I wake up with a dry throat, unable to lift my head from the ground. I run a hand over the back of my head and feel the blood: I must have covered so many metres in the fall.

«we'll never get out of this»

They are here. They didn't get out, they didn't die, just like me. They wander around these pages not believing they can go out and, more importantly, they don't want me to try.
I look around, I look at the network of connections again and for the first time I tie them to a person who looked me in the eye before hitting me and throwing me into the void of this place to convince me that

-no-
there is no way out of here.

But I didn't understant how we got in here, nor how or why. As I get up, I turn around and look at where I was lying: only then do I remember a dream that seems so clear to me that it was written in black and white on some page I have already encountered.

Perhaps I know how I got in here.