It's Too Late!

You see yourself sitting on the edge of a rocky cliff almost. The smell that hits your nostrils is kind of sulphurous and acrid, acidic almost. There are these pools of strange, colored liquid under the shadow of night. You look to your left and you see Ashton half draped over this outcropping. He's going to swallow deeply. It's too late. Some of the machines spark a bit. A high-pitched wine subsides. And your vision comes back to you. Images are racing in your head of where... what happened? It is confusion. It is a pain, a fog, a fugue. Blood, and a hugue. Where are we

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