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saltandsilverstories · 4 years ago

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The Doors of Stone

Something lays beneath the glossy, blue tarps beside the doors. Patches of anti-snow paint portions of the tarp black, while small rivulets slide to the ground where the build-up grows too heavy. I stick my hand into one of the streams, watching it pile along the side of my glove, spill over the edge of my fingers, and trickle into the gaps between the bones of the skeletal foot peeking out from under the tarp.

I shake my hand clean, and tug the edge of the tarp over the foot. The Stasis Suit crinkles as I stand up, pressing a small button on my right wrist.

Please state your command.

“Run external status report,” I tell the Suit.

Scanning within a 100 kilometre radius. Please standby.

There is a slight delay.

External status report is as follows:

Depth status: 2,000 meters below surface

Temperature: -32°C

Precipitation: 90% chance of light anti-snow

Wind activity: Low

Flora: Undetected

Fauna: Unknown

My brows crease. “Elaborate on fauna.”

Fauna of an unknown species and/or origin has been detected.

A sharp bolt of adrenaline shoots from the centre of my chest and out, spreading down until my toes curl within my boots. “Approximate distance to fauna.”

Fauna detected at a distance of approximately 15 kilometers northwest.

I glance at the compass in the upper right corner of my Visor Display, then at the doors.

“Contact surface.”

Contacting Syndicate Technology. Please standby. A representative will be with you shortly.

A quiet jazz tune punctuated by a bossy saxophone fills my helmet speakers. I turn in place, facing the doors.

They are carved from something like ivory or marble, a pale stone with thin, grey veins and specks that glitter in the beam of my helmet lamp. They are polished so smooth that they glisten as if wet. Intricate patterns of swirls and loops cover its length, along with runes composed of straight lines and dots. The anti-snow seems to avoid the doors altogether.

The music cuts out, replaced by the scuffed sounds of someone fumbling with a microphone. “Hi there, Cartographer 4? So sorry for the wait. My name is Wilbur, and I’ll be your Surface Technician for today. What can I do for you?”

“Uh, yeah, hi.” I put my hands on my hips, turning again so I face the tarp. “I ran the status report, and I’m getting a fauna reading.”

“Um…” His chair creaks. “Hm. Is it okay if I request to view your Visor footage?”

“Go for it.”

He goes quiet for a bit, typing. “Well, I can see the notification, and I think it’s probably a glitch with the recent software update. I’ve went ahead and set up automated fauna notifications, just to see if the Suit decides to give it to you again later. Erm, while I have you here, let me just grab your consent one last time before I give you the instructions for the doors, okay?”

“Someone else made me do that before I got in the elevator,” I explain.

“I know, but it’s Protocol.” He needs to work on his apologetic voice.

I press my lips together, exhaling through my nose. My breath briefly fogs my Visor. “Yeah, fine.”

“As per the terms of your contract, you are tasked with mapping at least five kilometres of the area beyond the doors using the software in your Stasis Suit. Should you complete your task, upon your return to Syndicate Technology, your sentence with Ashby City Penitentiary will be terminated immediately. Should you fail, you will resume your sentence until completion with no chance of parole. Your signature on these documents indicate you have heard these conditions prior to this moment and provided consent to this task. C4, do you wish to proceed?”

I lick my lips. “I do.”

"Okay, great. Now let’s get those doors open.”

-----

The city beyond the doors is composed of pillars as tall as skyscrapers, reaching up into the cavernous ceiling. Archways link them, some lined with railings. Those must have been bridges. Buildings, most of them two or three storeys high, sprawl out in all directions, connected by a footpath of clean, square stones.

Anti-snow grinds into the traction grooves of my boots. The scenery remains a constant spread of stonework along both sides of the street, portions of it smudged into the distance by anti-snow build up. There are no air currents for the specks to twirl in. The entire city exists in black and white, a photograph for me to walk through. There are no other sounds than the ones coming from my person. The city is a skeleton, and I walk down its spinal column.

I thought the path I had chosen was the central one with how wide it was, but even so, there were portions of it where the anti-snow had accumulated so much that it almost reached my knees. Each of my footsteps were heavy and slow, my legs aching from the effort it took to move.

My foot catches on something, and I lurch forward, a yell escaping past my lips before I can stop it.

“You okay there?” Wilbur asks.

I push myself to my knees. The oxygen tank on my back makes it difficult to find my balance. “Yeah, I’m good. Just tripped on something.” I feel around under the anti-snow, my gloves gliding along the stones. The object is round and bigger than both of my hands. I pull it free, stumbling a bit.

A helmet. Syndicate Technology’s logo had been mostly scratched off, and the Visor was missing. I turn it in my hands, dumping out the anti-snow it had scooped up during its unearthing.

I gulp, my stomach knotting itself together with the end of my throat.

“Why— What is this doing here?” I ask Wilbur.

He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Just leave it beside the bench over there, on your left, and keep going. You’ve got three kilometres left.”

I don’t say anything, turning the helmet around some more.

“C4.”

I stare at the C2 printed on the top of the helmet, the C almost completely gone.

Approximate distance to fauna: 13 kilometers northwest.

The anti-snow sounds like a paintbrush on canvas as it trickles down my own helmet.

“I want out.”

“Dude, come on--”

“No, fuck this.” I lower the helmet, holding it at my side by its brim. “I’m not staying in this stupid cave if I’m not gonna make it out of here.”

“You’re gonna be just fine, I promise,” he continues.

“What happened to C2, then? Why’s his helmet here?”

He makes an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

I lick my lips, smacking the helmet against my thigh. “I knew him. His name was Lewis.”

Wilbur doesn’t have any response.

“You know his wife still shows up on visitation day? Like she doesn’t know where he is? But none of us have seen him since December.”

Wilbur’s breath enters his mic before his words. “I’m sorry, but if you back out now, you don’t get another shot at this. You can’t sign up again, and you can’t pick up where you left off. This is a one time deal.” He pauses. “It’s up to you.”

I groan, turning around and looking back down the way I’d come in before turning again and looking up the path I’d yet to explore.

“What do I do with it?”

“Just leave it there. You’re not supposed to bring anything back,” he instructs.

“But it’s from the surface.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The patience is dwindling from Wilbur’s voice, his tone as flat as the colour palette of the city.

I stare down at Lewis’ helmet, at the gap his eyes would’ve seen though, the way mine were now. “Fine.” I dropkick the helmet down the street. It clatters against the side of a building before making a faint crunch as it lands in an anti-snowbank.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Wilbur says, quiet.

“Fuck you.”

I keep walking.

-----

Wilbur spits out instructions as if he actually believes I’d follow them. Stick to the main pathways, don’t squeeze between buildings, don’t knock over language tablets, stop sitting, don’t cover the VisorCam.

“You’re not supposed to go into the buildings,” he told me, his voice existing somewhere within his nostrils. “We don’t know how structurally sound they are.”

“Well,” I clear the anti-snow off the stairs leading up the nearest building with my boot, “let’s find out.”

“This is a dumb idea.”

“You’re a dumb idea.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

As I step into the doorway, the building shakes, the ground buzzing with a heavy vibration. A thick, low tone comes from everywhere. It is a sound so heavy it settles atop my shoulders, making my knees quake. I hold onto the door frame, gripping it with both hands, trying to stay standing. My teeth clench, and a few pixels in my Visor Display short out, flashing neon green or blacking out entirely. The anti-snow outside bounces in a zig-zag pattern, moving slightly upwards before shooting down.

After a few moments, it stops. I leaned on the door frame, panting. The pressure of the sound made me forget to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Wilbur asks.

I scowl. “Did you not see any of that just now?”

“Any of what? You wasting time?”

“No, dickhead, there was some earthquake or something, and there was this sound…” I search my head for the right way to convey aloud what that sound felt like.

“It was probably just the software again,” he states. He’s not listening to anything I’m saying.

“It was out here, in the city, not in the Suit,” I insist, shaking my head.

“No, don’t, don’t do that,” he chides, “it makes me dizzy.” He clears his throat. “Maybe it was a windstorm revving up,” he continues. “You’d better hurry up and get this done quick then.”

“No, it wasn’t the wi--”

Approximate distance to fauna: 12 kilometers northwest.

My heartbeat occupies the silence that followed the notification, slapping against the inside of my ears.

“Head southwest from here,” Wilbur says.

I clench and unclench my hands into fists a few times to stop them from trembling.

I take a deep breath. “Okay.” I step back outside.

-----

I walk for another half an hour at least, along the same twisting road. The farther I go, the more dense the debris becomes. The state of preservation decays until I am climbing over chunks of roof four times my size, and shoving myself under sections of pillar that had fallen from the sky bridges above the city.

I stop in the centre of a side-street. A boulder fills the entirety of the way, with nowhere to go but over. I grab onto a protrusion, hauling myself on top. A grunt escapes my chest in a puff of breath that fogs my visor from the inside. My boots dislodge anti-snow and gravel as I try to keep myself from wobbling. I’m much higher off the ground than expected.

“Holy shit.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I do.

The street is a collection of shards and fragments. The buildings are reduced to framework, the stones of the path dug up and strewn about, tossed like dice. Along the one wall that remains intact, a gash bisects it, a deep wound in the flesh of a former housing unit. Or maybe it had been a storefront. It is an impact site, with cracks webbing above and below the scar.

“What?” Wilbur smacks his lips.

“Are you eating?” I turn my head as I ask, as if he’d be standing beside me on the boulder.

A crunch. “It’s noon, and I already took my break.”

“You couldn’t have eaten then?”

“Wasn’t hungry then. So what happened?”

“You seeing this?” I ask.

“What?”

“This.” I turn in a circle, slowly, letting the camera do its work. “The street.”

“Oh, yeah.” Is he licking his fingers? “Mmhmm,” he pauses, swallowing, “It was probably the windstorms.”

“There’s no way.”

“Could be, though. Can’t rule it out. We can’t really get a read on anything.” Another crunch, and his breath shoves itself into his mic. “The storms fuck with the equipment.”

Attention: Distance goal met. Please return to the antechamber and wait for further instructions.

“You heard her, time to head back,” Wilbur says between chews.

“Do you have to be eating right now?” I ask.

“No, but I’m hungry.”

“It’s annoying as fuck.”

“So are you, now get moving.”

“Fine, Jesus.” I hop down from the boulder and start walking back the way I’d come, following the map I’d made with the Stasis Suit’s software.

Approximate distance to fauna: 9 kilometres north.

“Maybe walk faster,” Wilbur urges, swallowing whatever he’s eating.

“Right.” I start jogging.

I get about a kilometre away before another notification follows.

Approximate distance to fauna: 7 kilometres north.

He takes a sharp breath. “Run.”

“What?” My heart seizes.

“Run, right now.”

My boots skid on the anti-snow every now and then, and then I notice it.

“Uh, Wilbur,” I say, slowing down to make sure I’m seeing it correctly.

“Yeah? Wh— why are you stopping? I said run.”

“The anti-snow’s moving up.” I tilt my head back, peering up at the void that the city calls its sky.

“Fuck.” He kisses his teeth. “You’re about a kilometre from the antechamber… shit, uh, you see that building on your left?”

I turn my head. A section of its roof is missing, and its doorway lacks its door. “Yeah?”

“Get inside and brace. Quickly now, you don’t have much time.”

“Wh--”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.”

I do as he says, sitting on the floor with my back to the only wall without cracks, tucking my head into my knees, wrapping my arms around my body.

“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice muffled from my face being so close to the Visor glass.

“You’re gonna be o--”

His voice is replaced by the tone from earlier. It comes from above and below, the entire city shaking from its vibrations. I shut my eyes, curling into a fetal position. In the distance, something crashes. Maybe a wall fell apart, or a pillar came loose.

The building I’m in lurches, the stones rumbling like a waterfall. The roof roars, and I can tell the portion of it that remained was no longer attached to the building. I slide along the floor, my eyes still closed. Something lands on my left leg, crushing it. I scream, grabbing onto my helmet.

The tone stops, and the vibration vanishes.

I lay on my back, staring up at the gap where the ceiling used to be, tears sliding up my temples and into my hair. Anti-snow lands on my Visor, obscuring my vision. I shudder, my teeth clenched as the pain from my leg worsens. I lift my head for a second, quickly wiping off the anti-snow, and see the massive block of roof that lays on top of my leg.

“Oh, fu-hu-huck,” I say, unable to hold myself up any longer.

“C4, come in.” Wilbur’s voice is grainy. “C4, what’s your status?”

I cough, the sudden movement sending stabs of pain up from my leg. “I’m here, status… fuck, I don’t know.” I groan, wanting to roll on my side, to move so that my leg hurt less, but I was stuck. “My leg…” The pressure of the block seemed to increase, and I screamed again.

“I know, I saw the stone.” The Stasis Suit’s voice has more variation than his. “Just stay still, okay? That was a windstorm just now.”

The pressure worsens even further, and I can’t take it anymore. With another shout, I yank myself as hard as I can away from the brick. I move a few inches, and something by my calf tears.

Warning! Rapid Depressurization! Warning! Loss of Oxygen Imminent!

“I just told you not to move!” There’s no more understanding in his words.

I cough again, my eyes feeling heavy. “It hurt so bad, man, you don’t understand.”

“Yeah, well now it’s gonna hurt even more.” He mutters something too quiet to be heard over the alarms. “You need to cover the hole in the Suit with something. Just push yourself back under the block.”

Nausea began to climb up my throat. “No way, I can’t do that.”

“It’s either that or have your organs liquefy from breathing in the anti-snow.” He lets his statement hang between us. “Your choice.”

I prop myself up onto my elbows, staring at the huge chunk of stone. My breathing is erratic, and I lick my lips. “Fuck.” I yell as I force myself forwards again, my leg feeling like it was being run over by a jet.

I take a few seconds to try and bring some sort of rhythm back into my breathing. The alarms quiet down. Wilbur types away at his end.

“Shit,” he says, typing more.

“What?”

He exhales sharply. “I think the collapse messed with the transmitter on your Suit. I can’t see your tracking data, and the save file is corrupted on my end. Let me reset the connection and see if it does anything.”

My beam from my headlamp begins to flicker.

Approximate distance to fauna: 6 kilometres north.

“Did you get that?” I ask.

“What?”

“The fauna notif.”

He grunts. “No.” He grumbles something. “I need to get my supervisor. Maybe the Commander…”

I clench and unclench my hands, my palms sticking to the inside of my gloves. “Why? What’s happening?”

“I’m gonna be right back. I need… Ah, shit, shit, shit.” He hits a bunch of keys.

“Wh-- You’re just gonna leave me here?” He can’t be serious.

“Just for a second. I’m not disconnecting, okay? I’m gonna initiate Rescue Protocol before I go.”

“You can’t.” You cannot leave me by myself.

“I’m just taking off my headset. I gotta go to the Commander’s office. Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine. You’ll be fine. I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Wait--”

RESCUE PROTOCOL INITIATED

The words flash a few times before bannering at the bottom of the Visor.

Stay calm. Help is on the way. Syndicate Technology — The Future Is Here

“Wilbur?”

No answer. The asshole actually left.

My breath presses against the Visor glass like a greasy fingerprint, obscuring my view of the gaping hole above me. Anti-snow continues to fall, blacking out my line of sight. I can’t reach my arm high enough to wipe the centre of the Visor. A thin crack branches out from the bottom right of the glass.

“Fucking hell,” I say, hoping Wilbur might hear me.

My body aches, my leg on fire. Something wet trickles down from my forehead, between my brows, and into the corner of my eye. It’s warm, and stings when it meets my tear duct. I blink quickly, trying to clear my eye, but it just stings more. Fresh tears are pulled from my eyes, and my vision goes blurry until they dry again.

In the distance, something explodes, or maybe it implodes, whatever it was. It creates a boom, an impact so intense it sends a strong wind gusting through the city, whistling through the cracks in the building, and blowing the anti-snow off my visor.

Approximate distance to fauna: 5 kilometres north.

A sound comes from everywhere. The vibration drills up through from below, lodging itself in my chest. The tone is so heavy it adheres to my skin through my suit, and sucks the air from my lungs. I strain against the weight of the sound. It fuses me in place, my limbs tense and unresponsive. My jaw locks, my teeth clench.

I slam my arm against the ground, hoping to press the button on my wrist, but I miss, and end up crying out from the impact.

I can’t just lay in place, waiting for whatever that was to get here.

I take one deep breath, as deep as I can manage through the weight of the tone and the intensity of the vibration, and rip my leg out from under the roof chunk.

The Suit alarms resume, and I don’t have time to be bothered by them. I roll onto my stomach, grabbing my wrist and the command button. I press it rapidly, but the Suit doesn’t respond.

“Hello? Wilbur?”

No answer.

Warning! Oxygen Level at 90%

Approximate distance to fauna: 4 kiloḿȩ̰͖t̸̼̣̤̲͍͙e̞̠͢r̛̬͓̼̬̲s̛͈̗̹̩̟ͅ ͈͍̠̞͕n̠̳̟̫o͈r̥̩͕̱̯̦ͅt̞̭̯̞͎h

Shit.

The notification is garbled, obscured by green and magenta pixels blinking in and out. Static comes through my earpiece, screeching. I press the command button again, but the noise continues. A rumbling continues, somewhere above me, or deep below. Gravel and dust clatter off my helmet as it trickles down from above. The anti-snow churns, moving unaffected by gravity.

I drag myself out of the building by my forearms, tumbling down the stairs once I cross the doorway. I land on my stomach, the impact of my helmet against the stones adding another crack to the existing break pattern. I continue to pull myself along the ground, dredging up anti-snow as I move.

My breaths scrape down my throat, the air a cocktail of anti-snow and dust. I start coughing, and red droplets splatter against the inside of my visor, dripping between the cracks in the glass.

W͙a̟r͍ń̥̝͉̼̬į̦̠̮͔͈ͅn̳̻̙g͉̙̗!͙̲͔̠̖̩ ͏̭̞͓̳̱O̕x͓͚y̟͖̫g̳e͝n͈͈̪̘̪̕ ̠͈̬̞̪̼̱Ḻ̪̼̰̮̲͞e̯̦̝v̟e̷̝̙͈̫͓̭l̫̜͙̞̗͔ ̱̞͝a҉̦͍̰̳ț͉͜ ̗̱͇̟͇̺5̵̼̮͖̫̭0̸̬͙%͚̺͟

A̩̭̣p̀p̳̩̬̀ṛ̷̬̗̬̩o̤̤̗̻̱x̧̗i҉͇̻m̻a͓͈̯͍̼t̰͈̣̺͇̩̥͡e̦͉̗̟ ̲͓̞di̭̦͙̬s̢̺̞͇͙ta̶͎͎͈͎̦n̘̫͎̗̥̖͘c͚͈̪͓̪e̼̼̪͈̭̖͚ ̪̠͎͎̖͔̭t̻͈̣͢o͙̗̲̫͓̩̕ ̼̖̗̬̩f̶̟ͅa͍u̮͚̹͔̬͝n̤̜͖͈a̯̤͉͕:̴̖̮̟͇ ̧̯3̡̫̝͕̬ ̹͠k̳͖͔̤͙i̝̰͎̞͓l̜͘o͎m̦̠e͕̖͚̠̳t͚r̛̲̩̠̳e̢̩̪̣͎͚s̴̩͚̗̞̫ n̴̰͖̬͙o̢͈͓̖r̶̳͔͚tẖ̫̟͖

The notifications stack on top of each other as the centre of my visor display. My suit hisses as it leaks oxygen from the opening on my leg, and another by my elbow, the gas forming a fog around where I lay. My arms give out from under me, my visor cracking against the stones as I submit to the pressure. The screen is laced with shatter webs, sections of it completely dead. The static in my earpiece shorts out, a piercing, high pitched noise replacing it every now and again. The suits speakers blare warped chimes and bells, the sounds overlapping.

A͈̲pp̠͉̪̞r͜o͚̙̳͚̹͙̬x̤̦̰̤̼̟͟ͅi͓̠̦̬̮̗̫m̶̻̝̪̱a̫͇̳̫̟t̖̜e̠͖͓̥ ̭̖̤͓ḑ̜͉͎̩i̱͇st͝a̸̤̱̭nͅc̷̫̰͙e̞̹̲ ̩͕͎̯t̨ó̳͉̙̥̮̦ ̢͍̬̘̰͔f̗̬̻͕͚̝́a͟ṵ̡̭̤͓̬͕͖n̠̯͚͈̰͍̯ą̜͖̱̝̦:͉̙��̜ ̴̹̥͚2̜̣͠ k̙̹̪̤̭̺̼i̲̺͙l͙̤̺o̫m͏̲e̹͇͔͙t̼̱̪re̯̥s̮͔̻̳ͅ ̩͙͇̳͝n͓͢o̺̫͉̠͓͝r̝͈̪̺̜͉̣͡t͖͉͍͖̣̠h

My gloves search for grooves between the path stones, something to latch onto. Each time I find one, I wedge my fingers in the space, hauling myself forward along the ground. The vibration sits on my back, pressing me into the path, trying to merge me with the earth.

The Rescue Protocol banner pixelates and warps, the letters rearranging themselves.

Ş̠̤̮T̢̲̟̳̙̘̟A̡͇̩̥Y̺̬ ̳̕WI̼TH̥̣̥̠̝̺̘ ̧͙̰͈̭Ṳ͟S̘̬͓̤̠ ̖̹̀S̨̭̗̺͖̼TA̩̟̰̹̜̜Y͕̻̰͔̙̤͝ ̮͕̫̞ͅW̘̼͈̳̙͕͍I͖̱̮̘̫̘͢T̩̩̹H͚̯̙̞́ ͖͍̩UŚ̺̫̜̱̣̖̗ ̞̠̙͜S̩͈̭̮T̰͍͇̲Ạ̡̯̫̞̬͉Ỵ͢ ̸̯̲̘͖͖̝W̠͇̳͝IṰ̜̝͙̥̬H̦̦͓̹̣̙̟͝ ̕U̢S̴̤͕̤̲̩̼͈

W̳̪̙͙̝̰͝á͍̫͙̤͉̳r̷̘͍̺̠͙̱̪n̗̬̳̪i͍̕n͖͔̼g͕͕!̴͎ ̛͔͖͖̩̟O҉͖͔̪̪̗̯x̯͔͙̼̟͎ͅy͏̰̱̝͓̖̮g̙̦̳̖̻e̴n̦͍͕̩̰͖ ̟̮̣̖͉͇̯Lͅe̙̱͙̠̼͉̮v̼e͚̻̹̘̲̥ļ̣ ͏̭̙̰̰̞͎a̷̫̮t̗͖̖̮̤͖̼ ͍͚͖4̴̗̟͉ͅ0͓̘͍̥̲ͅ%͇͇͖̺͇

The light from the antechamber leaks just up ahead. I’m so close.

À͉̲̳͙͈̺̤p҉̲̣p҉̖̙̗͕̥ṟ͓̭͙̗o̗͚x̷͍̮͓̹i̧̱͙͙̳͔m͎͚̣͞a̘͚̼̤̳̣ͅt͕̻̦̥͈̖ͅe̗̲͉̜͉͢ ͏̰̭d̟̞̖̪͚͍̟̀i̪̟͖͖̥s͖̻͙t̴͓̜͕a̲̯̹̺nc̤̬̪͙e̢ t͈̖̜̗̘́ơ̤̝̝̲͉͓̙ ͉̮̗̬̦̝f̨͎̲͚̘̹̜̫a̫̦̦ṷ̣̯͔̮n͕̬͍̠͖̙a̴̱͉̪̯:͈̗̝̟̟͙ ̧̺5͙̗̭͍̦͈̤0̞̬̟̲0͡ ̯̞͉̠͈̯m̤̻̻e̘̪͙̘͟ͅt͓͓͚̺̘͈̦̕r̫̖͓̗̖̱e̛̘̣̖̱̞ş̣ ̼̻̗̪͖͕n̪̟̞̕ơ̯͇̱̟r̢͍̻̰̳̬ţ̫͇̱̠͇͍h̨̞͉

My display dies, and the audio system black out. The sound embeds itself in my bones, splitting into my cells. It invades my composition, tearing me apart, rippling across my skin, and forcing itself from me in screams that don’t make it to my ears. It is within me, reshaping me, compressing and expanding my form all at once.

My gloved fingers reach out somewhere ahead, trying to pull myself into the light that exists where I can no longer see.

Black smoke billows around me, engulfing everything in shadow. It seeps into the opening in my suit. I cough as it enters my lungs, gagging on the flavour of dry soil and pennies.

Ạ̤p̠͍p͙̭̦̦̳̖̀r̦͖͉̻͚ox̷̞̣̯͔̙̮̲i̢̞̠̟̱m̪̰̣͉̝̭͉a̛͚t��̬̟̬̬̤e͜ ̲̯̭͖d͎̥̮͈̙̤i̭̬̳̖̦ͅͅs̸t̬͇̘̖̯̣̺anc̢̮e̳̫ ̮̜͈͙̗̳ţ̙̦̜o ̜̟͠f͏͉͈̝ͅa̯̗̬͓̩͡u͉̰̞̫̦̜̳͟n͜a̴̪͍̤ͅ:̛̥̜̺ ̭̟̙̮w̛̠͈e̙̜͚̼̮̝͙͡ ̤̫̮͔̠́a̯͓͓̘̼͞ͅṛ̶͖̜e̱̯ ͎͖̦͙̪͘he̵̻͉r͚̦̝̤̬̩̞e̢̮̳̩̫ ̪͓̖n̜͈͈̻̖̬̯͝ǫ̯̰̮̝͉͚w

The tone of the vibration shifts even lower, the sound no longer audible. Tightness coils around my ankle, and pulls me deeper into its expanse. My fingers tingle through the gloves as the ground speeds by underneath.

The world disappears. We become one.

#if you read the og version on creepypasta no you didnt #this is that story reworked across my entire senior prose workshop #theres actually more formal shit done but i cant change text colour on here??#mywriting #i like how this one turned out #prof said i could do more tho #who knows #anyway ily

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