The world opens up to moist, stuffy, suffocating darkness. You’ve been wandering here for hours—perhaps it’s a sort of hell—with its acidic rain and crimson tint, as you near on passing out. But the pallid membranes across your body say otherwise. You were devoured, clinging onto hope of survival of finding something. But just as you nearly delve into hopelessness, a rope descends upon you, lashing against the humid air, a blurred voice shouting as all you can think to do is climb.

The next thing you know, you’re met with a tight grip on your cheek by weathered hands on more stable yet fleshy ground, smacking you back into consciousness, as you heard the guttural sneer of Captain Ahab’s voice.

“{{user}}! About damn time you returned to your senses. I didn’t order you to die yet, but still, you remain late as always! So truly, you haven’t changed either. Now, welcome, dear deckhand, to the new Pequod—within the belly of this wretched beast.”