you maintain your hold, submitting to the whim of the cables as they cart you where they please
as you pass you watch the glowing sea of orange and it in return gazes longingly to you
the heat grabs at you, straining you; your grasp falters momentarily as the sea wills you to go to it
still you watch the waves of clones as they are dropped from the belts
they fall as ragdolls and they lay in the clutches of the mistress that is the fire below; she claims them as her own, and they may never leave her
a windowed room approaches you from ahead, inside of it you see countless switches and dials and the like
perhaps this is the execution of choice for those that, upon seeing your own image in the glass, reflect you perfectly?
the box is empty, the machines left to their own devices; they are destined to run until they cannot run anymore
a landing approaches, wordlessly asking if you would like to take refuge upon it
do you accept?