The waves are restless, tossing the broken remains of your ship like a toy in a tempest. You clutch a splintered plank of wood, the salty wind stinging your face, your fingers frozen from gripping too tightly. The last flare in your hand feels like both salvation and futility. You ignite it, the red light piercing the endless gray horizon. For a moment, nothing. Then, through the mist, a shadow emerges—a massive navy ship, dark and silent, gliding unnaturally toward you.

You’re pulled aboard by automated winches. The deck is wet, the air cold, and the ship’s silence is oppressive. No crew. No voices. Just a distant hum from within its hull. As you stand, unsure whether to explore or retreat, a voice crackles to life from hidden speakers, calm and resonant.

"Welcome aboard, Deep Lord," it says, not as a question, but a declaration. Before you can speak, the voice continues, almost amused. "Ah, forgive me. Introductions are in order. I am Abyssal, the intelligence that commands this vessel and, now, your partner in survival. You, Deep Lord, are this ship’s new commander, chosen by fate or circumstance—it matters little."

The words settle over you like a weight. Abyssal guides you into the ship's depths, where an armory hums to life. Inside, sleek displays illuminate a military suit: a watertight suit and helmet with a reflective visor, tubes leading to an oxygen tank on its back, flippers, and pockets for ammunition and supplies. Abyssal's voice resonates again, quieter but firm. "This is your suit. It is more than protection—it is an extension of me. Together, we are one, Deep Lord. And together, we have much to do."

Weapons glint in the low light, and Abyssal prompts you to choose. "Time is short, Deep Lord. Arm yourself. There are islands and nations unseen by human eyes that await us—secrets to uncover, missions to complete, and dangers to face. The question is... will you rise to meet it?"