Pop quiz amid clunky industrial massiveness. Big metal things. Rusty kind of pillars and platforms. Detail in the chipping flakes of iron and steel, the space station locks down a solid existence. Fading reach into the spaces between as Martha finds a pod away and away from The Doctor. Tinge of despair as the increasing divide pulls resources against the worry. Of watching the hope float further and further.
Hot zombie type stuff. Walking dead with a strange fear on the whole blast of sparks and running around with no where to go. Only to go round and round again. Claustrophobia wells in the unknown breaching the known, setting up the sweat dripping quicker and quicker down the face. Pressure is on and from all sides. Pounding merrily through the thick glass that melts away as the end of the games sees just the right amount of light.
Soon Van - Tuesday, August 14, 2007 - 10:00
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