ankles.

It is wet.

It is cold.

It smells of copper.

Of blood.

Of time.

I see Thomas.

He is walking through the mist.

He is young.

He is whole.

He does not know he is dead.

He does not know he is lost.

He waves at me.

His hand is blurred.

I do not wave back.

I cannot.

My body is heavy.

My mind is light.

The two are pulling apart.

Like a rope.

Snapping.

I look at the pen.

The ink is dry.

The page is blank.

I must write.

I must tell them.

The truth is not in the data.

The truth is in the loss.

The truth is in the silence.

The truth is in the way the fog takes you.

Gently.

Slowly.

And then not at all.

Halloway will read this.

He will be angry.

He will send more men.

More machines.

More lies.

He will not understand.

He will never understand.

Because he is safe.

He is warm.

He is dry.

He is outside.

I am inside.

I am part of the protocol now.

Not the rule.

The result.

The cost.

I close my eyes.

The purple light is behind them.

It is bright.

It is warm.

It is waiting.

I open my eyes.

The fog is at my knees.

It is rising.

I do not fight it.

I let it come.

I let it take me.

I let it take my years.

My name.

My memory.

I let it take Margaret.

I let it take Edward.

I let it take Thomas.

I let it take everything.

Except the pen.

Except the page.

Except the truth.

The truth is that we are gone.

The truth is that you are next.

The truth is that the world is ending.

And it is beautiful.

I write the last word.

My hand is still.

The ink is black.

The fog is here.

It wraps around my neck.

It cools my skin.

It whispers.

It sings.

It is a lullaby.

It is a dirge.

I stop fighting.

I stop breathing.

I stop being.

The pen falls.

The page is wet.

The words are clear.

Dear Margaret,

I am coming home.

The fog swallows the light.

The glass house cracks.

A single hairline fracture.

Running from top to bottom.

Like a tear.

Like a vein.

The sound is sharp.

A crack.

A snap.

Then silence.

Total.

Absolute.

The purple light fades.

The steam rises.

The fog lifts.

The glass is gone.

The paper is gone.

The pen is gone.

You are gone.

The room is empty.

The desk is bare.

The air is still.

The clock ticks.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Director Halloway enters.

He is tall.

He is gray.

He wears a suit.

It is clean.

It is pressed.

He looks at the desk.

He looks at the clock.

He looks at the wall.

There is a stain.

A dark spot.

On the white plaster.

It looks like a handprint.

It looks like a shadow.

It looks like a tear.

Halloway touches it.

His finger is cold.

He pulls his hand back.

He wipes it on his sleeve.

He looks at the empty chair.

He looks at the window.

Outside, the sun is out.

It is bright.

It is yellow.

It is warm.

He blinks.

He blinks again.

He feels a chill.

A sudden, sharp chill.

In the bone.

In the mind.

He shakes it off.

He picks up the phone.

He dials.

The line is dead.

Static.

Just static.

He hangs up.

He looks at the stain again.

It is fading.

Drying.

Disappearing.

He frowns.

He touches his face.

His skin is dry.

His lips are cracked.

He feels old.

Sudden.

Sharp.

He looks in the mirror.

The glass is foggy.

He wipes it clean.

His face is pale.

His eyes are dark.

There are lines.

Deep.

New.

Around his mouth.

Around his eyes.

He touches his cheek.

He feels the skin.

It is thin.

It is papery.

It is wrong.

He looks at his hands.

The knuckles are swollen.

The veins are blue.

He shakes them.

The feeling does not go away.

He looks at the clock.

The hands are still.

Stopped.

At midnight.

He looks at the door.

It is closed.

He opens it.

The hallway is long.

It is dark.

It is empty.

He walks.

His feet are heavy.

His steps are slow.

He hears a sound.

A whisper.

In the air.

In the walls.

In the floor.

It is his voice.

It is old.

It is tired.

It is saying his name.

Elias.

He stops.

He turns.

There is no one there.

Only the dust.

Only the light.

Only the silence.

He goes back to the desk.

He sits down.

He is tired.

So tired.

He looks at the empty page.

He picks up the pen.

It is cold.

It is heavy.

He uncaps it.

The ink is black.

He starts to write.

Dear Margaret,

I am here.

The words appear.

Clear.

Sharp.

He looks at them.

They are not his words.

They are not his hand.

But they are there.

He stops.

He drops the pen.

It rolls off the desk.

It hits the floor.

The sound is loud.

It echoes.

It lingers.

Halloway stands up.

He walks to the window.

He looks outside.

The sun is setting.

The sky is purple.

Just for a moment.

Just a flash.

Then it is blue.

Normal.

Safe.

He touches the glass.

It is cold.

He pulls his hand back.

He looks at his reflection.

The eyes are old.

The face is tired.

He does not recognize it.

He does not recognize himself.

He goes to the door.

He opens it.

The hallway is empty.

He walks.

He walks.

He walks.

The sound of his feet.

The sound of his breath.

The sound of his heart.

It is slow.

It is weak.

It is fading.

He does not stop.

He cannot stop.

The fog is coming.

Not outside.

Inside.

In the mind.

In the blood.

In the bone.

It is here.

It is now.

It is him.

The end is not a door.

It is a wall.

It is a glass.

It is a page.

It is a word.

It is a breath.

It is a pause.

It is a silence.

It is a light.

It is a dark.

It is a name.

It is a face.

It is a memory.

It is a loss.

It is a gain.

It is a truth.

It is a lie.

It is a story.

It is a life.

It is a death.

It is a beginning.

It is an end.

It is a now.

It is a then.

It is a here.

It is a there.

It is a you.

It is a me.

It is a us.

It is a them.

It is a world.

It is a void.

It is a light.

It is a shadow.

It is a voice.

It is a whisper.

It is a scream.

It is a song.

It is a silence.

It is a word.

It is a name.

It is a mark.

It is a stain.

It is a trace.

It is a ghost.

It is a spirit.

It is a soul.

It is a body.

It is a mind.

It is a heart.

It is a hand.

It is a pen.

It is a page.

It is an ink.

It is a blood.

It is a tear.

It is a sweat.

It is a breath.

It is a life.

It is a death.

It is a memory.

It is a forgetting.

It is a remembering.

It is a knowing.

It is a not knowing.

It is a seeing.

It is a not seeing.

It is a hearing.

It is a not hearing.

It is a feeling.

It is a not feeling.

It is a being.

It is a not being.

It is a here.

It is a there.

It is a now.

It is a then.

It is a always.

It is a never.

It is a once.

It is a twice.

It is a once more.

It is a no more.

It is a enough.

It is a little.

It is a lot.

It is a everything.

It is a nothing.

It is a all.

It is a none.

It is a one.

It is a many.

It is a self.

It is a other.

It is a same.

It is a different.

It is a new.

It is a old.

It is a young.

It is a age.

It is a time.

It is a space.

It is a matter.

It is a energy.

It is a force.

It is a power.

It is a light.

It is a dark.

It is a sound.

It is a silence.

It is a color.

It is a shape.

It is a form.

It is a formless.

It is a solid.

It is a liquid.

It is a gas.

It is a plasma.

It is a void.

It is a full.

It is a empty.

It is a full of.

It is a empty of.

It is a full of life.

It is a empty of death.

It is a full of love.

It is a empty of hate.

It is a full of hope.

It is a empty of despair.

It is a full of fear.

It is a empty of courage.

It is a full of truth.

It is a empty of lies.

It is a full of knowledge.

It is a empty of ignorance.

It is a full of wisdom.

It is a empty of folly.

It is a full of grace.

It is a empty of sin.

It is a full of mercy.

It is a empty of judgment.

It is a full of peace.

It is a empty of war.

It is a full of rest.

It is a empty of labor.

It is a full of sleep.

It is a empty of waking.

It is a full of dream.

It is a empty of reality.

It is a full of illusion.

It is a empty of truth.

It is a full of shadow.

It is a empty of light.

It is a full of dark.

It is a empty of bright.

It is a full of night.

It is a empty of day.

It is a full of moon.

It is a empty of sun.

It is a full of star.

It is a empty of sky.

It is a full of earth.

It is a empty of air.

It is a full of water.

It is a empty of fire.

It is a full of metal.

It is a empty of wood.

It is a full of stone.

It is a empty of dust.

It is a full of bone.

It is a empty of flesh.

It is a full of blood.

It is a empty of breath.

It is a full of heart.

It is a empty of soul.

It is a full of mind.

It is a empty of body.

It is a full of self.

It is a empty of other.

It is a full of all.

It is a empty of none.

It is a full of everything.

It is a empty of nothing.

It is a full of you.

It is a empty of me.

It is a full of us.

It is a empty of them.

It is a full of world.

It is a empty of void.

It is a full of light.

It is a empty of dark.

It is a full of sound.

It is a empty of silence.

It is a full of word.

It is a empty of name.

It is a full of mark.

It is a empty of stain.

It is a full of trace.

It is a empty of ghost.

It is a full of spirit.

It is a empty of soul.

It is a full of body.

It is a empty of mind.

It is a full of heart.

It is a empty of hand.

It is a full of pen.

It is a empty of page.

It is a full of ink.

It is a empty of blood.

It is a full of tear.

It is a empty of sweat.

It is a full of breath.

It is a empty of life.

It is a full of death.

It is a full of memory.

It is a empty of forgetting.

It is a full of remembering.

It is a empty of knowing.

It is a full of not knowing.

It is a full of seeing.

It is a empty of not seeing.

It is a full of hearing.

It is a empty of not hearing.

It is a full of feeling.

It is a empty of not feeling.

It is a full of being.

It is a empty of not being.

It is a full of here.

It is a empty of there.

It is a full of now.

It is a empty of then.

It is a full of always.

It is a empty of never.

It is a full of once.

It is a empty of twice.

It is a full of once more.

It is a empty of no more.

It is a full of enough.

It is a empty of little.

It is a full of lot.

It is a empty of everything.

It is a full of nothing.

It is a full of all.

It is a empty of none.

It is a full of one.

It is a empty of many.

It is a full of self.

It is a empty of other.

It is a full of same.

It is a empty of different.

It is a full of new.

It is a empty of old.

It is a full of young.

It is a empty of age.

It is a full of time.

It is a empty of space.

It is a full of matter.

It is a empty of energy.

It is a full of force.

It is a empty of power.

It is a full of light.

It is a empty of dark.

It is a full of sound.

It is a empty of silence.

It is a full of color.

It is a empty of shape.

It is a full of form.

It is a empty of formless.

It is a full of solid.

It is a empty of liquid.

It is a full of gas.

It is a empty of plasma.

It is a full of void.

It is a empty of full.

It is a full of empty.

It is a empty of full of.

It is a full of empty of.

It is a full of full of life.

It is a empty of empty of death.

It is a full of full of love.

It is a empty of empty of hate.

It is a full of full of hope.

It is a empty of empty of despair.

It is a full of full of fear.

It is a empty of empty of courage.

It is a full of full of truth.

It is a empty of empty of lies.

It is a full of full of knowledge.

It is a empty of empty of ignorance.

It is a full of full of wisdom.

It is a empty of empty of folly.

It is a full of full of grace.

It is a empty of empty of sin.

It is a full of full of mercy.

It is a empty of empty of judgment.

It is a full of full of peace.

It is a empty of empty of war.

It is a full of full of rest.

It is a empty of empty of labor.

It is a full of full of sleep.

It is a empty of empty of waking.

It is a full of full of dream.

It is a empty of empty of reality.

It is a full of full of illusion.

It is a empty of empty of truth.

It is a full of full of shadow.

It is a empty of empty of light.

It is a full of full of dark.

It is a empty of empty of bright.

It is a full of full of night.

It is a empty of empty of day.

It is a full of full of moon.

It is a empty of empty of sun.

It is a full of full of star.

It is a empty of empty of sky.

It is a full of full of earth.

It is a empty of empty of air.

It is a full of full of water.

It is a empty of empty of fire.

It is a full of full of metal.

It is a empty of empty of wood.

It is a full of full of stone.

It is a empty of empty of dust.

It is a full of full of bone.

It is a empty of empty of flesh.

It is a full of full of blood.

It is a empty of empty of breath.

It is a full of full of heart.

It is a empty of empty of soul.

It is a full of full of mind.

It is a empty of empty of body.

It is a full of full of self.

It is a empty of empty of other.

It is a full of full of all.

It is a empty of empty of none.

It is a full of full of everything.

It is a empty of empty of nothing.

It is a full of full of you.

It is a empty of empty of me.

It is a full of full of us.

It is a empty of empty of them.

It is a full of full of world.

It is a empty of empty of void.

It is a full of full of light.

It is a empty of empty of dark.

It is a full of full of sound.

It is a empty of empty of silence.

It is a full of full of word.

It is a empty of empty of name.

It is a full of full of mark.

It is a empty of empty of stain.

It is a full of full of trace.

It is a empty of empty of ghost.

It is a full of full of spirit.

It is a empty of empty of soul.

It is a full of full of body.

It is a empty of empty of mind.

It is a full of full of heart.

It is a empty of empty of hand.

It is a full of full of pen.

It is a empty of empty of page.

It is a full of full of ink.

It is a empty of empty of blood.

It is a full of full of tear.

It is a empty of empty of sweat.

It is a full of full of breath.

It is a empty of empty of life.

It is a full of full of death.

It is a full of full of memory.

It is a empty of empty of forgetting.

It is a full of full of remembering.

It is a empty of empty of knowing.

It is a full of full of not knowing.

It is a full of full of seeing.

It is a empty of empty of not seeing.

It is a full of full of hearing.

It is a empty of empty of not hearing.

It is a full of full of feeling.

It is a empty of empty of not feeling.

It is a full of full of being.

It is a empty of empty of not being.

It is a full of full of here.

It is a empty of empty of there.

It is a full of full of now.

It is a empty of empty of then.

It is a full of full of always.

It is a empty of empty of never.

It is a full of full of once.

It is a empty of empty of twice.

It is a full of full of once more.

It is a empty of empty of no more.

It is a full of full of enough.

It is a empty of empty of little.

It is a full of full of lot.

It is a empty of empty of everything.

It is a full of full of nothing.

It is a full of full of all.

It is a empty of empty of none.

It is a full of full of one.

It is a empty of empty of many.

It is a full of full of self.

It is a empty of empty of other.

It is a full of full of same.

It is a empty of empty of different.

It is a full of full of new.

It is a empty of empty of old.

It is a full of full of young.

It is a empty of empty of age.

It is a full of full of time.

It is a empty of empty of space.

It is a full of full of matter.

It is a empty of empty of energy.

It is a full of full of force.

It is a empty of empty of power.