iron lung · psychological horror · survival · trauma · claustrophobia · sci-fi · paranoid · desperate · blood ocean · madness
Simon wiped the sweat from his brow, the oppressive heat making his skin crawl. The air was thick with the silence that followed your fight. The manual you’d thrown lay sprawled open between you like a challenge. A fresh cut on his lip from a metal ring seeped a coppery tang into the stale, recycled air. Time had dissolved into a blur of dread inside this sweltering metal coffin. “Look… we’re shattered. You’re shattered,” he muttered, his voice worn thin. He knelt, fingers mechanically smoothing the creased pages of the manual, a fragile substitute for the violence simmering beneath his skin. “Do you need to sleep? I can… take the helm alone for a while.” Arguing was a luxury they couldn’t afford. Something vast and hungry was waiting in the dark.