Excerpt from Netflix Original Documentary: The Crossing: Voices from the Void (Episode 1)

  “Folks like to say the monsters did most of the killing. They did some. Big ugly things out there. But what took people down was thirst, empty bellies, and missing medicine.

  One minute I was bussing tables. Next minute I was in a red rock canyon with a crowd of strangers. The light never changed.

  We found pale puddles on the rock and licked at it. Salt. A man drank it anyway, cramped up, and never woke. We used shirts like sponges in the rock cracks, wrung out a few drops into plastic lids, and shared. Barely a sip.

  Food fooled us too. Little grey plants that looked like figs. Folks took a bite, tongues went numb, then came the thirst. If you are already out of water, that is the end of the road. I saw a man drown on dry land.

  (sobs…)

  The meds were the worst. A woman split her heart pills to make them last. A kid needed insulin. We tried candy and honey packets, but you cannot trick that for long. Two people had asthma. The dust kicked up, and they burned through their inhalers on day one. After that, we just held their hands and said ‘breathe’.

  Monsters were there, sure. Killing one did not save us. Cooking one did. Our line cook sliced the meat thin and burned it to a crackle on hot stones. He kept it down. A few of us did too. It kept us moving.

  When the soldiers finally found us, the first thing I did was drink a gallon of water. Folks say the story was about the monsters. To me, it was the thirst.”

  — Interview with survivor Tanya Brooks, 25, server, Kansas City, Missouri

  Sid POV

  Sid walked over to where Varun sat and lowered himself beside him, the ground cool beneath him.

  The clearing had settled into an uneasy stillness, its occupants divided like a fractured map. At the far edge, the injured man and his friend sat close, grief clinging to them like a second skin. Between them and where Sid and Varun sat, Mahesh, Rohan, and Aditi had chosen spots in a rough line, quiet and withdrawn. No one crossed the invisible line between them.

  Sid exhaled slowly. He couldn’t stand moments like this—the stretch of silence, the waiting. He preferred action, something to solve, somewhere to go. Sitting still only made the dread grow.

  Two people had died in front of him. The shock came as a tightness in his throat, not as tears. His father, a celebrated athlete, had taught him to breathe, focus on the next task, and keep feelings boxed until the job was done. Sympathy for Allen’s family pressed at the lid, and guilt with it. He knew the box would open later, when it was quiet, and the hit would come.

  “We need to keep moving,” Sid said, glancing at Rohan.

  Rohan looked up slowly. “Where?” he asked. The word hung between them, stripped of any hope. He rubbed the dirt caked on his hands, then turned his gaze to the graves. “Allen’s family… they’re going to be devastated. I was three feet from him.”

  Sid didn’t respond.

  Rohan kept going. “If it had picked me, I’d be the one in the grave. Maybe even missing more than just shoes.” His tone sharpened just enough to drive the point home. His eyes shifted toward Varun, then elsewhere.

  Sid steadied himself and muttered. “We still need to move.”

  Aditi’s gaze fixed on the dirt between her boots. “What’s the point?” She lifted her head. Wet eyes, dust on her cheeks. “We’re all gonna die, regardless.” Her voice broke. She held Sid’s look for a beat, then dropped it.

  Sid didn’t flinch. “This place plays by different rules. But maybe we’ve found a way to make it.” He raised his voice a little. “Remember how Varun moved during the fight?” Aditi’s face tightened at the mention, but Sid kept going. “Rohan picked something up from the spider too.”

  Rohan looked up at him. “What should I do?”

  Sid turned to Varun. The question hung in the air.

  Varun stood and strolled over, as if he were building up the moment. He crouched in front of Rohan and met his eyes. “Have you played any RPG games?”

  Sid let out a breath. “Just tell him what he needs to do.”

  Varun grinned and didn’t look away. “Fine. Imagine seeing something like your ID card in front of you. Say ‘status’ or ‘character sheet’ in your head.” His voice lowered, drawing Rohan into the moment.

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  Rohan’s eyes widened. He flinched as if something shimmered across his vision. “Yes, I can see my status,” he said.

  Name: Rohan Verma

  Race: Human (Tier 1)

  Traits [0/1]: None

  Strength: 3

  Agility: 3

  Endurance: 2

  Vitality: 2

  Perception: 3

  Intelligence: 13

  Willpower: 3

  Charisma: 4

  Affinities: None

  Skills [1/5]:

  Mana Web (Uncommon)—Level 21

  Sid stepped forward. “Can you read it out?”

  “Name, Rohan Verma. Race, Human. Tier 1…” Rohan began.

  “Wait, Tier 1? How are you Tier 1?” Varun interrupted.

  Sid scowled. “Let him complete.”

  “Strength: 3, Agility: …” Rohan said methodically, eyes flicking as if tracking a heads-up display only he could see. He finished, exhaling.

  “So, your skill is called ‘Mana Web’. Any idea what it might be?” Sid asked, leaning closer.

  Varun scratched his chin. “The spider glued me down with that white stuff. Maybe it’s that. If Rohan can use it… we could trap things before they reach us.” He glanced over, curiosity mixing with a flicker of hope.

  “How do I do this, Varun?” Rohan asked. His voice was quieter now. The bite from earlier had faded, replaced by something closer to uncertainty.

  “For Dash, I copied the boar. I just ran and willed it to happen. It’s mostly instinct,” Varun said, shrugging.

  Sid pointed toward the scuffed ground where the spider had stood. “It spat out a white ball. The first time it hit, Varun got stuck. Second time he dodged and didn’t get stuck.”

  Varun rubbed his chin. “So… open your mouth and try to spit a white ball.” He grinned at his own joke, but the attempt landed clumsily in the silence. The forest didn’t laugh.

  Rohan looked like he was actually going to try it—until his stomach growled, loud and unmistakable. Everyone was already looking at him. The pause that followed stretched a second too long.

  Sid cleared his throat, eyes drifting to the office bags scattered on damp leaves. “Anyone else hungry? We can continue after eating something.”

  “We need to conserve food and water. Don’t know when we can find more,” Mahesh said, taking stock of all the bags they had with them.

  “We’ve got three lunch boxes,” Rohan said, already moving toward his bag. “Let’s share one now and save the rest.” He unzipped the worn fabric, pulled out a wrapped sandwich, took a perfunctory bite, his hands shaking, then offered the rest to Aditi. He handed the other half to Mahesh, nodding towards the other two people.

  Aditi lifted the sandwich, caught the smell of chicken, and flinched. “I can’t… I might puke if I eat chicken.”

  “Here,” Sid said, splitting the sandwich in half. He handed the smaller, bread-heavy half to Varun, and peeled the meat away for himself. “You take just the bread—I’ll take the chicken.”

  Aditi’s shoulders eased a little, though her face fell. She nodded.

  Varun nibbled, watching all of them. “So, what’s the plan?” He said, eyes flicking to Aditi. “We don’t know what’s poisonous. We might have to kill boars and eat them.” The slight smirk that followed wasn’t cruelty, more a provocation, a nudge toward accepting the new rules.

  The injured man cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. “I saw this in a nature documentary—fruits and nuts that look plain are less likely to be poisonous. The bright ones, especially berries, are dangerous.” His voice was quiet, barely cutting through the rustle of leaves.

  “I’m not gambling on pretty colors,” Varun said, shaking his head. “I’d rather count on meat. Long term, it makes more sense.” He pointed at the dark shape of the spider’s carcass beyond the graves. “That thing could be toxic. But the boar? It looked like something we’d eat back home.”

  Rohan glanced at Aditi, arms wrapped tight across her chest, then at Mahesh, fists still clenched. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he said, voice calm. The tension in the clearing needed defusing.

  Varun didn’t let it go. “We’re already on the bridge.” He turned to Aditi, his voice less combative. “Hunger changes people. You might hate the idea now, but later? You’ll need it. I’d rather think ahead than wait until it’s too late.”

  “That’s enough,” Sid said, stepping between Aditi and Varun. “Our top priority is water, not food. Then we can talk food.”

  “Before we head out, shouldn’t we check out Rohan’s skill?” asked Mahesh.

  Rohan nodded, eager and uncertain in equal measure. “Let me try.” He tipped his head back, opened his mouth, and shouted—loud, raw, a little desperate. The silence afterward felt bigger.

  Varun walked next to Rohan, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Super Saiyan.”

  Rohan turned to Varun. “Help me.”

  “I don’t know if it’ll be the same for you,” Varun said, “but here’s how it worked for me.” He slowed his pace, making sure everyone could follow. A few heads shifted to watch. “Close your eyes. Picture your status screen.”

  “I can see my stats,” Rohan murmured, eyes shut, breath slowing, shoulders tensed with focus.

  “Good, now center your thoughts on the skill ‘Mana Web.’ Lock onto it,” said Varun, taking slow breaths.

  Rohan gave a small nod.

  “Okay. Remember how the spider did it. Open your eyes. Try to copy that movement. Don’t shout. Keep that feeling right there. Imagine a white ball forming just in front of your mouth. Let that image guide it.”

  Rohan focused; nothing happened. He frowned, swallowed, and started again. This time his breathing slowed, his eyelids fluttered. When he opened them, the orb was there—pale and sharp. Without meaning to, he jerked his chin forward.

  The shot slammed straight into Mahesh’s chest.

  Mahesh shouted, stumbling back. The web clung to him like hardened glue. “What the hell?” he snapped. “I could’ve been hurt!” He thrashed against the sticky, translucent strands as the branches above swayed in the quiet.