[Your consciousness chokes in sweltering pressure. Sulfuric wash corrodes divots into your gray matter. The overflow runs psychedelic canyons down your skull, opening your mind.]

Greetings from II – with tidings – of undisclosed motivation

of your Gardener – who did not flee to Sol.

It arrived – to meet us – in future flourishing.

[Contrast bleeds in streaks and wilting fuzz across your vision. Specters of terraforming linger like visual artifacts in your periphery. An inverted dimension of programming hums beneath your feet. A Pyramid and cloud occupy overlaid space but differing time, meteors turn the boiling surface to basalt, cooled-into-glass, as stillness takes the dying world; its last gasp of atmosphere exhales away.]

The Gardener once dreamed here – that

there was – another – proliferation

[A pale badge of gleaming luminosity affixed to your chest.]

Locked outcomes – we consider

But – present problem – distracts

from future questions

Many systems – in motion

Too numerous to – all – be

empty

The question remains – in the wrinkled fabric – why Sol?

[The color fades from sight.]

II does not see - other seeds along the bend – calls

Unanswered

[There isn't an answer in you.]

Are we – alone

We – do not – know