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He stares, fixated on the structure. Glowing, pulsing as though it breathes, calling to him. To them. His eyes trace the intricate words of an alien language etched into the spirals of the object. The Marker. His mind translates the language with ease and it begs him, pulls him closer. Speaking with a delicate voice.

“Unity,” It calls “make us one.”

“Make us whole.”

He shudders as his eyes closed while fingers dance upon the obelisk. It craves him, and they crave it. Oh how they wish to become one, become whole again. He turns, back facing the Marker, and allows himself to slide down against it. His body resting with it. This will do, for being whole. As close as he can allow. His body screams to shed blood and reunite with the structure, as do the voices, whose fingers are wrapping around his brain. Again he shudders. Not from the cold, or the voices. But the stirring inside. His cells trying to heal dead tissue. The regenerations inconclusive mindset killing and reanimating bits and pieces of fleshy walls, organs, and blood.

The deterioration slowly catching his mind and he allows a voice to stand above the others, and they beg for the same result.

“Make me whole.”