"You were chosen because you survived."
"You saw the things that dwelt inside and beside and within reality, or you stepped into the places where the universe burst at the seams, and you came out the other side.
You're here because you came out of something that defied understanding through luck, grit, or sheer bloody-minded tenacity."
"You were dragged from the ruins of your life, torn and bloodied, thinking that it was God's will or doing that brought you there.
"It wasn't. It was terror and tragedy transmitted into the fabric of your lives in indecipherable tongues.
"You were ants, caught in a flood as your world was swept away in the dark, screaming."
The man coughed once, then flicked his cigarette in the nether regions off-screen.
"That is no longer the case."
The reel ended, leaving behind the sound of old film, whipping itself like an old flagellant. The assorted crowd rustled uneasily in their seats. No words were spoken; there were whispers of fabrics on skin; the nervous, repeated flicks of lights conjuring flame.
Finally, the doctor spoke his four-word incantation:
"Welcome to the Foundation."
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