GORELOGGERS MK.5 V3.2 🜛

Doctor Bruisseau got up from the table and headed towards the window. He drew the curtains away from the window very slowly. Outside, there was bright white blindness. To the darkness of the room, the outside was an almost total inverse. He could still make sense of some outlines, concluded open-endedly from perception at edge and his prior knowledge of his whereabouts. It was nearly 4:40 A.M. The dawnbreak is in gradient traversal. If one was not in the same room as Bruisseau, anywhere but not in the room, the landscape outside would appear as it was normally. It's still in early dawnbreak, the rural locals would still have enough light to make their way through familiar paths in the case of artificial lighting being non-functional or absent. The sky was still, for the most part, squallid with dark mysteries accumulating since time immemorial. The stars have grown old, the layman onlooker says there are stars. The astronomer says they could be dead. Bruisseau, in his room, could not spot any star— live, looming, displaced or otherwise. There was nothing but white blindness and near-extinct outlines recalled from memory and attunement of vision.