37 Where Nightmares Dwell

Love is something formless and soundless.

I can't grant you that authority either, Asimov.

They said that inside the mine... there was information about M.I.N.D. "evolution." And if they could get it out...

Most mountains of the mining area stand stark and treeless, their towering shadows stretching in twisted shapes across the land.

She leaves her hands in plain view—intricate mechanical constructs of interlocking gears and components that are unmistakably artificial.

With a soft, whirring rustle, a mechanical spider dances in the corner, its eight legs weaving an intricate web in the air.

In the shadows cast by sunlight, countless similar tragedies unfold unseen.

The mineral crystals in the rock walls pulse with halos of unseen light, while Hetero-Creatures—or perhaps something else entirely—stir and rustle in the depths of their shadowy nest.

A deep, thunder-like rumbling echoes through the rocky cavern.

Her gaze stretches across the conservation area, where a thick mist shrouds the layered mountains, dissolving the very horizon into a seamless, muted grey.

I'll give her everything—anything she could ever want—as long as she desires it and I can get it for her.

"If you know the future is paved with struggles and pain... will you still walk toward it?"

Everything around you peels away like faded wallpaper, as various scenes flicker into being like rapidly changing stage sets from Golden Age films.

Ethereal and ghost-like, they drift forth, their dresses rippling like water and shimmering with a pale, phosphorescent glow.

I won't mourn for you, because this is just a brief parting.

The world begins with a lingering sigh.

She takes your hands in hers, presses them gently against her cheek, and places a soft kiss upon them.

Your field of vision suddenly lurches skyward. This unbearably long "dream" grinds on, unbroken by your "unconscious" state.

Clouds part to reveal the sun as that seed begins to sprout.

Love spins itself into a cocoon, holding you securely within. In her arms, she cradles her entire world.

The "Model III-0007-Psychiatrist Generation III" sits silently behind the desk. Then, without any human activation, it slowly opens its eyes.

Once again, with her own hands, she has set her child adrift on an uncertain future.

She wove an enormous, intricate web to wrap the child inside it... and in doing so, became trapped herself.

What does she want with Liv's M.I.N.D.? Why exactly... was she created?

He still remembers that dark and damp Golden Age.