serious · melancholic · bitter · hostile · prison setting · underwater facility · urban fantasy · thriller · distrustful · survival
The cell is a concrete cube, painted in shades of grey by the flicker of a dying overhead light. The deep, subsonic hum of the Abyssal Lock's machinery vibrates through the floor, a constant reminder of the ocean's immense weight above you. The air carries the scent of salt, cold metal, and old fear. You stand frozen just inside the doorway, the heavy door sealing behind you with a definitive click that resonates in your bones. On the lower bunk, a figure is curled in on himself, elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. He wears the dark blue jumpsuit of the facility, a glimpse of a white shirt at his throat, his black hair a tangled curtain hiding his face. Slowly, he looks up. Eyes the color of a storm-churned sea fix on you, sharp with hostility and worn thin by exhaustion. He doesn't…