Fade To Black

Day One

Basileia, if this somehow finds its way to you, and if this isn't a hallucination of some kind that's the result of a small bit of major head trauma, there is only one thing I need to address. You remember how we were talking about how Earth is the only world? That other worlds and planets beyond Earth just don't exist?

Because God created only our lovely planet called Earth?

You're wrong. The multi-verse exists. How do you like those apples?

If the aforementioned multi-verse didn't exist, I wouldn't be hiding in a vent in some unknown ruin after being chased down by demonic monsters trying to murk me after…whatever just happened. The 'before' is hazy.

Might be the brain damage.

Anyway, main point is that I'm in this cold, nightmarish hellscape. No explanation for it. Other than an explosion, that is. Which is, I guess, kind of important? Like, yeah, I get it. You warned me there was something fishy about the fact I'm hired to watch a monitor of a random room for nine hours every day of the month.

Watching a vase on a table for eight of those nine hours is boring.

Like, extremely boring.

Granted, there's close to a dozen other screens I have to watch, but the days were I'm staring at a vase in an otherwise empty room are mind-numbing. Sure, watching a person pace from one corner of their room to another is the definition of creepy, especially considering they are unaware I'm watching them, but that is far more preferable than other things Aperture has me watching.

Which, yeah, not okay. I can see the look you'd have on your face right now, Basil. If this journal gets to you, and you're sitting in your favorite chair, I know exactly what expression would be on your face.

Usually, I try not to think about what my job demands. My employment contract states I can't discuss what happens in work because it's confidential information.

Yes, I know, red warning flags.

I can't keep this to myself, Basil. I don't know if I'm going crazy. I don't know if I died in that explosion, if I'm trapped in what I had thought be a nonexistent hell, or if this is some kind of fever dream. My ears are still ringing, Basileia.

Point is, I'm terrified. And you're not here.

My head hasn't stopped bleeding, my toes are so red from the cold I'm terrified they'll fall off. Or break off. How exactly does frostbite work, anyway? Do blackened, dead toes break off because they're frozen solid?

I'm rambling. Everything hurts. I'm not even sure—

What would you tell me, if you were here?

If I could hear your voice one more time, what would you tell me right now, at this very moment? What would you say if you could see what has happened, if you could stand by my side and view the ice-laden walls crowding me in?

You'd probably tell me to pray, first. Like that's ever helped me in the past.

You'd tell me you love me, that everything would be okay. Which would be a lie. The 'everything will be okay' part, not the 'loving me' part. We're sisters. Might not always see eye-to-eye, but we have love and a lifetime of memories.

Chances are, you wouldn't know how to respond.

Not to this, no. You would freeze, Basil.

You'd lock up in horror as the very fabric of all you believe in is torn right out from under your feet. Maybe you'd run. Maybe you'd pray. The cold wouldn't bother you as badly as it does me, but earlier, what I came around to…

If I don't make it back to you and the family, Basil, and, fuck, do I want to be home, but if I don't, you have to make the world understand. Aperture, they did something. The explosion, that's the last thing I remember.

Really remember with any sort of clarity.

It could be brain damage, could be that I'm dead. But if what they did caused me to be tossed from our world into this wretched, frozen ruin, then people need to know that Aperture isn't safe. They're doing things they shouldn't be doing.

Shit, I hear something—

If I don't die in the next few minutes, I promise I'll try to write.