The sound of footsteps reverberates far throughout the hallway, echoing off the row of idle windows. At this time of night, the footsteps were the only sound to be heard; the trudging of a single pair navigating the empty halls. The sharp blue glare of the nighttime lights gave a cold appearance, as the only thing separating the solitary points of illumination from the empty darkness.

The hall it trails is one like many others. Each one has the same lights. Each one has the same darkness. Each one has the same cold appearance. They are differentiated only by the rooms they open up to. The halls trail around and around until they once again reach their point of origin. The footsteps follow them in the same way.

The path of the footsteps went down the corridor and up through the empty offices. Through each one, they went in and out, mapping out the floor of the area. Observing. Cataloging. Perceiving. Ensuring that everything remained the same. Static. Empty.

The purpose of the footsteps was this cataloging. To ensure the building stays as it is. Disruptions to its stasis are a violation of this purpose. There must not be more than one set of footsteps. They must remain alone. The building must remain silent. They must continue their path.

The footsteps carry a light of their own, sharp and piercing. This light trails from object to object as an extension of this cataloging. In the path of this light, each object is considered in turn to measure for this stasis. To ensure it is as it was before. To ensure it will remain as it is after. Frozen in stasis now, as if to stretch on to eternity.

The trail of light shifts cyclically in nature, sometimes brightly, sometimes dim. It will rest on an object for observation, as if to burn into it the mark of being perceived. Besides this, there is nothing to break its reverie. It is this observation alone that registers its stasis. It will not be seen again until the cycle repeats. Until it is approached by the same footsteps. Until it is shone on by the same light. Until it is cataloged once again. Until it is marked down once again to be the same.

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As the footsteps come out of the offices, they are met with the same hall. They must continue on, as they did before. The process for going in and out of each room is the same, ending by ensuring it is left behind, locked to preserve its idle solitude. As this is done for each of them in turn, the footsteps again carry on, ambling in idle solitude of their own.

The trail of the steps carries them to the outside courtyard. The courtyard itself, though it is full of vegetation, has an air of silence at this time, with nothing but a muted breeze to break the frozen stillness. From here, the path winds around to other structures that have no indoor path between them. The buildings themselves are shrouded in black. Lit up again, only by the same occasional dim blue lights. Beyond the courtyard, there is nothing to see. Beyond the gates, it stretches on, only to infinite darkness.

The footsteps walk down the path to examine inside each of the buildings in turn. Each of the buildings is different, but the inside halls remain the same. Each needs to be observed and cataloged. Within each one, the distinction between them is lost within the endless halls. It is only the rooms at the end of the halls that differentiate them. The footsteps go in and repeat the same process they have done before.

At the end of the path, the footsteps are brought around and reach back to the initial building. Although it looks the same, it is imperceptibly different. Because, try as the process might, nothing can ever be fully preserved. Nothing can undo the endless march of time. The door is once again opened, and the path takes the footsteps inside.

The sound of footsteps reverberates far throughout the hallway, echoing off the row of idle windows. At this time of night, the footsteps were the only sound to be heard; the trudging of a single pair navigating the empty halls. The sharp blue glare of the nighttime lights gave a cold appearance, as the only thing separating the solitary points of illumination from the empty darkness.

The hall it trails is one like many others. Each one has the same lights. Each one has the same darkness. Each one has the same cold appearance. They are differentiated only by the rooms they open up to. The halls trail around and around until they once again reach their point of origin. The footsteps follow them in the same way.