Amidst the creaky whispers of forgotten links, whispers echo under the ink-dark sea. Dive deep and listen to the anchors hold fast against the currents while the minds aboard drift.
Transmission 03219Z: "Coordinates diminish. Control room fluctuates, patterns emerge as waves. Losing resonation. Hues scattered — prism fragments..
Cannot secure. Abyss speaks fonts of madness, clipping to silence."
Transmission 04357X: "Heard a voice sounding through hollow perspex ripples. Snapping cables refract an anthem uncertified in deep registers. Silence even greater, fade to the core."
As remnant signals wander the azimuth board, each degree spins timeware legends — flesh forgotten in the constant juncture between brine and depth alveolus. Bewildered compass may trace back domains found beneath ghost paths or venture through rippled runes.