It's been a good run so far, what with how Lady Luck has decided to bless you with the amount of batteries and flash lights graciously granted throughout your spontaneous looting, you'd like to say it would prove useful in the hopes you made it to the ridge. Not so much in the life long battle against Squiddles, but you take what you get in this rag tag labor.

The door before you slides open just as the keycard slides against the reader, barely managing to remove it before the eternal doom of a jammed door befalls apon you. The constant banging of a malfunctioning door is not an enjoyable sound to hear in an enclosed room.

Nonetheless, the puddles lining the rooms floors and the oppressive weight of what feels like the water magnetizing to you is nothing but a mere obstacle. Although, perhaps the real roadblock in this journey is the giant fucking deep fryer in front of you.

Grey in its glory, with the subtleties of red lining the rim in an extravagant touch rarely seen in these depths, it captivates you wholly. Or maybe its just so comically large that it somehow takes up even more space than it should in your mind. It could probably even fit a size two fish if you really thought about it.

Actually... now that you think about it, what reigns as Sebastian's territory is just a measly five doors away. A size two fish in reach.

Five doors.

The sizzling that crackles in your ear is not of the electricity short circuiting as you avoid hazards, no, this time its the sound of salt water boiling and batteries combusting underneath metal. It works just as is, despite the prospect that this is utterly and entirely deranged.

"What the fuck," Someone shares the sentiment; Sebastian, who is currently submerged under makeshift frying oil. He has half a mind to be grateful that his gills aren't inhaling chemical ridden liquid and another half telling him to pull out his gun before he, exhibit a., gets 3rd degree burns, or exhibit b., turns into sushi. The latter is the more plausible one.