Hi. I'm Failure XI.
That's my name. I don't really know why it's my name, but no one else has one like it, so I think it's mine for a reason.
This is where I live. It's good.
There's grass everywhere. Always green. Always soft. It doesn't change much, which makes things easy. There are houses too. Not too many. And people.
I think around fifty. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. I tried counting once but the number didn't stay the same, so I stopped.
A man walked up to me. He looked like he always does.
Middle-aged. Brown moustache. One side slightly lower than the other. His clothes were neat in a way that didn't really change, like they stayed like that on their own.
He stopped in front of me.
"Name?" he asked.
"Failure XI," I said.
The man smiled. A second later than he should have.
"Name… fail… yea… yea… gud," he said, nodding.
"Thanks," I said.
He stayed there, looking at me but not really at me.
"Name?" he asked again.
"Failure XI."
He nodded faster. "Yea… gud."
That was fine. He asked me the same thing yesterday too. It happens like that here. People forget things. Then they ask again. Then you answer again. It works.
He laughed a little, then stopped, then walked away.
Around us, everything continued.
People moved in small patterns—walking, stopping, turning, repeating. Some spoke in pieces. Some didn't speak at all. Nothing stayed long enough to feel different.
The place has an edge.
It is not far. If one keeps walking in a straight line, past the houses and across the open grass, they will eventually reach it. No one is told this. But everyone has seen it.
At first, it looks like the sky comes down to meet the ground. A smooth, curved wall of light.
But when approached, the illusion breaks.
It is solid. Clear. Cold.
A wall of glass.
It rises high above, bending inward until it closes over the entire place—forming a complete dome. No gaps. No openings. Everything inside exists beneath it.
Sound does not pass through it. Nor does anything else.
From within, it is easy to forget it is there. Until you stand close enough to see your own reflection staring back at you.
The guards stand along that boundary. Evenly spaced. Facing inward.
After some time, they moved.
Their steps aligned—not perfectly, but enough. They approached a woman standing near one of the houses.
She turned only when touched.
"Come," one of them said.
She stood. Followed.
I watched them for a bit. "They'll bring her back," I said.
No one answered.
They always do.
Time passed.
The man from before was sitting near a house again, looking at his hands, turning them slowly.
I sat next to him.
"Name?" he asked.
"Failure XI," I said.
He smiled. Late again. "Yea… gud."
That was enough.
At the edge, the guards returned.
The woman was with them.
She walked the same way. Same steps. Same speed.
When she passed, I said, "Welcome back."
She didn't say anything.
Her eyes stayed open, but didn't stop anywhere.
The man next to me started laughing.
"Back… back… back," he said.
"Yeah," I said. "Back."
That felt right.
Everything stayed the same after that—the grass, the houses, the people.
Things here don't really change.
They just keep happening.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
Not like the others. Not slow. Not wandering.
Clear.
And something else.
A smell.
Different. Clean.
I turned.
"Oh," I said quietly.
There it is.
Those footsteps.
That smell.