A transition out of nothing found him. Found him. Found him exactly where he was. Looking at it. Even identityless; even without any knowledge of his self, who he was; any memories, his personal history – he knew this – even from that standpoint.

He knew this place; that it was completely and utterly foreign to him. He'd seen nothing like it.

In some sense he couldn't really categorise or explain – he could explain nothing: he was a person who had transitioned out of complete – but that wasn't true. Non existence. He felt a huge, identity, even. – But even this wasn't new. This fact of being new. Of his being... he didn't know; it was just that the fact he didn't have a clue of any kind who he was, any memories, anything, anything like that, it wasn't especially an issue. It wasn't particularly remarkable in any way. – Whoever he was; whoever that might be – he was used to this. So maybe this was who he was. Maybe he'd find out, and be erased again; in this moment anyway – but he had the apprehension in a sense much wider than this – he didn't care.

What he did care about was where he was, because even in that vast absence present inside him, located where his identity/self – memories, etc., should be, he felt, should be, there was nothing that – he didn't know except he was for a place – a certain place, and that place was in some sense him. – And this was not that place. So maybe that was why he didn't know who he was or why, or have, any memories or know where he'd come from – because it wasn't just that this place was – the complete opposite of him – the place that he was of –

This wasn't -

And –

– Maybe he had no idea who he was because this place – he didn't need to justify or even attempt to run through the half-conscious, semi-logical steps that might get him to this apprehension; he just knew, living on instinct, living on reaction – that this was not the place he was of – because – this place –

it despised him.