[ But there isn't any answer.

Just the fathomless emptiness. And it's so dark—like she said: too dark to be in this place alone. The liquid seeping up the legs of her trousers has the too-familiar consistency of old blood and the too-familiar smell of rancid oil. It feels like nothing so much as irrelevance.

And if she really is alone—if everyone is gone; if the cause itself never even fucking mattered...

Is there even anything left? Why continue. Why not just let it all be done? ]