Chapter Text
Vortex wasn’t supposed to be here.
They didn’t even know where “here” really was.
One moment they’d been yanked from their world—bright lights, screaming—and the next they’d dropped into the middle of a violent heist gone wrong.
Shots were fired. Alarms were blaring.
Before they could process any of it, they were tackled, cuffed, and slammed into the dirt.
The charges stacked fast: Conspiracy to commit a crime. Aiding and abetting. Trespassing. Obstruction. Terrorism.
In court they weren't even able to argue. No one listened.
They’d been sentenced to death without fanfare.
Then Urbanshade showed up. Government-funded researchers with polite smiles and crisp folders.
They offered Vortex a deal.
Help them recover some “crystal” and whatever other data was loose in the flooded ruin of a facility, and they’d clear the death sentence—wipe the record, even pay them a small fortune.
There was a catch, of course.
They were expendable. Vortex still signed anyway.
Now they stood at the edge of a steel ramp, staring into the bowels of the submarine that would take them to the underwater complex.
They were shaking. They hated that.
Their tail twitched behind them, a thin, heart-shaped devil’s tail that always seemed to have a mind of its own.
They felt the Urbanshade guards watching from behind, guns held low but ready.
No going back they thought.
Vortex adjusted the red mask they wore—a mask with X’s for eyes and a sharp grin sculpted across it. It fit snugly around the horns jutting from their fluffy brown hair, it wasn’t stuck to them; it simply wouldn’t come off unless they wanted it to.
They took a thin breath and stepped inside.
The submarine was cramped and silent except for the hum of old machinery.
They sat there for a moment, flexing pale fingers marked with patches of black staining along their forearms, trying to keep their breathing steady.
The door opened with a hiss, revealing the rust-stained platform of the facility’s first entrance. Their boots thudded onto metal as speaker above crackled with an indifferent, electronic voice:
"As discussed during your briefing, your primary objective is to secure and bring back the crystal. Your secondary objective is to secure as many loose assets as possible. You have been equipped with a diving tank, allowing you to navigate any potentially flooded areas. You've also been equipped with a crystal container, used for securing the crystal if—er, when—you reach it.”
Vortex scowled to themselves as the voice paused
“You have permission to use any additional equipment you may find. Our navi-path AI system has marked the shortest route possible to your primary objective. It should be noted that you'll mostly be left on your own, as we are currently busy managing multiple teams. We will tune in from time to time, if it matters in the moment. Open the door and proceed when ready."
They hated the voice. It was too calm, Too clinical. Spelling out their likely death without even pretending to care.
Vortex swallowed and grabbed the keycard from a small desk and they pushed the door open.
Beyond, the hall was dim and lined with battered metal panels humming with old power conduits. Lockers stood here and there, sparse and looming in the gloom.
Their boots echoed dully as they passed through Door 100, stale air hissing around them. They kept moving, picking up stray folders and flash drives, shoving them into their pack.
They reached Door 95 before the lights flickered hard.
Vortex froze as a shriek split the corridor behind them.
They turned, their eye wide. Too slow.
Something vast and smoky, jagged like an Angler fish’s nightmare, flew straight through them.
They felt every nerve sizzle.
And then—
They blinked.
They sat at a battered desk, surrounded by suffocating darkness.
Above hovered three blinking eyes, glowing coldly.
“Oh—hello. You died. Whaaat a shame.”
The voice dripped sarcasm, no energy behind it.
“We haven't met before. But hopefully you’ll stay alive long enough next time for me to give myself a proper introduction. Since those iiidiots up there didn't feel like telling you about which exact dangers you'd face down here, I've been assigned to fill that role.”
Vortex didn’t reply. Their mouth felt dry behind the mask.
“Whenever you die, you'll be brought here, and I'll show you a document detailing what caused your oh-so-early demise. He was very specific with… how much information I could share with you though. It's stupid, I know. His orders, not mine. All documents are heavily classified. Lots of black lines. Redacted text. Whole nine yards. The more times you die to something, the more black lines he lets me remove.”
They clenched a fist.
“Alright. Let me find what caused your… ahh, here we go.”
A folder slid across the desk.
“The Angler.”
Black lines slashed across it, but enough remained: a smoky entity emitting electromagnetic pulses, draining bioelectric activity, rampaging blindly down hallways.
Vortex’s shoulders sagged as they pushed the folder back to the figure.
The folder vanished, snatched away by a blue-scaled claw.
They blinked—
And they were back in the submarine.
Breathing ragged.
They wiped their palm across the red mask.
They stood again.
Keycard.
Door.
Hall.
They went farther this time.
Door 93.
The lights flickered again and the shriek returned.
They dove for a locker instinctively, slamming it shut as the Angler thundered past.
The lights exploded behind it, plunging them into darkness.
They pressed back against the metal, jaw tight.
When silence returned, they cracked the door open and slipped out.
More folders. More drives.
They arrived at door 84.
This one led to a long corridor lined with massive windows showing the sea around the facility.
For a moment it was almost pretty.
Then suddenly static swallowed their vision in green pulses.
Voices clawed at their skull, screaming to look. And as vortex turned to look they saw a massive bull shark that floated outside, its black skin stretched over too many huge green eyes.
Their brain felt like it was melting as they hit the ground, twitching.
They awoke back at the desk. The figure spoke once more.
“Welcome back. Let's see what killed you this time… ah ha!”
Another folder.
“Eyefestation.”
As was the last document this one was also littered with redacted text and black lines, but from what they could read they gathered enough.
Radiation-mutated shark. Compelled victims to stare, liquefying their brains.
They pushed it back with shaking fingers and the blue-scaled claw whisked it away.
They blinked.
And they were back in the submarine.
Vortex’s fingers were trembling as they sucked in breath, shaking out their arms.
They then started moving again.
Keycard.
Door.
They moved with tense precision.
Avoided the Anglers as best they could.
A monochrome one that killed the lights. a pink one that screamed louder. a green one with harmless smoke. a blue ones that darted too quickly. a yellow, frog-faced ones that paced as if daring them to slip up.
Sweat chilled on their back every time.
They tried to stay one step ahead.
Until they weren’t.
They were running for a locker to escape an Angler’s how and they felt something wet and cold wrap around their neck. That's when they realized. The locker wasn’t empty.
It dragged them in and Crushed the air from their lungs before they could even scream.
Darkness.
Back at the desk.
The figure watched.
“Welcome back. Let's see who fucked you over this time…”
A folder slid over.
“Puddles of Void-Mass.”
Redacted lines hid much, but it was enough: these things appeared after the breach. They hid in lockers. Waited for the desperate.
They read it, trembling slightly.
“Maybe check where you're hiding next time.”
The voice was dry.
Sarcastic.
Amused.
They shut their eyes.
When they opened them, they were back in the submarine.
Sweat chilled on their black-stained neck. Their heart thundering.
But they knew they’d do it again.
And again.
Until they completed the mission—
Or the deaths never stopped.