Tim breathes in, sharp and clean. The air here isn't real, and water's always been an illusion. The ark was never real, not how they wanted it to be. Arks mean refuge, and the only refuge is death.

"Thank me when we get outta this," he says.

The sky blanches to engulf the water.

The surface beneath their feet is endless, and then it's nothing.

The brightness fades to night.

Tim's eyes open to the uniform darkness of his apartment ceiling.