Artificial Material

The last thing he remembered. A flash of pink, and a burning white. He remembered his wife and twins, his wife and family, his wife and–
Screams and alarms. Crumbling. A fall. And a hard hit to the ground. Underground.
He remembered the attack, some gone instantly. He remembered a bubble–
His head was covered in some kind of sludge, and his chest lay submerged in something soft but prickly. A pressure against his back, pushing him deeper–
The last thing he remembered was a thundering explosion that rippled the streets to pieces. Buildings collapsed into their own brittle bits while the floors opened to devour–
Food, he could smell it, wrapped in tinfoil, it slapped his chest. He jolted awake and found the other watchman standing by.
“Don’t sleep too much,” the standing man spoke. “They’ll get in your head.”
“I was just trying to remember something. Not sleeping,” he said.
“Be careful,” the standing man said.
The last thing he remembered was the flash of–

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