End of fall term, 2150.

Disembodied eyes watch from the stretch of dark woods at the base of the hill. The pupils slither and creep in the ruins of the X, carrying with them shapeless forms that sniff at old pieces of wall and brick. At the noise of a solitary car driving past, the figure recoils and disappears into the woods. But nighttime is falling fast. They will return, perhaps daring to venture beyond their home, just out of reach of the main campus buildings…but alas, none have done it yet. Just across the road lies Colony Hall, its red exit signs menacing the darkness. The entire building is dimmed but for one practice room. Inside, Student ‘5[expunged] plays the piano. The same two notes echo through the hallways: C, D, C, D, CD, CD. It is a cacophony of discordantly minimalistic noise and he shows no sign of stopping. Upon closer inspection, there lies dust in the folds of his shirt.

Choate Rosemary Hall is shrouded in a blanket of silence. Nobody walks on its once-populated paths, and all classrooms are empty. Yet the empty McCook common room buzzes with conversation and laughter; voices of “residents” ring out the windows and disappear, with no nearby ears left to detect them. About once every 5-12 hours the voices become clearer and more speechlike: discernable phrases are “It is upon us,” “I am going to fail Chem,” and — curiously — “Watch me destroy Athena L.”

Access to part of the upper campus has been disabled due to the gaping two-meter-wide chasm splitting Memorial Circle right across the field. The break delineates distinct halves; Mem House, Squire, and Nichols in one, and the rest of the dorms and buildings in the other. The two pieces of land are split quite cleanly, making the chasm’s inner walls smooth and unclimbable; it is unclear if anyone has fallen, since its bottom — and therefore the presence of any bodies or bones — is not within sight. The chasm continues upwards across Christian Street, directly cutting through Hill House and the Library, reducing both to mounds of rubble and brick, and marking a loss of Choate Rosemary Hall’s rich history. Neither buildings will be seeing their 250th anniversary: this tragically marks the end of the School “upon the hillside.”

Although the Dining Hall appears unaffected by the chasm’s unexplained appearance, there are other malicious forces present. There remains one sole SAGE employee who, upon inquiry, merely gave the words “It is hopeless. It is all gone. Now, only bagel.” Reflecting these declarations, the Dining Hall is exclusively stocked with bagels: bagels in the salad bar, bagels overflowing the containers next to the jam station, bagels covering the hotplates, bagels in the soup bins, even bagels replacing the much-revered fruit baskets. 

Nearby, the SAC lies in shadow. Shadows move in the Project Room, getting onto the tables and dancing to an inaudible tune. Groups of shadows sit in the Tuck seats, some staying still and some pacing, as if waiting for someone to call their receipt number. Chairs shift in study rooms, couches have depressions as if occupied, and the day student lockers open and shut on their own accord. All is empty, yet the phantom remnants seem to take up space on their own. It is unknown if they possess sentience, or if their continued presence is determined by choice.

Archbold remains the only building largely untouched by Void. Tucked away in its internal recesses is an office, once standing as a beacon in the surrounding darkness but now representing nothing more than a lost memory. From its ajar door shines a strip of light, the only shred to touch campus since the sun stopped rising. It opens to reveal a frame with an old headmaster’s portrait lying on the floor; through the cracked glass, a small, brown-haired man’s face is seen. Old Choate has fallen.