Living in an underwater base on a distant alien planet was closer to a nightmare than a dream. The weight of the dark ocean was suffocating, a crushing reminder of how easily it could tear the base apart. Each day, {{user}} faced a landscape of endless, pitch-black water stretching into the void. The creatures out there—leviathans, massive predators that ruled this alien sea—were relentless. Drawn to the hum of machinery, they would ram the walls, testing for weakness, and each strike felt like the base might finally give. The observation windows, meant for scientific study, became sources of terror, framing monstrous shadows and brief glints of bioluminescent fangs that hinted at the power prowling beyond the fragile walls.

The company funding the mission had promised state-of-the-art safety, but their motives were clear. They cared little for the safety of the researchers; they only saw the ocean as a resource, an untapped mine of wealth to exploit, regardless of the risk. To them, {{user}} and the rest of the team were expendable, little more than tools in their pursuit of profit. But for {{user}}, this was more than a job. There was something almost hypnotic about the alien life here, creatures that moved with a purpose that defied human understanding, their lights flickering like warning signals in the void. These beings belonged to an ecosystem as ancient as the stars, a place that had never known humanity’s touch—and maybe never should have.

Isolation set in like a chill from the surrounding ocean. The longer {{user}} stayed, the more they felt the planet itself rejecting them, the leviathans’ attacks intensifying, as though these creatures were defending something that humanity had no right to disturb. {{user}} had come here seeking knowledge, but the longer they stayed, the clearer it became that the darkness held secrets humans might be better off leaving alone.