I heard the fissure before I saw it; the inverted, almost delayed, crackling pop-pop-pop of a rent in the multiversal fabric is unmistakable. As I slowly moved around the twist in the tunnel, I felt my exposed skin grow warm and my hair fray with static. Before me, in a shallow dugout as wide as a tall man, was a vertical gash of pulsating blackness in which I could see the deep time of the broken multiverse.
