The persistence of speech is irrelevant. They wish they would not need to hear it. They wish they had the right face. They wish they could find their friend.

They wish for a lot of things

They do not receive most of them.

But ahead, something stirs. A congregation of unidentifiable somethings, the whisper of their raw and decomposing flesh soft against the floor of this building with its ceiling and its walls.

They do not know them. They creep curiously closer, head to one side.