This is where you stop and think about the game. About the We and its rules and how they are settled upon the screen before you.
There is no clue to fulfill this space, but a coordinate.
Another.

This is where I will disclose and ground. Retrogenesis travels backwards until the tongue is unable to even pronounce the words. Retro. Genesis. The language and what it contains and what it spills when it forgets. Retro. Genesis. Meaning Brain forgets in reverse order. Meaning, this is also soon to be forgotten. Meaning, this is also.

Let the We say Mother. Let the We say Daughter.

The We stands in front of a draught of language that will be a sole inheritance after the journeys and the traveling.

The walking of the heirlooms means also a way of survival.

The We stands in front of the coordinates making meaning out of a history of identity and death. The We repeats after the correct tones and sparks when the machine swallows us up and spits us out to see our brains and to declare that we host death flowers. That We could only ever host death flowers. That Brain holds us together, claiming us as hostages for the constant exercise of defeat.