"If one were to write of a disaster, there would be no need to use some grand perspective to describe the ruin of the whole world, nor to painstakingly recount the tragedies that befell every individual.
For what I alone heard, saw, and imagined was enough to sketch out the bizarre and terrifying true face of every undercurrent abyss within that black vortex. This was the lesson I learned after being swept into that dark hole, while traversing the dim, narrow passageways of the world.
After we embraced the trap of light like ignorant, unfeeling prey, when I awoke again, what entered my sight was the mottled rust beneath a corner of metal sheeting curled up from the ceiling of a subway car..."
"Good God, where am I?" Quill clutched his head and tried to sit up from the floor, only to discover that his forearm seemed to have been glued to something. He tilted his head left and saw thin strands of mucus stretching between his left arm, which had just lifted slightly off the ground, and the floor.
"What the fuck is this?" Quill cursed through gritted teeth. He put his arm back down, shifted his center of gravity, and tried to pull his arm free of the floor.
But when he braced himself against the ground with his right hand, he found that his right forearm was also stuck to the mucus on the floor. Quill gave a helpless bitter laugh. "Now I know how a cockroach feels when it gets stuck on a glue trap. God, Rocket, Rocket, are you there?"
"Squelch, squelch, squelch..."
A series of faint noises came from afar. Quill froze, instinctively turning toward the source.
There was endless darkness.
By the scant cold glow coming from somewhere nearby, Quill made out the