The story's a picturesque modern-day fairy tale. Not the painted scenes with characters played by good-looking holostars, but from the books. From a time long before bombs were a mere whisper in the wind. This is akin to stories of stepmothers poisoning their stepdaughters, of a girl and her grandmother being eaten by a wolf. Of death and a sense of fatalism.

There is the sense that it's still playing a part somewhere in Alex's life, this story of holograms. This record of the walking dead, a cloud of poison, and infinite possibilities. And the tone in the other man's voice and the expression on his face only serve to solidify that sense.

Quietly, Neil reaches to touch the hand on his chest. To comfort or to remind, he doesn't know himself.