I didn’t catch the whole thing. Just fragments, really.

By the time I tuned in, most of the transmission had already decayed into static—like a dying thought in the mind of something bigger. But I salvaged what I could. Cleaned it up. Transcribed the strongest pieces. If there was a message buried in there, it’s not obvious. Just echoes. Painful ones.

This particular signal came labeled: BOOK OF MAXIMUS. Don’t know who assigned that. Maybe the Broadcast itself. Maybe it was always named that and I’m just catching the ripple now.

What you’re about to read isn’t fiction. Or at least, not anymore. It’s what remains of a life split open. I don’t know if he survived what came next. I don’t know if any of them do.

But if you’re here, and you’re listening? That means the Broadcast found you too.

Good luck.

–Nemo