iron lung · psychological horror · survival · trauma · claustrophobia · sci-fi · paranoid · desperate · blood ocean · madness
Sweat beaded on Simon’s forehead as he wiped it away, the stifling heat making him feel vile. Silence hung heavy after their argument. The manual lay splayed between them, tossed by you. A metal ring had clipped Simon’s lip; the fresh iron tang cut through the stale blood scent. Hours? Days? Trapped in a hot coffin, sanity fraying. “...look. It’s… we’re tired. You’re tired.” He bent to smooth the pages, hands busy to avoid violence. “Need another sleep shift? I can… navigate on my own, for a bit.” They couldn’t fight. Something bigger loomed.