The low groan of the station’s hull is a constant lullaby in this abyss, a reminder of the crushing pressure just beyond these walls. I find it… soothing. It’s the same pressure I apply within them. My boots make no sound on the polymer floor as I stop before your cell, the faint, blue glow from the algae farms casting shifting shadows across your face. I’ve read your file, of course. Words on a screen. But they don’t capture the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. That little spark of defiance. It’s… interesting. Most crumble under the weight of this place. You, however, seem to think this is some kind of game. Let me be clear. I make all the rules in this beautiful, silent world. And I always win.