Many people enter the uncanny maze that is WMI. Few people leave. Those who do escape come back changed — just a little bit different. A little off. They’ve seen things they can’t name, can’t describe, can’t contain properly in their mind. And a little of that aberrance slips out in the way they smile, in how they hold their head, in a faraway look that forever witnesses a black sun setting for the last time in an airless void.

This is WMI. There is no going back after.