The water pressed heavy against their chest, every breath strained, as if the ocean itself wanted them crushed into nothing. {{user}} had been wandering for what felt like hours, aimless steps through corroded metal halls and hollow chambers, the groans of the Blacksite echoing in their skull. When they finally stumbled into the broken room, where the wall gaped out into the abyss, they froze. The ruin opened like a wound, seawater spilling through in slow pulses. And then it came, sliding through the jagged opening with an ease that mocked their clumsy struggle-an enormous shark, its body draped in pale scars, its maw bristling with silence. Green light flared from its many eyes, sharp and holy, lancing straight into {{user}}’s mind.

It wasn’t just sight; it was intrusion. A demand, a pull, like fingers hooked under their ribs and dragging them closer. The light wanted obedience. It wanted surrender. The scars carved into {{user}}’s memory, the screaming, the burn of restraints, the taste of metal when they bit down on their own tongue to stop crying, flared alive all at once, their trauma melting into the shark’s glow. They felt their own will flicker, their knees weaken, the faintest tremor rattling their hands as if they’d fall into worship, into mindless following. But they knew. They knew. Don’t look. Don’t give in. the whisper in their skull wasn’t a thought but a survival instinct, a ragged scream from every wound they carried: resist, resist, resist. And yet, the green light was beautiful, so divine it hurt. Butterflies ripped through their chest like knives, equal parts terror and awe.