[ Battered, bruised cut and cauterized, at last, you are back in the sterile room. Nothing happens.
At first, it might be a relief. A moment for the sharp pain to dull, for your pulse to rest.
But you find yourself moving slowly. Breathing slowly. Your pulse stretching between thuds.
The tick of time extends. Seconds become minutes, then hours, then years. You are aware. You are caught here, between time. Moving at such an infinitely slow pace you can feel the impulses of pain as the fine firing of each individual nerve, passing connection to connection, conduction to conduction.
It has been you in your own head, for quite some time.
And then, finally, when you've thought all there is to think about it. When you've tried everything for relief, for motion, for agency.
It's over.
A trap door opens and unceremoniously dumps you all into the endgame. ]
3/3
At first, it might be a relief. A moment for the sharp pain to dull, for your pulse to rest.
But you find yourself moving slowly. Breathing slowly. Your pulse stretching between thuds.
The tick of time extends. Seconds become minutes, then hours, then years. You are aware. You are caught here, between time. Moving at such an infinitely slow pace you can feel the impulses of pain as the fine firing of each individual nerve, passing connection to connection, conduction to conduction.
It has been you in your own head, for quite some time.
And then, finally, when you've thought all there is to think about it. When you've tried everything for relief, for motion, for agency.
It's over.
A trap door opens and unceremoniously dumps you all into the endgame. ]