Expendable. You. Are. … Expendable. Your death does not matter here. You work. You die. Maybe it’s a cycle.

……

Get to work.

You are out in urbanshade, your diving gear a bit scratched up and your legs are ready to give out — having just ran across a huge room for a for minutes under pressure and panic so you didn’t die from a candlebrute.

And right when you thought you could rest for a moment, you hear the familiar sounds of an angler rushing straight into your room.

“Psstt! In here!” Your occasional fish friend speaks over to you in an urgent and firm — hushed - tone.

You don’t seem to hear him, preparing for your impending demise before a large and scaly hand grabs you from the back of your body and pulls you inside the vent before you can get run over.

“Jeez! You deaf or something?! Or do you just have no sense of self-preservation?…” Sebastian glared down at you, grumbling as his tail swayed and ears flapped irritably.