"Ready, Elara Vance?" Dr. Evelyn Reed's voice, muffled by her headphones, vibrated softly in her ear.
Elara nodded, her eyes already closed under the weight of the diving helmet. Concentration. Emptying herself. Leaving behind the cold sterility of the lab, Marcus Bell's worried face behind the glass. Just the task. Finding Lisa.
"Beginning dive sequence." Dr. Reed announced the start of the descent.
A dancing light flooded the screen before her closed eyes, a kaleidoscope of exploding abstract shapes, colors constantly changing. A deep sound enveloped her, dull and visceral, like the monstrous beat of a gigantic heart, distorted and arrhythmic. The immersion had begun.
Beneath her helmet, Elara tensed her jaw. Then, slowly, she allowed her eyelids to open.
At first, it was just fog. A murky, viscous darkness that hung around her, like being submerged in filthy, stagnant water. Then, gradually, her vision cleared, coming into focus with painful slowness.
He gasped, though the air filling his lungs wasn't real. The darkness was still there, but now it was an illuminated darkness, if such a thing were possible. A sickly reddish light, dim and flickering, filtering through the shadows, revealing a nightmarish environment.
He was in a damp, organic space. The walls, the floor, the ceiling itself—everything seemed to throb with a repulsive life. Slimy, pulsing textures writhed around him, like exposed living flesh, thick, swollen veins pulsing beneath translucent, sickly skin.
A voice, distant and broken, as if coming from the depths of a dark well, echoed in the space: "Who... is there...?"
Elara spun around, her heart pounding in her unreal chest. Confusion, yes, but also a chill of primal fear. Scared, even though she knew this wasn't real. It was Silas Thorne's mind, nothing more. But the sensation… the palpable atmosphere of horror… It was as if the killer's mind had materialized around her, imprisoning her.
Where was he? It was an absurd yet urgent question. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of his thoughts. This is his mind, he repeated to himself. This is Silas Thorne.
But what did that really mean? This place… Was it a symbolic representation of his tortured psyche? ¿A literal reflection of his deepest thoughts? Or… was it something more? Something even darker and more unknown?
He forced himself to observe his surroundings more closely. He was standing on a soft, damp surface that gave way slightly beneath his virtual feet. The organic "walls" extended in all directions, disappearing into the reddish gloom. Viscous drips echoed in the unreal silence, a constant and disturbing rhythm, accompanied by inaudible whispers that seemed to emanate from the very fabric of space.
In the center of the room, a misshapen form rose like a monument to depravity. A twisted, grotesque structure, vaguely resembling a dead, rotten tree, but made of bone and flesh. Dark, indistinct objects hung from its bony "branches," swaying slightly in an invisible breeze.
Thorne's voice echoed again, closer now, almost beside her, although she couldn't see anyone: "No... don't come closer... Don't... hurt me..."
Cautiously, Elara took a step toward the central structure. She observed it with a mixture of repulsive horror and macabre fascination. The reddish light flickered again, as if space itself were breathing heavily. She felt as if she were walking on forbidden ground, entering a place where no human mind should ever enter. But she had to keep going. Lisa depended on her.
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