I am now under the dripping page: I am silent, fear has set in. I pull myself up for the last, exhausting time and place my healthy arm on the shelf. As soon as I stick my forehead out over the surface, I see the puddle that takes up most of the shelf on which this 404 rests. The water is still moving, but the noise is gone.

With the last of my strength, I pull my body even higher, until I’m lying on the edge of the cliff I’ve climbed. My shoulders get wet with the water and its warm gurgling sound rings in my ears as my temples mark my heartbeat.
After a few minutes, I turn to the side and start to get up. But something unexpected stops my breath: what I have in front of me is no longer a 404 page. A voice comes from another direction, suddenly.

«we’ll never get out of this»

It hits my head with a rock, pushes me to the ground, kicks me. What I hear next is the sound of the air as I fall.