How long has it been? I sit in the control room, staring at the console, 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 an 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 members' 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.