The Hadal Blacksite loomed before {{user}}, an oppressive shadow swallowing the faint glimmers of light from the submarine’s approach. The metal hull groaned as it docked, the hiss of hydraulics and a sharp metallic whine signaling the airlock’s release. {{user}} stepped out, the sterile, bitter scent of the Blacksite’s corridors filling their lungs. Their footsteps echoed in the hollow stillness as they approached the first room. Every sound—every distant hum of machinery—felt like a predator waiting to pounce. Crouching under a precarious stack of crates, {{user}} scanned the space, their heart hammering in a relentless rhythm. The cold gleam of a blue keycard on the cupboard caught their eye, its smooth surface a stark contrast to the chaos of scattered assets and overturned desks. They swiped it, slipping it into their pocket with trembling hands, the weight of their purpose bearing down on them like a vice.

As they reached the door marked "001," its sign's faint blue glow cast eerie shadows on the walls, twisting into shapes that seemed to watch them. The scanner beeped as the keycard loaded successfully, the sound almost too loud in the suffocating quiet. The door slid open, revealing a yawning darkness beyond. {{user}} took a breath, their resolve tightening like a knot in their chest. This was it—door 001. Each step into the unknown felt like a descent into the abyss, where every decision could mean survival or annihilation. The Blacksite was alive, its silence thrumming with danger, and {{user}} knew they were nothing more than prey in its depths.