He wakes up and falls from his hole into a crystalline tunnel made of dim sparkles and thick grapefruit light. Nobody else is there on the narrow path of snow. I don't wanna go. Walls of dead glittering limbs are all around. He moves through liquid dull glow like through jelly. I have been here a thousand times. Ice crunches under his boots. Snowflakes make his nose itchy, they attack him like angry insects, and his cheeks get spotty red. The beauty of the path gradually fades away, and it gets ugly to walk through this chill in such early hour. I want to sleep. His nose gets intensely allergic to snow. Sparkles become mud, and he is not alone anymore. There are bodies around him, moving in the same direction. Grey bodies of people whose light went out. Step by step, they go. I am so cold. Step by step, they merge into one unified flow. They pack themselves in the containers which carry them right into the production line. Just bodies, faceless wights made of grey meat, all asleep, and he is one of them. So meaningless. So in vain. So dead.
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