Static.

It was the only thing that Maxwell could hear and see. More than that, static was the only way to describe how he felt. His entire being - body, mind, spirit - felt engulfed by an abrasive fuzz. He was lost in it all, experiencing something akin to the feeling of being in space, but the weightlessness and silence were replaced with an insurmountable pressure and noise.

Broken thoughts and memories passed through the static like radio transmissions through the haze.

“Lost minds recall quickly…” “…is it even worth staying…” “…a man’s eyes to understand him…” “…Ithiki…” “…you’re not a soldier or a spy…”

The static started to build. Maxwell tried to focus on each of these fragments, scared that once they’re lost, he’ll never remember or think them again.

“…a damned fool…“ “…protect at all costs…” “…never forget that…”

It was useless, once they went by, they’re gone to the aether. Panic started to set in for Maxwell. An echo of adrenaline shot through his body, futilely willing it to hold on. He’s meant to be the one who remembers. He’s meant to be the one who protects. He couldn’t fail now.

“…escape…” “…flesh…machine…” “…Maxwell…”

The static somehow became more encompassing. Maxwell tried to fight it, but it was useless - his body wouldn’t move, his brain couldn’t focus. Even his fear had dissolved into nothingness. He screamed, but only static came out.

Maxwell felt himself drowning in the noise. Any struggle was futile. There was no peace when he succumbed. His last moments of existence were spent sombrely lamenting how it was a miserable end to a life not lived enough.

With Maxwell gone, there were no memories and no thoughts left in this void. There was no past, no present, and no future. Only one thing remained.

Static.