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You wake. It's 1582. You are a French trapper in New France. You are alone, except for the voices you hear in the wilderness beyond the rivers' edge. You have been told that they are savages. Your small rivercraft has finally broken down past the point of any repair. Rats are chewing your boots at night. You had hoped that the trees would come back to the river as you traveled further north but instead you find yourself in an endless sea of grass. The birds show you that winter is coming.
A cold wind blows and it's getting dark. Even the voices from inside the forest seem lost now. You can barely remember what you once dreamed about. What was LK-99? What was an LLM? Was there ever a future, or was there always just this -- the smooth flat river, the smooth flat grass, the endless grass.