You wake up in opaqueness. You uncurl from your fetal position, tendons roaring out in pain. Your stomach flips over as fluid bubbles up and out.

“Georgia, face the spectral box” booms out.

For half an hour, you make demands, each met with only one response, “Georgia, face the spectral box”.

On one curved wall stands a glass box, the size of a large fish tank. You crawl towards it and notice it’s full of liquid. Segregated schools of nano-pixel filled egg-sacs in primary colors sway within.

The colors start to hatch and swim. The first image is of Planet Earth. The image spirals down to the eastern seaboard of Canada and swoops down onto Resolution Island. The next image shows a broken landscape littered with defunct yet poised cold-war satellite dishes.

Chained to the center of one of these dishes is a woman. She’s cracked, bloody, pecked, naked and near death. She senses something closing in and opens her eyes. It’s you, looking back through the box of colors, and you both scream, nose to nose.