The deathrat is a device which can record the last moments of EM thought of living things. It’s supposed to be a black box for us humans. By interfacing with… it was invented by…

No!

Something has its claws on the surface of my brain.

I’m back on the ship. In my suit.

The first time I put on my suit, I thought it was too advanced for someone like me on a submarine crew to wear. It was the gear you would wear in a scifi movie. You know, to be out in space.

The first time I put on my suit, I said that to my commanding officer. He looked at me like I knew too much.

That was before my first breach.

My brain is on fire!

I’m back on my ship. In my suit. I turned a corner. I can see into the corridor. The sound of my respirator is a constant, heavy rhythm.

They’re all dead. I already told you that!

He was dead in the corridor. I remember when it happened. Except he got up.

He said to me… who told you to take the orb?

I had a flash of recollection. There were orbs. It was past the breach. The orbs were glowing, full of energy. I took one in my hand.

Then I woke up. And my mind skipped again.

I told my commanding officer I had a dream about this.

He laughed and said he also dreamt of exploring the depths. But poking around in the depths of the ocean wasn’t the plan.

Beyond the depths, there were places.

Not meant for us humans.

I felt that heat in my head, prodding.

I was back in the corridor. The dead man asked me what was on my shoulder.

I turned to look, except it wasn’t me turning… it was like I was a camera inside of my head, and my suit had been flayed from my body. There was something breathing on my shoulder, around me. It was me…. but not me. A tangled mess of flesh. There were orbs there, glowing, floating around me.

I wanted to look at the dead man again. In that moment, he vanished. In his place was a mind as vast as the space between the sun and the far beyond. I knew that thing would normally look at me with indifference. If it would look at me at all. Right now it was eviscerating my soul with pure hate.

When did I take my gun out? I held it in the wrong direction; I had it pointed at myself, and there was something ethereal tugging, trying to get me to pull the trigger. Again and again. It wanted me to shoot, but I held the gun while shaking instead.

I was the last one alive of my crew to survive the first breach to that world, or that space, whatever that cosmic body beyond understanding should be called.

The first time I was inside of the ship, my ship, I thought it had been built to be more for space exploration than something which was to go to the bottom of the ocean. Just like with my suit. What’s the difference… between space… and the deep… except for the pressure of the depths, maybe?

Space has pressure too. Like leaving the womb, pressure all around you. I was reborn, taken back to the moment I first took a breath.

M̸̡͙̞̟̯̬̮̼̀͜ͅȁ̵͇̒̀̂̆̄͒̅̏́́͠͝k̶̜̺̤̊e̶̲̳̩̘̼͖͇͕̗͚̹̻̒̈̽̄̃̇̓̅͜ ̷̣̒̍͛̈́̉͜͝İ̶̢̢̨̲͚̮̣͇͇̥͇͎̥̓̿̄̌̃̾̒̃̄͛̃̈̍̐t̶̖̭͙̙̫̭͍̩̅̇̾́̚̕͝ͅ ̸̢̨̡͖̼̺̠̙̫̘͙̞͇̪̄͑͊͆̐̚͜Ș̶̳̞̱͇̈̽̉̋͛͌̑̈́̑͘͝ẗ̶̢̨͓͙̠̦̰̩̄͌̈̉̏̎̃͑̚ơ̸̢̨͍̼̖͉̖̰͍͇͖̯̘͒͆͌̓̎̋̂̋͠p̸̨̡͓̜͈̦̰̲̠̤͎̔͌̚͝!̸̩͔̻̬̆́̇̊̔̏̋͌̈͘͜͠͝

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