A mass of tentacles swirl and swell, grasping and pulling a man in tight against a stone slab. They press into his nostrils, into his mouth. The man might look familiar to those who have been here for several months: Jose Navarro, who was arguing with a ghostly Junie at a hoedown. He's in intense, desperate pain, but you don't feel it. Instead, you feel a sick sense of detachment, a feeling so muted it's almost like nothing at all. You don't feel that Jose is human, or if he is, that it matters at all.

The static person steps up to the slab and you can see their head tilt as it observing Jose's suffering. Jose gurgles and screams as the tentacles pierce his chest, ripping it down with no regard for his life. The static figure watches and makes no move to help him.

The tentacle leaves Jose's mouth and delves into his open chest, and he cries out and curses, sobbing and begging, "god, please! Haven't you done enough?! Haven't you done fucking enough?!"

The tentacles press between his ribs, over his heart, like they're looking for something.

The static figure is quiet for a moment, and then replies: "no."