My name is Oliver Stubbs. My whole life and identity are inextricably entwined with
my camera, and to say that I make a living behind the lens would
be a monumental understatement. Ever since I was a child, I've been fascinated
by the power of photography, the ability to freeze time to immortalize a moment.
At an early age, I discovered a knack for capturing more than just
images, but stories, emotions, and life itself. Though looking back,
my pictures weren't all too impressive as a child, but as I grew older,
my fascination turned into a burning passion. I studied photography at the prestigious
University of Arts in London and became known by my peers for my evocative storytelling
Through images. I had the unique ability to capture the unseen, the unheard,
the unspoken, the soul of a scene. My distinctive style was hailed
as revolutionary. My work spans a range of genres, but my underwater photography
has become particularly renowned within my small community. The unseen world beneath the waves,
teeming with life, captivated me, and I devoted myself to capturing it
in all its vibrancy and mystery. My photos full vivid detail and the uncanny
ability to transport viewers beneath the surface into the heart of the underwater world.
And at the age of thirty, I was awaiting the dreaded burnout my friends
had all complained about. I was a natural choice when the renowned historical and
marine research organization, the Sea Passed Society, decided to take on the ambitious
task of finding and documenting revened Sir Rod Britain's own Atlantis. They needed someone
who could document the submerged ruins in a way that showcased their historical significance and
capture the mystery of a town long lost to the sea, a challenge that
I knew was perfect for me. Doctor Catherine Howard, the head of the
Sea Past Society, was a well respected marine historian, contacted me personally.
She believed in my unique talent for visual storytelling and thought I could bring the
sunken town story to life. She felt my photos could inspire a global audience,
stir their imagination and allow them to connect with the past submerged beneath the
cold waters of the North Sea. Naturally, I was thrilled and honored to
be selected for such a significant project. The chance to dive into the mysterious
depths and uncovered the secrets of a lost town was a dream come true.
And although I had done similar projects, something just felt different. My flat
in London soon became a frenzy of activity, cluttered with new high tech underwater
cameras, powerful lights for illuminating the dark ocean depths, an all manner of
equipment for preserving my gear against the corrosive effects of salt water, all funded
by the Sea Past Society. But amid the chaos, there was an undercurrent
of palpable excitement. Beneath the exhilaration was a thin layer of anxiety, like
a dusting of frost and an otherwise warm window pane. It lingered there,
never once stepping into the light, but ominously hovering in the room's dark corners.
The task ahead was daunting. This was not a recreation, nor dive
into a well explored reef, but an expedition into a town lost to the
depths six centuries ago. Unease did not overshadow my enthusiasm. It fueled it.
The chance to tell the story of Reverence Rod to breathe life into its
submerged and silent streets was a thrill like no other. I relished the challenge.
Before long it was time to travel to Yorkshire. I was introduced to
my dive body, a man named Callum, a burly Scotsman with a twinkle
in his eye and a jovial demeanor. But beneath his lighthearted exterior was an
individual of impressive expertise and meticulous attention to detail. Doctor Howard had assembled a
unique team of historians, marine archaeologists and technical experts. Most of them were
to stay above the sea and through another camera broadcasting to the boat. Callum
was the Sea Pass Society's health and safety coordinator. A veteran diver with an
impeccable track record, His task was to ensure the safety of the divers as
they explored the undersea ruins, and I was to be his primary responsibility.
Callum was hired not just for his expertise in dive safety, but also his
ability to remain calm in a crisis. His warm personality put me at ease,
making me feel safer about the dive. In the days leading up to
the dive, Callum and I worked closely together. We conducted practice dives,
tested our equipment, and developed a dive plan. His attention to detail,
an uncompromising approach to safety, impressed me. He was careful and cautious,
but also open to the spirit of adventure that this exploration held. The excitement
and nerves within me swirled like a tempest. The idea that I was soon
to explore a piece of history untouched for sentries, about to uncover stories that
had been silence for the sea kept me tossing and turning in my bed at
night. The day finally arrived, our vessel was a massive, state of
the artboat, stocked with all the equipment necessary for the dive, including cutting
edge so in our equipment, robotic submersibles, and a plethora of diving gear.
There was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a static charge that
prickled the skin and raised the hair and the back of your neck. I
noticed hushed conversations among the crew, quick sideline glances that hinted a concern.
Was it the enormity of the task that caused this, or perhaps they were
wary of a new face. I shook it off. I had a talent
for over thinking things, especially while stressed, Callum meticulously checked my gear,
ensuring every piece was functioning correctly. His diligent inspection was comforting, a touch
of solidarity emidicity of anticipation. We ran through a final checklist, emergency signals,
the navigation route, the ascent and descent points. As we finished our
preparations, the moments we've been waiting for was finally upon us. With one
last nod of reassurance from Callum, we plunged into the icy embrace of the
North Sea. The sudden chill was a shock, biting through the thick near
preen of my diving suit, but it did nothing to dampen my spirits.
If anything, it heightened my senses, focusing my mind and the world were
about to enter. As we ended, the remnants of raven Serad slowly emerged
from the gloom. The water had eroded much for what remained for a spectral
reminder of the bustling town it once was. Buildings, streets, the outlines
of what might have been a town square, all blanketed in a shroud of
decay and encrusted with marine life. Intricate stonework, long worn away by the
constant current, was now home to vibrant corals and anemones, creating an eerie
fusion of man made and natural beauty. The coral had claimed these structures,
using them as foundations for their colonies, transforming them into organic, living artworks
that swayed gently with the ocean's rhythm. It was a haunting site, a
tableau of life abruptly halted and preserved beneath the waves. Statues stood guard over
their underwater realm, their features softened by sentries under the sea, the stony
gaze meeting mine through a veil of tiny bubbles that streamed from my regulator.
A fish started past, a flash of iridescent color that stood out against the
gray stone and green blue water. I was caught between two worlds, the
ancient human past and the teeming marine life of the present. It was simultaneously
humbling and thrilling, a testament in nature's uncanny ability to reclaim and repurpose.
With my camera had the ready, I eagerly started documenting this hauntingly beautiful underwater
world. Calum and I navigated through the labyrinth of sunken streets. Each building
was a monument to the past, offering a unique glimpse into the lives of
those who once called roven Sarad home. While I concentrated on capturing the visual
essence of these ancient structures, other team members avoided us and engaged in their
own tasks. Their meticulously scraped away at the encrusted stone walls, collecting samples
to further understand how the sea had affected the materials over the centuries. Though
this underwater world was extraordinary, it wasn't entirely alien. I'd spent years exploring
and documenting similar sites, yet each site had its own unique character, as
singular atmosphere that made every dive a new adventure. My previous major project had
been an exploration of the underwater ruins of a Second World War shipwreck in the
Mediterranean Sea. That was a poignant journey, a testament to a grim period
of human history. But despite the historical significance, than the eerie beauty of
the coral clad wreckage, the experience was different, perhaps because it lacked the
element of human life that raven Sirard held. Once a mighty symbol of naval
power, the decaying whole now lay silent and broken on the ocean floor.
Raven Sirard was not merely a relic of an ancient era, but a snapshot
of everyday life, frozen in time and lost to the ocean depths. It
had once been filled with people, their hopes and dreams, their daily routines.
This tangible human element made this dive so much more thrilling. I felt
like an interloper peering into a time capsule of lives lived centuries ago. I
was careful to capture every significant structure, every suggestive detail that hinted are the
lives once lived here. I photographed the decay, the rich marine life,
and the profound contrasts between human architecture and natural adaptations. Each click of my
shutter felt like a tribute, a way to immortalize the town in its untold
stories for posterity. The underwater world was a curious way of warping one's sense
of time. Minutes stretched into hours, and each moment is amplified in the
silent stillness of the ocean depths. Before I knew it, I dive time
was up, and the team began their gradual ascent back to the surface.
As I started to swim upwards, I felt an unaccountable tug, like an
unseen current, pulling me back towards the sunken Town. It was as if
Raven Syrid was reluctant to let us go, whispering silent please for us to
stay and listen to its muted stories a while longer, mistaking it for my
thirst for excitement, it was a mistake. A few days later, I
found myself in the Sea Pass Society's dedicated photography lab, surrounded by the familiar
hum of high end development equipment and the sharp, confident scent of photographic chemicals.
Developing photos was always a ritual of anticipation and discovery. For me.
The way an image gradually emerged in the paper felt almost like magic, a
portal opening up to a frozen moment in time. As the first of the
underwater images began to materialize, I was thrilled to see the haunting beauty of
the sunken town coming to life once more. But as I went through the
developing photos, unease started to creep in. I first noticed in one of
the shots of the town square there was a shadow that didn't align with the
underwater light refraction, a blur that felt out of place. I thought it
might have been a technical glitch, perhaps an equipment malfunction or an error in
the development process. But as more photos developed, the anomalies kept appearing.
Patches of darkness seemed to move across the sequential shots, undefined shapes lurking in
the corners of the frame, and art distortions that seemed to warp the scenery.
They were subtle and could easily be dismissed as flaws or artifacts of the
photographic process, but something about them made me feel uneasy. I reviewed the
images over and over, trying to find a logical explanation, but the more
I looked, the more inconsistencies gnawed at me. It felt as though the
images were hiding something, something that lurked just beyond the edges of perception.
It was as if the quiet town of Raven Syrod had secrets. It was
reluctant to reveal secrets that I had inadvertently brought back with me to the surface.
In some sort of sickening denial, I laid out the images before me.
My mind teetered between disbelief and fear. Something was wrong, but I
couldn't discern whether it was a simple mistake on my part or something more profound.
This was my work, and the anomalies. However, bizarre had emerged
from my own camera. I wanted it to be my error. It had
to be right. Doubt seeped into my thoughts, creating a whirlpool of uncertainty.
Had I over something in the underwater conditions? Had I mishandled the equipment?
Was there something wrong with my camera? I was well respected in my
field and known for my precision and attention to detail. A mistake like this
felt uncharacteristic. But I couldn't ignore the possibility. And then there was the
question of whether to reveal these anomalies to my superiors. I found myself wrestling
with the implications. I was not one to be easily intimidated, but the
thought of jeopardizing my position unsettled me. Despite my accomplishments, the all too
familiar feeling of imposter syndrome setting, I found myself questioning my abilities and whether
I really belonged here. Despite this, deep within me, a quiet resolve
began to form. As much as the prospect of uncertainty unknown to me,
the idea of not pursuing this anomaly felt even worse. I've always been driven
by a hunger of a truth and understanding I had to find out if I
had messed up, If not, what was causing the distortions raven Erard had
presented me with a puzzle, and I could not resist the pull the delve
deeper. I approached doctor Howard with a carefully considered proposal. I crafted an
excuse, one that was rooted in genuine scientific curiosity and made to cover my
ass if it turned out to be my fault the entire time. I suggested
we needed a more detailed visual record of the site. A series of panoramic
images that could be digitally stitched together to provide a three hundred and sixty degree
view of the underwater town could enhance her understanding of the spatial layer of the
town. Doctor I argued, maintaining an air of professional concern, Imagine being
able to virtually navigate through the streets of raven Sirid. It could reveal architectural
patterns, structural relationships, aspects we may have missed her in the first dive.
I chose my words carefully, knowing that the proposal would appeal to doctor
Howard's keen interest in experimental archaeological techniques. A prospect of contributing a unique method
of documentation to the field was too enticing for her to disregard. To my
relief, she agreed, that sounds like an excellent idea, Oliver, She
nodded, a spark of excitement in her eyes. Prepare for another dive and
make sure this time we document every inch of that town. With a go
ahead secured, a new wave of anticipation swept over me. I was going
back. I found myself relieved, yet something still sat deep inside of me.
In the days leading up to the dive, I found myself spending more
time with Callum. I shared passion for ocean exploration had naturally drawn us together,
but our contrasting personalities solidified our bond. With his infectious enthusiasm and easygoing
nature, Callum was the perfect counterbalance to my more focused and often intense demeanor.
Callum had a knack for putting people at ease. He was full of
stories about his adventures from all around the world, from wild encounters with marine
creatures to the time that he got lost in a coral made off the coast
of Australia. His tales were always told with a broad grin and a glint
of mischief in his eyes, leaving anyone within earshot in fits of laughter.
One evening, as the sunset bathe the sea in hues of orange and red,
Callum and I found ourselves sitting on the company dock, just minutes from
our temporary accommodations. He had brought two hot Coco mugs, a comforting drink
perfect for the cold evening. Callum turned to me as we sipped the sweet
beverage and watched the sun sink below the horizon. You know, Ali,
the iving isn't just about the adrenaline rush with a sense of adventure, he
said, his eyes reflecting the dying light from the setting sun. It's about
connection. It's about understanding our place in the grand scheme of things and how
we as humans interact with the world around us. He spoke, his words,
rich with his accent. His words resonated with me. It was comforting
to know that someone else understood and shared this sentiment. It was this shared
sense of connection, the shared appreciation of the ocean's magnitude and mystery, that
had drawn me to this profession in the first place. As the night deepened
and the stars shone brightly above, I hesitated, weighing my words carefully before
speaking Callum, I began, my voice barely above a whisper. There's something
about the last dive that I haven't told anyone. Callum turned to me,
his usually cheerful expression giving way to concern. What is it? Oli the
photographs from the dive, There are anomalies, I confessed, watching his face
nervously for any sign of ridicule or disbelief. Anomalies he echoed, leaning back
in his chair and crossing his arms, Yeah, I nodded. Shadows that
don't make sense, blurs that seemed to move. It's as if something was
there with us. A silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant
lapping of waves against the boat's hull. Callum's face was thoughtful. Momentarily I
feared I had crossed the line. Finally, he broke the silence. Ali,
we were diving into a sunken town, a place that held life history,
probably secrets too. He began, his tone measured. Let's not forget
it. We were deep underwater, where life behaves strangely, and visibility can
play tricks in your eyes and the camera. I nodded, knowing his rationale
made sense, but also knowing that my concerns weren't mere illusions. It's more
than that. The photos they feel wrong. I can't explain it, but
it's like the town was trying to tell us something or warn us. Callum
regarded me for a long moment, the lines on his face deepening as he
processed what I just shared. Then, with a firm nod, he clapped
a hand on my shoulder. Ally, you're one of the best underwater photographers
out there. If you say something was off, then it was off.
We'll keep our eyes open and the next dive together. His reassurance brought a
wave of relief, and I found myself smiling at his words. His support
and willingness to believe my concerns made me feel better about the upcoming dive.
There was a moment of silence as Callum finished speaking. Thank you, Callum,
I finally said, my voice filled with gratitude. I know it sounds
odd. I just needed someone to know, just in case, in case
of what he asked, his eyes searching mine, Frances I paused for a
moment, staring out at the endless expanse of the sea. I'm not sure,
I admitted, but whatever it is, I have a feeling it's tied
to raven Seer d This is different from my other dives. It feels like
something more than just a sunken town. Callum continued to look at me,
his eyes reflecting concern and curiosity. It was clear that part of him didn't
believe me, but he remained silent. Well, he said, after a
considerable pause, we'll face it. As he said, this is about more
than just the town. Whatever it is, I nodded, feeling a sense
of camaraderie in his words. Yeah, I agreed, taking a deep breath
as I turned to face the sea again. The following morning dawned bright and
clear, the crisp blue sky starkly contrasting the enigma that awaited us beneath the
surface. As we prepared for the dive, I couldn't help but feel a
mix of anticipation and unease. There was a silent tension in the air,
like the stillness before a storm. Callum once again meticulously checked over our equipment,
his attention to detail a welcome source of comfort amidst my apprehension. Every
buckle, valve and gage was inspected. Every aspect of our gear was scrutinized
to ensure maxim and safety. As we began our descent, the familiar coolness
of the water enveloped us, and my senses heightened. This time, however,
the thrill of the dive was tinged with an undercurrent of uncertainty. As
the town of raven Syriard came into view and not sensation settled over me.
It was as though the town was somehow aware of our presence. There was
a whisper at the edge of my consciousness, a sense of being observed from
the shadows. The closer we got, the more palpable this feeling became.
It felt like we were intruders in this lost town, disturbing the peace of
its long forgotten inhabitants. As we began our exploration, I continued to notice
fleeting shadows at the edge of my vision, faint movements caught in the corners
of my eyes, seemingly disappearing as soon as I turned to look. My
heart pounded in my chest as a chill ran down my spine, But I
forced myself to stay composed and focused on the task, Determined to fulfill my
promise that doctor Howard, I set about capturing the panoramic images of raven Syrid.
I methodically swam from one building to the next, with Calum following close
behind. I captured every detail of the sunken town. The remains of the
harbor, the ancientcy wall, and the collapsed roofs of the houses are all
immortalized in my camera. Yet with each shutter click, the sense of unease
grew. It was as though the very act of photographing the town was disrupting
something, and with each disruption, the uncanny sensation that we were not alone
intensified. It felt like the sea had a heart beat, a thrumbing rhythm
that pulsed around me, seeping into my bones. The feeling of being watched
became stronger as we swam through the main square, where a towering statue,
ravaged by time and water, stood as a testament to the town's lost glory.
As my flash illuminated the worn stone, I could swear the statue's gaze
was locked on to us, the cold eyes of stone holding a cold glare.
I shook my head, trying to dismiss it as a trick of the
light, but Callum had noticed too. The murkiness of the water seemed to
thicken around us as we continued to the outskirts of the town, the once
vibrant coral that adorned the buildings, appearing pallid and ghostly under our torch light.
Occasionally a fish would dart away, its silvery scales, shimmering briefly before
disappearing into the blue abyss, leaving us in solitude. Once more. Examining
the town more, I noticed each structure held its own tale of decay.
Houses, once filled with a hum of life, now stood desolate, the
skeletal remains encrusted with marine life. The town's church, with its toppled spire,
lay half buried under the sand. I captured the eerie beauty of the
forsaken town etched in each frame. As we neared the end of our exploration,
the sensation of being watched peaked. The water around us seemed to ripple
with an unseen presence. Suddenly, gust of underwater currents swept past us,
an inexplicable chill that froze my blood. A dark form darted in the corner
of my eye, but when I turned, there was nothing but the ancient
ruins and the haunting darkness beyond. My heart pounded in my chest as I
watched Callum signal or ascent, his eyes wide with fear. A dark shadow
darted towards him from the corner of my eye. A surge of adrenaline rushed
through me as I turned to look, but it was too late. An
unseen force struck Callum, rushing him with a violent current into the decrepit wall
of a nearby building below. His regulator was knocked free. Bubble was bursting
from his mouth in a panicked rush, yet his training prevented him from breathing
in water. Callum, I screamed into my regulator, my voice muffled and
carried away by the water. Frantically, I swam towards him, my heart
pounding in my chest. His eyes were wide and shock and his hands desperately
grappled for the regulator as he struggled against the new unseen current. I grabbed
him, anchoring myself and fighting the force battering us. I swam down and
holding onto Calum with one hand, I grabbed his backup regulator and shoved it
towards him. He took it, jamming it into his mouth. He purged
the water out of the mouthpiece, and his paniced eyes softened slightly as the
life giving air flowed once more. I turned to face the town, a
sense of anger burning inside me. Whatever was lurking in the forgotten depths of
raven Serad had shown itself, not just as an uncanny presence, but as
a threatening force. The water seemed to pulsate with sinister energy, the town's
ruins casting ominous shadows in our torchlight. I could feel it watching us,
pressing against us, making his displeasure known. I signaled and a cent to
Callum, who nodded his eyes wide but resolute. He kicked upwards. Each
stroke taken us further from the menacing depths of raven Serard. As we rose,
the water grew lighter, the pressure eased, and the sense of dread
began to dissipate. Just as we thought we were clear, a sudden force
pulled us back down, even stronger than before. It was as if the
entire ocean had become an invisible hand, dragging us back towards the malevolent town.
I screamed into my regulator again as I saw him get pulled away from
me, his form disappearing into the murkinger. Desperate, I tried to swim
towards him, but the force was too strong. Then suddenly my grip and
my camera slipped, and it began to sink. It's attached light flickering like
a falling star into the watery void. I watched horror stricken as it fell
into a crack and deeper into the abyss. I cried out, I've voice
lost in the aquatic emptiness. That camera was my lifeline, not just for
my profession, but now it seemed for our survival. It sank rapidly,
swallowed up by the eternal darkness of the ocean. Whatever was targeting us was
weak, as if it needed us to be closer to the town to fully
overpower us. As I was about to dive after it, I felt a
hand gripped my arm. I turned to see Callum, his eyes wide with
fear and confusion, but alive. He shook his head. He was right.
Going after it spelt more danger than either of us could imagine. We
ascended again, with nothing else to do, hoping the loss of our evidence
calmed the town. The effort was physically taxing, the cold sea water churning
around us as we battled to ascend. Each kick and each push felt like
a We were fighting against a relentless tide. My muscles screamed in protest,
but I forced myself to keep going, pushing past the pain and exhaustion.
Callum was ahead of me, every sinew in his body straining as he too
fought against the pull. Determination was etched on his face, yet he kept
his eye on me. Slowly, painstakingly, we began to gain distance,
the pole of the town lessening. I could see the lighter waves above us,
the sun's rays penetrating the deep blue, beckoning us towards safety. We
broke to the surface and found ourselves clinging to the side of the boat.
Our breaths ragged and our bodies exhausted. Our crew helped our heavy bodies aboard,
their faces masks of concern and confusion. We exchanged no words. The
terror of our experience had left us momentarily speechless. As we docked back at
the mainland, doctor Howard was there to meet us. She looked troubled eyes
scanning Callum and me, noting our bruised and battered bodies. We were a
far cry from the enthusiastic team that had embarked on a journey to chronicle the
sunken town. Oliver Callum. She began, her voice a mixture of concern
and something else, something I couldn't quite place what happened out there. I
exchanged a glance with Calum before turning back to her. Taking a deep breath,
I recounted the inexplicable experiences, the unseen force, the threatening shadows,
and the attack. Doctor Howard listened, her face paling as we described our
encounter. As I mentioned the loss of the camera, I saw a flicker
of disappointment across her face, but it was quickly replaced by a serious expression
as I continued. I know this may sound impossible, I concluded, brace
myself for a reaction, but something is down there, Doctor Howard, something
that doesn't want us there. For a moment, there was silence. Doctor
Howard seemed to be processing what we told her, her gaze distant. Then,
to my surprise, she nodded. I believe you, Oliver, she
said quietly. In fact, I owe you both in apology. She took
a deep breath and then began to explain. Teams before us had reported the
same strange feelings, the same sense of being watched, but it was more
than that. After their third dive, members started returning with inexplicable injuries.
Those who were brave enough to attempt a fourth dive, they never returned at
all. I had hoped, foolishly, perhaps that capturing photographic evidence would help
us understand what was happening, doctor Howard confessed, her voice wavering slightly.
I didn't want to believe that the town itself could be dangerous while we were
gone. Doctor Howard admitted that she had examined the photos from our first dive.
She also admitted to noticing the strange phenomena. I had ghostly figures,
inexplicable shadows, things that didn't make sense, But she dismissed them, attributing
them to light or damage to the camera. But now hearing your account,
I understand that there's something more at play here, she admitted, her eyes
reflecting her deep remorse. I should have warned you, should have stopped the
dives, but my desire for discovery overrode my caution. Her confession left us
shocked the realization that she had known at least partially of the potential danger but
had not shared it. It stung, yet, looking at her, seeing
her genuine remorse, I could only feel a deep sense of sadness. I
shook it all away. As doctor Howard's confession hung in the air, a
deep sense of betrayal began to coil in the pit of my stomach. Anger,
hot and quick, started to rise within me. Seeing away the icy
dread that had gripped me since the dive, I stared at Doctor Howard,
my mind a whirlwind of disbelief. My chest tightened, and my heart pounded
in my ears. The woman who had entrusted us with an assignment of a
lifetime, a woman we respected and admired, had knowingly led us into a
trap, a trap that could have costed us our lives. We had trusted
her, relied on her, and she had betrayed us. The pressure built
inside me, a physical weight pressing against my chest, the corners of my
vision growing red with rage. The sting of betrayal cut deep. A flash
of memory, the cold, unforgiving waters, the threatening shadows, and the
deep Callum's terrified eyes, the invisible force that had almost claimed us, all
came crashing down, feeding the fire of my anger. You knew. My
voice was low and harsh, carrying the weight of my bruin anger. You
knew, and you still sent us down there. Doctor Howard tried to respond,
her voice placating, but the words were lost on me. The anger
was all consuming, now, blotting out any reason we could have died,
Howard Callum could have died. The words tore from my throat, raw and
furious. At that moment, I felt a sudden urge to leave, to
put as much distance between myself and doctor Howard as possible, to escape from
the bitter taste of betrayal. But instead I stood there, my fists clenched,
my body trembling with unspent rage. My career, my love for the
ocean, and the trust I had in those I worked with all felt like
they were sinking. A shiver ran through me, a mix of anger and
something else, a deep, echoing sadness as profound as the ocean itself.
I walked out after that, in a rush of adrenaline. I packed away
my belongings, leaving behind the new equipment tainted by the darkness of the project,
and left. I hope whatever inhabits that town stays there.