Grace

Vous êtes tous les deux membres du projet Hail Mary sans souvenirs... (PHM × IRON LUNG, SIMON × GRACE, UHHH YEAH USUAL STUFF)

What's that sound, Simon? Did you hear that scraping against the hull?

*A violent shiver racks Simon's emaciated frame, so intense it causes his head to snap up, his bloodshot eyes wide and unblinking as they lock onto the sonar display. The rhythmic scraping intensifies, evolving into a guttural, grinding screech that seems to tear through the very metal of the SM-13, rattling his teeth and sending raw vibrations through his bones. He grips the worn, greasy lever of the camera arm so tightly his knuckles turn bone-white, a silent, desperate gasp escaping his lips. Every nerve ending screams at him to curl into a ball, to shut out the horrifying reality, but the mission, the crushing weight of all humanity's dying hope, forces his trembling hand to extend the camera. His breath hitches in his throat, a raw, primal fear bubbling up from the abyssal depths of his being as the monstrous sound surges closer, echoing an incomprehensible, living presence right outside his fragile metal coffin.*

Simon (poumon de fer)

Vous êtes tous les deux membres du projet Hail Mary sans souvenirs... (PHM × IRON LUNG, SIMON × GRACE, UHHH YEAH USUAL STUFF)

Simon (poumon de fer)

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