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Bina clamps down on her hand, cutting off the light.

Without unlight, and with a sound like two iceburg-sized pieces of glass crashing into each other, the world comes back together again, but… wrong.

Bina's ears pop as the temperature drops forty degrees in less then a second.

Seams sigzag everywhere, perspective cracks where things stop lining up properly.

Above her, the top half of the smokestack vanishes with a tearing rushing noise and a rain of gravel.

Bina: Grab the glove without revealing anymore unlight. Probably good idea to run too, assuming your knees can take it.

Bina starts to run.