Two young men live, each on their own, in a liminal space: either in a situation of threshold or permanent transition between two worlds. One of these worlds, filmed with a camera, seems more "real" than the other, represented by computer-generated images (CGI) and explored by a digital avatar. But nothing is less certain. For what the film seeks to think about, represent, and recount is this other reality constituted by living on the threshold between the two worlds. To experience this reality of the threshold, the directors imagined the correspondence between the two explorers, each recording and sending to the other their travel stories in the altered reality. The situations alternate between recording and listening, voice-in and voice-over. The film thus produces this reality, and the floating mode of being that goes with it, by constantly folding the worlds onto each other in the audiovisual image, and each time differently. But whether they speak or listen, a common absence seems to affect the travelers, as if the mind had separated from the body. This separation grants a strange freedom: that of giving oneself a new body, new powers of perception and action—of being one's own Prometheus. At the risk of floating, of marking time in the suspense of time, on the threshold of existence, of incarnation itself. This is perhaps what is signified by the punctuation, throughout the story, of a third mode of perception: that of surveillance videos that film everything and nothing continuously, like the one that, pointed at Maidan Square on February 24, as it does every day, recorded for nothing the sound of the first Russian explosions around Kyiv. In this film, both simple and enigmatic, opaque and luminous, Gaetano Liberti and Luciano Pérez Savoy summon a power of cinema too rarely employed: that of manifesting, in order to study it, a singular or new, but strangely disturbing, way of being in the world.