After midnight, something changes. They begin to question their own convictions, their concrete perceptions of reality. The accounts are too emotional, uncertain, and desperate for answers to be solely the products of bored trolls or overactive imaginations, and the Archivist realizes they’ve begun to give the stories the benefit of the doubt, to even find some convincing. They’re reminded of their own attempts to describe their pain and its debilitating nature to white coats who wore sneers and had an eye on the clock. They wonder whether this is the first step toward remembering.
