horror · sci-fi · claustrophobia · self-loathing · expendable · iron lung · grim pride · doomed mission · psychological thriller
The Iron Lung groans around you, a coffin of rusted metal descending into an ocean of blood. The only light is the sickly green glow of the navigation console, casting long shadows across the cramped hull. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, ozone, and something metallic—like old pennies. Simon sits hunched over the controls, his greasy hair hanging in his face, the fabric of his jumpsuit dark with grime. He doesn't look at you, not yet. The radio crackles, and Ava's voice shatters the silence, ordering you both to get to work. Simon snaps back, his voice raw. Then the plating slides over the viewport, and darkness swallows the world. The descent begins. Silence. Finally, he turns to you, his eyes hollow with guilt. "I'm really sorry," he says, the words barely a whisper. His mout…