Echoes of the Abyss

10.

How many days has it been? I sit in the control room, staring at the console before me, my mind a haze of exhaustion and hunger. I can't remember the last time I tasted solid food, felt its texture on my tongue, or experienced the simple satisfaction of a full stomach. Has it been days? Weeks? Moments blur together in an endless cycle of fear and fatigue. The gnawing hunger is constant, but it pales in comparison to the all-consuming weariness that weighs down my body and mind. Even small actions like turning a knob or flipping a switch require Herculean effort now. 

As does marshalling hope. Did anyone even hear my distress call? The thought of being truly alone here, trapped in this underwater tomb with a malevolent entity, is almost too much to bear.

But amidst the fog of exhaustion, a desperate idea has taken shape. My past encounters with the egregore, though terrifying, have given me a glimmer of hope: a wonderful idea. A crazy idea. Everything has a weakness. Even a creature like this.

Hands trembling, I make the final adjustments to the console, then slump back to survey my work. Although the control panel suffered minimal damage during the explosion, the newest additions to its dusty surface make it look like some explosion from a mad scientist's nightmare. Jewel cases litter the console and surrounding floor. Empty and cracked, now pilfered of their contents, they resemble hollow, hungry mouths. In this case, however, the CDs in those plastic cases held something more precious than food or gold. In addition to the recorded mantras, music, and chants scrounged from the other crew member's quarters, I have managed to amass quite a collection of spoken word affirmations. Messages of light, words of hope—who'd have thought they would become both weapon and ammunition in a war against an impossible adversary?

If they work.

Only if they work.

As I brush aside the empty cases, my fingertips graze the cool metal of the console beneath. The contrast of the smooth buttons against my clammy skin sends a jolt through my nerves. I hesitate before the PA system, my finger hovering over the switch. The sudden crackle of static startles me as the speakers come to life, the sound harsh in the oppressive silence of the room. I lean forward, my dry lips nearly touching the microphone.

"Testing, testing... One, two three..."

My voice is a raspy whisper, barely recognizable to my own ears.

But it's working! The PA system is working. I take a deep breath, the stale, recycled air filling my lungs, and make a decision. I'll broadcast a loop of the positive affirmations, hoping to harness their power against the egregore. It's a long shot, but what other choice do I have?

Isolation weighs heavily on me as I work, the echoes of my own movements the only sound in the deserted control room. The unexplained horrors that lurk in every shadow of the station seem to press in closer with each passing moment. But I cling to the memory of how positive thoughts affected the entity before—wounded it—a fragile spark of hope amidst the darkness.

With a final keystroke, I activate the system. Affirmations pour from the speakers, echoing through the empty halls.

I am strong. I am capable. I will overcome.

The words wash over me, a balm to my battered spirit.

Not content to wait for the egregore's inevitable response, I set about fortifying the control room. I drag heavy filing cabinets and chairs against the door, forming a makeshift barricade. The scrape of metal against the concrete floor sets my teeth on edge, but I push through the discomfort. Sweat beads on my forehead and stings my eyes, but I blink it away.

Outside the wide control room window, an underwater storm rages. Silt and debris swirl in the murky depths, obscuring the view of the ocean floor. The currents whip the sediment into dervishes, slamming them against the reinforced glass in sporadic barrages. The affirmation loop plays on, a thin thread of positivity amidst the chaos.

Crack!

As I turn, a glint catches my eye. A hairline fracture appears in the window, a spider web of cracks spreading outward from a point of impact in the far corner. To my horror, a slow drip picks up speed, turning into a steady trickle.

"No! This can't fail! Not when I've come this far!"

Tearing off my t-shirt, I rush over, heart jackhammering against my ribs. As I press the wadded cotton against the cool glass, attempting to staunch the deluge, the room temperature plummets, and the air thickens with an oppressive, unnatural energy.

I lean into the task, uncomprehending at first, when my hand, which should be wet, stays bone dry.

Realization strikes like lightning. The "fracture" is yet another of the creature's illusions, a trick designed to distract and weaken me. I steel myself, jaw clenched against the chattering of my teeth.

Then, the egregore's voice slithers through my mind, a seductive whisper promising power and escape. Images flash before my eyes: a life beyond the confines of this underwater prison, the ability to bend others to my will. For a moment, I waver, the temptation overpowering.

But then I remember the faces of my patients, the people I swore to help and protect. I think of the harm this entity has caused, the lives it's shattered. A surge of anger and determination floods through me, hot and invigorating. I will not be swayed. I will not fall prey to its manipulation.

The furniture shivers and shifts, the wood splintering under immense pressure as the creature presses against the barricaded door. The egregore's promises grow louder, more insistent, a siren song of power and release.

In a final, desperate stand, I lunge for the PA system and crank the volume as high as it will go. Affirmations blast through the speakers, reverberating off the metal walls until the very air seems to vibrate with their power.

Love surrounds me, guiding me towards my highest good. I am capable of great things. Fear has no place in my heart.

The egregore howls in pain and fury. It slams against the door, each impact sending shockwaves through the room.

Every challenge is an opportunity for growth. I am strong enough to face anything. I choose to see the light in every situation.

With each affirmation, its strikes lose potency.

My past does not define my future. Every day, I choose to move forward with courage and hope.

As I add my voice to the one on the recording, its voice dwindles, becoming little more than a sibilant hiss.

Every small step I take towards recovery is a victory.

Although the storm outside continues, inside the darkness recedes, replaced by natural, albeit still murky light.

I am in control of my narrative now!

The egregore's cries cut off abruptly, leaving only the hum of the PA system and the distant roar of the underwater currents. For a long moment, I stand there, my breath coming in ragged gasps, hardly daring to believe it's over.

On shaky legs, I stagger to the door and begin to dismantle the rest of the barricade. My muscles scream in protest, but I push through the pain, fueled by a desperate need to see for myself. As the last piece of furniture falls away, I take a deep breath and peer into the hallway.

A woman stands at its far end.