Premise

1. `1. Good morning. Good morning. Good morning to you. Wake up, little sunshines. Wake up, little moonlights. As if summoned by some perfectly silent alarm, you are all waking up in droves, heads popping up and up and up. You and all these people, all in this room, on floors and on couches and on rugs. Where are you? Where is this room? This isn't where you fell asleep. That's one thing you all have in common: this isn't where you fell asleep. Whether you were in the nest or in flight, whether you were walking to work or talking to your mother or, in fact, sleeping somewhere else--little birds, where has the wind taken you? Why were you even asleep in the first place? Why are you waking up? You are waking up. You are not where you're supposed to be. Well, yes, you are. But you're not where you think you're supposed to be. -`
2. [6:03 PM] `2. Look at you all. You're so clean. You feel it everywhere, you feel it on you. You've never been clean like you are right now. It's like you're brand new. Your hair, brushed, cleaned, preened. Perfect, free of night sweats, debris from the floor, little bits of dandruff, or any other evidence of a life lived at all. Every pore in your body is clean and clear. Not a speck of grease on that face, not a tickle of allergies in your nose, not a loose eyelash. Your fingernails are trimmed. If you wear glasses, they are cleaner than they've been in your entire memory. Like dolls fresh off factory lines, you are all doughy, and shiny, and wearing the same white clothes. There is not even the slightest imperfection on you, except for, of course, your mind. 'Unnatural,' you might think. Some part of your body and your soul may scream at you, some little animal part which rules you more than you know, it might scream and scream and scream. 'This isn't right! No creature on Earth is this clean! No creature born from dirt, no creature born from light! This isn't right! This isn't right!' Well then, what does that make you? And where does that make this? -`
3. [6:06 PM] `3. Do you hear me out there? All you Listeners. All you Watchers. Are you listening? No, I’m not talking to them, the ones waking up on the floor. I’m talking to you. This is pertinent information to you, too, Listener. As artists, as puppeteers, I want you to observe to the best of your ability. When writing the word ‘I’ is too much for you to bear, all those scattered along the floor are the names you call instead. Here is the burden they will carry, or the burden which will carry them. Here is the stage where you and I will make them dance. Have you ever been in a fancy hotel? No, not them on the floor. You again. I'm writing this for you. Did you like all that lavish opulence? Did you feel regal? Did you feel like a king? Did it make you sick? Did you feel like you shouldn't be there, like the valet would stomp you like a beetle? Maybe you stay in a lot of fancy hotels. Maybe they mean nothing to you by now. Maybe you push all your luggage on that poor little valet. Maybe you like watching them struggle under all that weight, little Watcher. After all, I think of you as quite Machiavellian. What? You don't see yourself that way? Ha ha. Ha ha. All around the wakers in the lobby is the most beautiful, most grand hotel. The most prominent parts are the many parts decked out in sterile, screaming white. So bright. The chandeliers, instead of having warm, yellow facsimiles of candles, have bright white LEDs. Or whatever is in there. It's so bright you can't see the bulb. Yet still, shadows play on the wall. In strange, strange places too, breaking out in stark dark patches everywhere.`
4. [6:06 PM] `It's not all white and shadow--there are some small black accents on the furniture. The front counter, which stands empty, is white marbled with black in a beautiful, curling pattern like vines. The perfect black clashes with the perfect white. No dust. No little hairs. No fabric threads. So perfect. On top of that empty counter is a stark silver bell. Behind it, a full wall of pegs hanging with shiny silver room keys, all identical except for their numbers. A map of the facility is engraved on the wall, though it says in big, black lettering: MAP IS ONLY PARTIAL. But the map is so big. There's so many rooms. What more could there be? Among other things, it shows you the dining room, the ballroom, the rooms themselves, the cinema, the mall, the childcare center... Wow. Isn't it lovely in here? These white, inviting couches and lounges, decked with soft pillows and blankets. A quaint little hanging sign on a wall says 'Naps Welcome.' Little signs direct you to the breakfast bar, the beautiful, mirrored elevator, the stairwell. They do not press. The amenities will wait for you, special guest. The immaculate marble floor, polished so much it reflects all the waking angels, makes satisfying, echoing sounds when you step on it. Beautiful, strange paintings hang everywhere all over the walls, though you can't really tell what they're all of. Many of them just seem to be depicting bursts of pure, pure white, like sun self-portraits. The immaculate polar-bear skin rug stretched in front of the counter has its eyes and mouth serenely closed. It's sleeping just as soundly as you were. Maybe it'll wake up too. Just kidding. -`
5. [6:06 PM] `4. What's that? Am I hearing some peeps and chirps from my little elves, my mages, my shapeshifters...? Am I hearing little exclamations, little trills of shock from those dearly attached to their dyed hair, their tattoos, their intricate hairstyles? Those of you with magic power, those of you with peculiar strengths, those of you with a connection to some sort of higher power, you may notice that your abilities are mysteriously...gone, or, should you need that magic to live, dulled to the point where you can't use them in any real way. All you little priests, you warlocks--no one is answering your prayers. You can't hear anything. It's deathly, deathly silent. There is no magic running through your veins. There are no secret weapons in your arsenal. You are just like everybody else. Speaking of just like everybody else, any dyed or bleached hair has been washed clean and returned to its original color and texture. Long hair is tied into a simple ponytail, or simple braids. Any tattoos are gone, like someone scrubbed your skin with an eraser. Any piercings are gone without a trace, not even a scar left behind. Your pockets are light, free of any weapons, any keepsakes. Look at you. So free. For those of you who need things such as glasses, implants, hearing aids, prosthetics, mobility aids, et cetera--the ones you already have have been replaced with clean, sterile, up to date versions, free of charge. Even if they're newly physically attached to your body, they feel so natural. Your body doesn't reject them at all. What's that? Your previous implants or aids were special in some way? Weapons? Controls an army of mice? Connects to the internet? Lemon-scented? Our sincerest apologies, but such things are against hotel policy. -`
6. [6:07 PM] `5. We've taken great pains to make you comfortable. Look, you even have new clothes. The finest silk pajamas, woven to perfectly fit you in just the way you like. Socks, warm and fuzzy, protecting you from the cold. And you, so clean. Don't you feel taken care of? Don't you remember when you used to feel clean, warm and simple, when you smelled of baby powder and worried for nothing? Mother no longer holds your hand while you cross the street. She no longer washes your hair. She won't protect you. Then who could it be that loves you this much? Who in the world loves you enough to wash you, to clothe you, to put you to bed? You don't know. All you know is you're waking up in an unfamiliar, beautiful place, and people all around you are doing the same, all dressed in white like you're going to a wedding. Maybe you are, for all you know. You're pleasantly warm. The air smells like nothing. The bear rug does not move, and there is no one at the counter. Welcome home.`

There is also an audio recording of this, and a trailer for the hotel