Empty. Desolate. Clear. Barren. Abandoned. The cold cords that tethered millions to one man were always all these things, though surely they could deceive you behind their colorful guises and perceivable differences. Categories, types of content, ways to view or ask or be. None were ever the same, though many copied others. There was, definably, no sure way to tell the differences between posts and words if not for the personalized users, names, and profile pictures.

But, in every group, an obvious outlier eventually presents itself.

To an unlucky mobile attendee, this outlier was made apparent. On one of many communicative applications, they had logged on to post about the man of such high praise in their life; A community commentator made comedian by accident. His name struck a calm sort of familiarity into the agglomeration he called his audience, one Matt Rose.

As they attempted to mark their post appropriately for the ever-omniscient, unappeasable moderation, they noted fretfully that a blank flair sat vacant atop the small assemblage of other markings. Upon further investigation, they found that attempting to utilize such a powerful being was futile, and ill was the fate that befell them. See, only in yearning of aplomb did they fall prey to the vicious minds of their peers.

Encircling them as they fell into the depths of a place most mysteriously titled, the fears of many a soul conglomerated into a mass of despair. A virus; Standard Galactic, come to ruin; any assortment of horror stories; outright glitching; or what you will. Spiraling, horrible anxiety, broken only by brief comedic jests or sarcastic truths. One could never truly know the horror that was assured by electronic malfunctions.

The place they had come to was a massive space full of the steady sound of static, yet no definitive source. Many a chair, door, television, mug, and unmatched sock floated around the ethereal space. Even the remains of what unfortunate creatures had long ago been trapped. People of any number of beliefs, tones, lilts, scars, burns, malformations, amputations, and whatnot all dwelled in the bones of this ancient, apocalyptic building. Every corner was full only of anything, and by extension, everything and nothing all at once. Around each out-of-sight bend, in every golden hallway, wallpapered only to be illuminated by the green-white glow of rectangular office lights.

When eventually they found their footing, what awaited them was, admittedly, far worse than their nightmares. Worse, even, than fear. A power so great it was only perceivable by the lost and the hopeless causes; the comics and the fearless; the ones with nothing to lose and those who have everything. The unknown.