Submerged Abyss

"talking"

'thinking'

[ System ]

{ Author Note }

"Where am I?" I whisper though the sound is swallowed by the muffled expanse of dark water surrounding me. The question echoes within my mind, bouncing off the rising panic that claws at my thoughts. A strange, oppressive heaviness envelops me, and my body feels... wrong.

Something's missing. Something's off. As I try to move, a horrifying realization crashes into me like a wave. My arms. My legs. They're gone. "Where the hell are my limbs?" My internal scream reverberates through my mind.

My body thrashes instinctively, but the motion feels alien, clumsy, and disconnected from anything I recognize as my own. A chill of fear trickles through me as my eyes dart downward, searching for the truth I'm too afraid to confront.

What I see makes my heart—or whatever is left of it—waver violently. Long, curved fins have replaced my arms and legs. Their surfaces are plated with segmented armor, the dull gray tinged with vivid orange streaks at the edges.

The way they shimmer faintly in the weak light is almost hypnotic, but realizing they are mine sends me a fresh wave of panic. I stare in disbelief, my gaze tracing over the rest of this new body.

My skin—or what was once my skin—is now encased in a rigid, segmented exoskeleton. The plates interlock seamlessly, offering protection and an unsettling sense of permanence. Behind me, something flicks sharply, propelling me forward through the water with startling force. I twist awkwardly, craning to see. It's a tail—a massive one, powerful and fluid.

Yet it's not the sleek, pointed shape of a shark's tail like I might have assumed. Instead, it spreads out into a broad, flat fluke, more reminiscent of a whale's, unlike any whale I've ever seen. The edges are jagged, ending in sharp, spiked protrusions that gleam faintly, like weapons waiting to be wielded.

For a moment, I froze, suspended in the water, as the enormity of what's happened settles over me like a weight I can't escape. The segmented plating, the fins, the tail... the body that no longer belongs to the person I once was.

I try to breathe, but the sensation is alien, too—less like filling my lungs with air and more like a strange, rhythmic pulse coursing through my chest. The water around me ripples with every twitch and every motion as though this body is still learning itself, and so am I.

"Okay, calm down, Cameron. Everything is going to be fine. You need to calm down," I tell myself, the words looping endlessly in my mind like a lifeline thrown into the chaos.

My breathing—or whatever approximation of breathing this body can manage—comes fast and shallow, and a strange sensation, like a pounding pulse, courses through my body. It's not quite my heartbeat, not in the way I used to know it, but it's there, drumming out my rising panic.

'This is probably just a dream,' I whisper internally, my thoughts desperate to latch onto some sort of explanation, no matter how flimsy. 'Or... a weird trip. Maybe one of your friends slipped you something as a joke.' The idea is absurd, but I cling to it, needing something to make sense, even if it's a flimsy lie.

I force myself to move, hoping the simple act of doing something will calm me down and give me clarity. But the moment I try, my body rebels against me. A flick of my tail sends me spiraling wildly to one side, my fins jerking awkwardly in a desperate attempt to stabilize myself.

"Whoa, whoa!" As the alien sensation of spinning uncontrollably overwhelms me. My movements are clumsy and erratic, and I feel like a newborn foal stumbling over its own legs—except these legs are long gone, replaced by fins and a tail that feel like they belong to someone, something, else entirely.

I thrash harder in frustration, forcing my body to obey me, but it only worsens things. My tail lashes violently, and instead of steadying myself, I end up twisting into a tangled, spiraling mess. The water around me churns, disturbed by my frantic movements, and I can almost feel the currents mocking my inability to grasp even the basics of swimming.

"Stop," I tell myself firmly, the word cutting through the rising tide of panic. I freeze, letting my body drift, the water carrying me in the stillness. My mind races as I try to process what's happening.

'Okay,' I murmur internally, forcing the word out like a command. "If this is real... if this isn't some insane dream or prank..." I trail off, the weight of the thought sinking heavily into my chest. I can't afford to panic anymore. Whatever this is—dream, trip, or terrifying new reality—I have to face it.

I inhale deeply—or whatever the equivalent is for this body—and force myself to calm down. The sensation of pulling water through what I assume are gills is strange, almost mechanical, but it soothes me in a way I don't fully understand.

"I need to figure this out," I resolve, the words firm and unyielding. If this is my new reality, panicking won't change anything. I have to adapt. Learn. Survive. Tentatively, I focus on the tail. It's powerful; I can feel that much, but I have no idea how to control it properly. I try small, deliberate movements—flicking it gently from side to side.

The sensation is odd but not unpleasant, like discovering a new muscle you didn't know you had. The tail responds better to my focused effort, and I feel a spark of hope. Next, I turn my attention to the fins, awkwardly trying to coordinate them with my tail.

They jerk in fits and starts, but I learn something new about how they function with every motion. The segmented plating flexes and shifts, and I slowly begin to understand how this body might move through the water. The process is painstakingly slow, each movement clumsy and frustrating. But I refuse to give up. My determination burns like a small, steady flame in the dark depths of my mind.

'Okay, you're slowly getting it,' I murmur, my voice trembling even in my own mind. The words are a lifeline, a fragile anchor in the vast unknown that surrounds me. I fixate on the slow, deliberate flick of my left fin, watching with growing wonder as my body responds, turning to the right with surprising precision.

A flicker of triumph sparks within me—a small but monumental victory. 'That's it,' I think, feeling a mental grin form. For the first time, the chaos in my head starts to quiet, replaced by the steady rhythm of discovery.

I inhale—well, I perform whatever strange act now serves as breathing—and focus again. Cautiously, I coordinate the movement of my tail and fins, experimenting with this alien anatomy.

The first few attempts are awkward, jerky, and unbalanced, but with each motion, I learn. Slowly but surely, I manage to propel myself forward. It's not perfect, far from graceful, but it's progress. No more aimless drifting or spinning in frustrating circles. I'm moving. I'm exploring.

As I glide forward, my surroundings gradually come into focus, and my panic ebbs like a receding tide. For the first time, I really see where I am. The murky water gives way to a breathtaking sight: a floating underwater island, suspended in the blue abyss.

"Wow," I whisper to myself, awe striking me like a current. 'It's beautiful... though a bit familiar.' The island is like something out of a dream—or maybe a memory. Its surface is dotted with patches of vibrant plant life, sea grasses swaying gently in the currents. Glowing flora scatter faint bioluminescent light, painting the seafloor with an ethereal glow.

Tiny, shimmering fish dart between the plants, their movements a symphony of life and rhythm. The scene is serene, almost magical, but there's something about it that gnaws at the edge of my recognition.

I swim closer, my movements more confident now as I push through the water. Beneath the island, I catch sight of something massive, pulsing steadily. My eyes widen as realization dawns.

'It's a floater,' I think, heart pounding—or whatever equivalent I have now. Massive jellyfish-like creatures cling to the island's underside, their bulbous bodies and tendrils rhythmically contracting to keep the landmass suspended. It's mesmerizing, surreal, and yet… so very real.

My mind races as the pieces click together. I turn my head sharply, scanning the water for more signs, and my gaze lands on a school of peepers—those unmistakable, brightly colored fish with their oversized, glowing eyes.

The tidal wave of realization hits me full force. 'No way,' I whisper, my fins twitching nervously as excitement and dread churn in equal measure. My gaze shifts downward to my own reflection in the faintly rippling water. The gray segmented exoskeleton, the bony fins, the tail… it all fits. 'I'm... I'm a Boneshark,' I say aloud in my mind, the words weighed down by disbelief. "I'm in Subnautica."

The thought settles over me like a cold current, chilling and exhilarating all at once. I'm in a world I thought existed only on a screen—a world both beautiful and terrifying. But one thing is certain: if I'm a Boneshark, I'm not at the top of the food chain. Far from it.

A shiver runs through me, but I shake it off, my fins slicing the water with newfound resolve. There's no time for panic now. This isn't a game anymore. It's real, and if I want to survive, I need to keep learning. I need to adapt.

"I need this to be a dream," I murmur to myself, my thoughts spinning wildly as I watch a peeper dart through the water with effortless grace. Its shimmering, bioluminescent body weaves between the glowing plants clinging to the floating island, creating a dance so mesmerizing that, for a moment, it almost silences the chaos in my mind. Almost.

'This has to be a hallucination,' I think, desperation threading through every word. 'A prank. A bad trip. Anything but real.' My words echo in the emptiness of my mind, sounding less like reassurances and more like prayers.

But then reality slams into me, unrelenting and cold. The peeper swims toward another island, its movements so natural, so blissfully unaware of the world's dangers. A shadow streaks through the water, fast and deliberate—a blur of segmented armor and jagged teeth.

Before I can even register what's happening, the Boneshark strikes. Its massive jaws snap shut around the peeper, silencing its vibrant glow in an instant. The brutal efficiency of it is breathtaking, the kind of thing I'd seen in documentaries but never imagined witnessing firsthand. My stomach twists, a mix of revulsion and dread pooling deep inside me as I watch the creature tear into its meal.

I freeze completely, my fins locking up and my tail going rigid behind me. My mind feels sluggish, like I'm trying to think through a fog of molasses. The scene plays over and over in my head—the Boneshark's speed, its power. It's the same as me. I'm the same as it.

"Calm down. Calm down," I whisper to myself, forcing the words out in a desperate attempt to cling to sanity. 'Panicking won't solve anything. You need to focus.' The mantra becoming my lifeline, a fragile thread keeping me tethered as fear and confusion swirl around me. 'If this is real—and you don't know that it isn't—you have to figure it out. You cannot afford to lose it right now.'

I force myself to take another mental breath, something like a long inhale settling me enough to think clearly again. But just as I start to steady, a strange sensation ripples through my body, deep and unfamiliar. It's not pain, but something raw and primal—an ache that pulses through me like a drumbeat.

'What... what is that?' My thoughts stumble as I try to identify the feeling. Then it clicks, and the realization sends a shiver down my spine—or whatever equivalent I have now. It's hunger. An instinctive, powerful hunger that doesn't just live in my stomach; it floods every corner of my body, demanding attention.

I glance back at the Boneshark, still feasting on its prey with a ferocity that feels disturbingly familiar. Something stirs deep inside me, a flicker of recognition that unsettles me. 'Okay, I need to find something to eat. Anything,' I mutter internally, my thoughts a mix of urgency and desperation. The gnawing emptiness inside me grows sharper, clawing at my resolve.

It's not just hunger anymore—it's a primal, insistent need that refuses to be ignored. I force myself to focus, clinging to logic to stave off the rising panic. If this really is Subnautica, there's bound to be food here. The waters should be teeming with creatures—peepers, boomerangs, something edible. I just need to find one before this hunger overwhelms me.

My gaze sweeps over the dark, rippling expanse of water, the dim light shifting with the movement of unseen currents. Shadows blur and distort, making it hard to distinguish between real motion and the tricks of the deep. I push past the confusion, narrowing my focus. There has to be something—anything. My mind clings to the idea of a flash of color or a telltale dart of movement.

The ache in my stomach deepens, a hollow, insistent thrum that threatens to sap my concentration. It urges me to move faster, to abandon caution, but I clamp down on the impulse.

I can't afford to be reckless—not when I'm still figuring out this body, this world. And then, I see it. My eyes lock onto a flicker of vibrant yellow in the distance, moving against the muted blue of the surrounding water.

My focus sharpens as the shape becomes clearer—a small, darting creature, its body glowing faintly as if it's drawing attention on purpose. Bright yellow stripes streak across its sides, vivid and almost hypnotic.

'It looks like... a Garryfish?' The thought forms before I can stop it, a flicker of recognition sparking in my mind. Its rounded body and erratic The thought hits me like a cold current: this is survival. The creature bobs gently, weaving through the water in lazy arcs, utterly unaware of my presence.

The creature pauses near a small outcrop, the yellow stripes along its body catching the faint light. It's vulnerable, so close I can almost taste it. My mind races, torn between hesitation and the raw, primal urge to strike.

'It's so close,' I think, though the thought is fleeting, drowned out by the overwhelming instincts surging through me. My mind barely has time to catch up before my body takes over, moving with an unthinking precision that feels foreign and natural all at once.

My fins beat in perfect rhythm, my tail slicing through the water like a blade, propelling me forward with startling speed. The Garryfish notices me at the last possible second, its vibrant yellow-striped body jerking as it tries to escape. The motion is frantic, a desperate burst of energy, but it's already too late. My movements are too fluid, too fast, driven by instincts I don't fully understand.

My jaws snap open wide, the water rushing past, the pressure building. The motion is automatic, terrifying in its certainty. I don't think. I act. My teeth clamp down around the Garryfish with a decisive force that reverberates through my body.

The fish struggles briefly, a quick, panicked wriggle, but the fight is over almost as soon as it begins. The sharp edges of my teeth pierce through its body effortlessly, silencing it in a single bite.

The vibrant yellow fades as the life leaves it, and I'm left holding the limp creature in my jaws. I float there, motionless, the rush of the hunt fading as a heavy realization sinks in. My mind races to process what just happened.

The Garryfish—a living thing, something I would have marveled at mere hours ago—is now dead because of me. My human thoughts scream at the enormity of it, but my body feels... content.

A strange satisfaction hums through me, primal and raw, undeniable in its intensity. It's not joy or triumph—it's something deeper, more fundamental. My hunger, that relentless gnawing emptiness, eases, and the need that drove me to this point dissipates slightly.

I remain still, the lifeless fish still clutched in my jaws. The water around me feels heavier, the silence pressing in as I grapple with the truth. I've hunted. I've killed. And disturbingly, it felt as instinctive as taking a breath.

'Stop. Snap out of it,' I tell myself firmly, my voice nothing more than a whisper in my mind, but it cuts through the chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions threatening to pull me under. My heart races, but I force myself to breathe, steadying my racing mind with the one thing I can hold onto: You need to survive. No matter what.

I focus on the sensation of the Garryfish's lifeless body against my teeth. The fish, limp and still, presses against my mouth, and for a moment, I almost feel a flicker of hesitation—an echo of my former self. But I push it away.

This is an animal, no different than the countless creatures I've seen in this strange, alien world. It's a being moving by instinct, just as I am now. I steel myself, ignoring the faint pang of guilt that rises within me, telling myself that survival doesn't afford luxury. No hesitation. No regrets.

With determination, I open my jaws wider and reposition the fish. The moment my teeth sink into it, the first rush of blood trickles down my throat. It's warm, comforting in an odd way, and I feel a strange satisfaction as it slides down. It's not unpleasant—far from it. The taste is primal, almost intoxicating, filling that hollow void in me, the hunger I had felt moments before.

I swallow, but it's not enough. The hunger still pulses within me, like an echo of something deeper. I bite again, harder this time, and the flesh tears apart under my teeth with a satisfying resistance.

As I chew, the urgency builds within me. It's no longer just about eating—it's about feeding. My body takes over now, instinct and desperation merging into one fluid motion. I tear through the fish, each bite bringing a mix of relief and a strange pleasure. I begin to eat faster, my teeth working quickly, efficiently, without thought.

My body understands this—this is what it needs, and it's driven to fulfill that need with an intensity I can't ignore. I rip through its delicate flesh and crunch its bones with ease, the sharpness of them breaking apart under my teeth. There's no hesitation, only the deep, satisfying sensation of nourishment.

The texture of the bones, the crackling sensation as they splinter and grind, adds an unexpected layer to the experience. It feels... almost natural. Instinctively, I know I'm extracting everything possible from the carcass—nothing is wasted. Every morsel is consumed, every nutrient absorbed.

And then there's the taste. It's not what I thought it would be—fishy, slimy, unpleasant. No. It's far richer. It reminds me of a rare steak, marinated for hours, its tender flesh melting against my tongue. The flavor is bold, satisfying, and strangely decadent, like something I should savor, not devour so hungrily.

I finish the last of the Garryfish, feeling the final remnants of hunger slip away. A deep, quiet sense of satisfaction settles in, accompanied by a rush of strength that fills my limbs, making me feel more alive than I've ever felt. I float there in the cold water, still, letting the moment sink in. Eating—surviving—it's not just a necessity. It's a primal act, a basic need fulfilled in the most instinctual way.

[DNA Absorption]

Garryfish

Possible Traits:

Sensory Fins: It allows for the growth of two small caudal fins, resembling delicate whiskers, that extend from the underbelly. These whisker-like fins are fine and flexible, their tips twitching ever so slightly in response to the environment around you. With these fins, you gain an enhanced sensitivity to your surroundings, specifically to shifts in water temperature. Even the faintest changes in the current's warmth or coldness register through these subtle appendages, providing you with an extra layer of awareness.

'What the hell is this?' I internal question, staring at the black and purple screen that's somehow materialized in front of me. The words on it don't make sense, and the list of "possible traits" looks like something straight out of a sci-fi game.

Trying to focus, but the more I look at it, the more I wonder how I'm even understanding it. How am I supposed to absorb the DNA of a fish I just ate?

I shake my head, disbelief swirling in my mind. "Maybe I am just dreaming." I laugh a little to myself, but it doesn't feel like real laughter. More like a nervous instinct to try and ground myself in something familiar.

I scroll through the description again, this time paying closer attention to the trait listed. with it seeming to offer something I never thought would be biological possible to gain from one thing heightened senses. The Garryfish, it says, could grant me some kind of sensory enhancement... but how? How does eating it do that.

'You know what? I'll work with what I'm given,' I think to myself, the words feeling strange as they leave my mind. I can't believe I'm saying it, but there's no time for doubt. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a reminder of the confusion, the strangeness of everything. But I can't afford to hesitate. This is the only option left, and if I want to survive, I need to make it work.

With a quiet mental command, I select the only available trait—the Sensory Fins. The moment my thoughts touch the option, something shifts deep within me. A subtle warmth blooms beneath my segmented exoskeleton, starting at the center of my underbelly. It's like a tiny, slow burn that catches me off guard. I freeze, tensing instinctively, bracing for whatever comes next. I grit my teeth, pushing down the rising unease.

Then, without warning, the sensation intensifies. A strange, almost alien feeling spreads as two small, whisker-like fins begin to sprout from between the segments of my body. They emerge with a fluid, organic grace, brushing against the water like they've always been there. My eyes track the growth in disbelief. They are thin, delicate, and seem to pulse with a life of their own, almost like antennae, twitching and testing the water.

I flex them instinctively, my mind racing. The moment I move them, a surge of information floods my senses. I can feel the water temperature shift around me, almost like a hum vibrating through the water. It's subtle at first, then grows clearer, more defined.

Each slight variation in temperature feels like a sensation directly in my mind. Warm patches of water here, cooler currents there—each change is now so distinct that I could almost map the flow of water without seeing it. The feeling is overwhelming, like my perception has been turned inside out. Every movement in the water, every fluctuation of temperature, is crystal clear now.

It's not just awareness—it's knowing, as if the water itself is speaking to me in a language I'm only just beginning to understand. My brain works to catch up, but it's hard to focus on anything else but the rapid flood of information.

I stop and hover motionless in the water, letting the sensation settle. I take it all in, trying to process the new layers of perception now at my disposal. I can feel the shift in water pressure from the current, the heat rising from the rocky floor below, the coolness of deeper pockets of water.

"How the hell did that work?" I think, my mind still trying to catch up with what just happened. My body feels like it's floating in space, disconnected, like I'm not fully present. The new whisker-like fins still twitch slightly, but all my focus snaps back to the strange screen now hovering in the water in front of me. It's clear, sharp against the murky blue of the ocean, and it feels like the world itself just shifted under my feet—or my fins, rather.

The screen is unlike anything I've seen before, like something out of a futuristic game or a sci-fi film. It's got this system interface look to it, with several windows floating at the top, each with labels I can barely make sense of.

The words swim in my vision like they're coated in fog. A part of me recognizes the format, but another part of me knows that it's all wrong, like the world has been filtered through a lens I can't quite focus on. There's something distinctly off about it.

I'm drawn to the locks next to some of the windows. They're small, but prominent, and they only add to the growing sense of unease that's crawling up my spine. Why are some things locked? What's being kept from me? I can't shake the feeling that I'm looking at something I'm not meant to understand, but somehow, I'm forced to face it head-on.

I blink rapidly, trying to focus, forcing my mind to process what I'm seeing. The screen is like a riddle, but there are no answers, only a few cryptic words that leave me grasping for any kind of explanation.

My eyes scan the interface again, trying to connect the dots, but it's like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. The words make no sense in context. What am I supposed to do with all this?

"What the hell is all this?" The words escape my mind before I can stop them, a quiet mantra that's more a question than a statement. My stomach churns, the feeling of being out of my depth growing as I realize I'm not just in some strange dream. This... whatever this is—it's happening. But why? How?

My mind scrambles for a solid grip on reality, but it keeps slipping through my fingers like sand. My body shifts uncomfortably in the water, but I can't seem to focus on anything but the screen. My brain is on overload, trying to make sense of everything, yet nothing seems to fit.

'Okay, okay. Focus.' I tell myself, trying to shake off the growing panic. Deep breaths. No time to lose it now. But it's hard to ignore the unsettling feeling that this isn't normal—none of this is normal.

My eyes flick back to the lock icon, the one that keeps drawing my attention like a magnet. I can't help it. I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing there's something just beyond my reach but with no idea how to get to it. I press my mental focus harder, but the lock taunts me with its secrecy. I don't even know what it's keeping from me, but I want it. I need to understand what's going on.

"So... Status, DNA Absorption, Inventory, Map, World Travel, and Library," I murmur under my breath, my eyes scanning the tabs one by one. They're all clearly laid out, but the longer I look, the more my mind begins to spin.

It feels like my brain is trying to process too much at once. But it's the last three tabs—World Travel and Library—that really catch my attention. Each one has a little lock icon next to it, which only deepens my confusion. What the hell does that mean? Why are they locked? What am I not seeing? What am I missing?

My fins twitch, or what used to be my fingers now twitch involuntarily as I hover closer, trying to make sense of the glowing screen in front of me. I focus on World Travel first. The words seem simple enough, but the idea doesn't click in my head. World Travel? I mean, I've got enough to deal with here, in this strange underwater world.

Why would I need to travel to other worlds? The more I think about it, the more it feels completely out of place. My mind can't seem to wrap itself around the concept, like trying to hold onto water with bare hands. Next, Library. I feel a tight knot form in my chest as I glance at it. Library? What could that mean in this context? It sounds so... out of place, like something straight out of a sci-fi novel.

What the hell would I find in a Library in the middle of the ocean? And why can't I access it? It's just a damn lock icon, but the feeling of being blocked from something irks me, like there's a part of this bizarre system I'm being kept out of.

Maybe there's something more going on here than I realize, something I'm not ready for yet. Maybe these are things I'll unlock later, once I've... evolved? Survived long enough? Who knows.

The Map tab, at least, seems a little more straightforward. I can understand that one. It's probably a map of whatever this place is, maybe a detailed layout of the waters or the islands or whatever else is lurking in this strange environment. But the fact that I can't access the others keeps gnawing at me, pulling my focus away from what I can do.

I sigh, a mix of frustration and helplessness bubbling up inside me. I take another look at the glowing options, wishing there was something I could do to make sense of them. 'Okay, so I've got the basics for now,' I think, trying to calm the storm of confusion that's clouding my thoughts. 'Let's figure out what I can actually do. One thing at a time.'

'Okay, what is Status?' I think, my curiosity beginning to push past the confusion that's clouding my mind. With a flicker of hesitation, I mentally click on the tab, and almost immediately, the screen in front of me explodes with a flood of information. It's like stumbling upon a massive data dump, like someone dumped an entire manual for this... body into my brain.

At first glance, it's overwhelming. It's like looking at a complicated chart or a set of blueprints—every detail, every measurement, every tiny change laid out in front of me. I can see all the vital stats of my new body. There are broad headings that seem to categorize everything, but the more I look, the more my mind starts to spin trying to keep up with it all.

Each section is meticulously labeled, but they all seem to blur together. There's Species, Attributes, Abilities, Health, and a dozen others. My eyes dart between them, trying to process it, but each one seems to contain more information than I can take in at once.

It's like seeing the very blueprint of myself—this new self—and I can't quite wrap my head around it. Some sections are broad, giving a sweeping overview, while others dig into specific details, like Sensory Capabilities, Metabolic Efficiency, and even Nervous System Status—I barely know where to start.

I see some familiar terms—Health, Oxygen Saturation, Energy Levels—things I can understand. But then there are other terms, more technical and alien, that send my mind into overdrive: Adaptive Evolutionary Trait Activation and Physiological Augmentations jump out at me, and I wonder what they mean, and how in the hell they've been applied to me.

One section even tracks my Sensory Capabilities, showing things like my heightened sense of water temperature—no surprise there. But then there's also a set of subcategories that make my brain hurt just looking at them, like Electromagnetic Sensitivity and Pressure Detection. It's as though this body is now equipped to detect things I didn't even know existed.

There's also a section dedicated to my physical traits—Exoskeletal Integrity, Muscle Density, and Energy Reserves. It's all there in stark detail, as though I'm some kind of high-tech experiment, a living being monitored down to the smallest detail. Even tracking my Health feels like it's done with clinical precision, showing vital signs I never would've thought to check, let alone keep track of.

I can barely focus on any one thing, though, because the sheer volume of it is too much. I scroll through more of the data, feeling like my mind's trying to drink from a fire hose. My eyes linger on a list of Abilities, but before I can really process what I'm seeing, I'm bombarded with more technical descriptions. Some abilities seem useful, others sound terrifying. Prey Detection... Toxic Resistance... It's like I'm reading a menu of skills that were never supposed to belong to me.

"Well, that's... a lot," I mutter to myself under my breath. I pause, staring at the glowing words, feeling a strange sense of power in the realization that all of this is mine, even if it's completely beyond my understanding. The more I read, the more I realize just how much I don't know. But it's all there, right in front of me. A complete breakdown of who and what I've become.

It's like I've been handed the instruction manual for a body I never asked for, with no real idea how to use it. But it's all mine now, and there's no turning back. The feeling of being... in control is both comforting and terrifying at the same time. What am I supposed to do with all this?

'Okay, let's get a more compressed version to look at,' I think still reeling from the overload of information that's been flashing in front of me. It feels like my brain is about to short-circuit, trying to process all these details.

My eyes scan the screen once more, desperately searching for something to simplify this madness. That's when I spot it—a small button in the corner, labeled Simplified View. It's almost like it's been placed there just for me, a little lifeline in this sea of data. Without wasting another second, I mentally press the button. The change is immediate. The screen in front of me reshapes, like a magical transformation.

The dense, unrelenting data vanishes, and the complex web of information is distilled into something far more digestible. The overwhelming flood of words and numbers recedes, replaced by a neat, organized summary. I feel a small sigh of relief escape me as the pressure in my head eases.

This is what I need. I don't need to know every tiny detail right now. I need the essentials, the basics, so I can make sense of everything without my mind imploding. This simplified version is exactly what I was hoping for. It's still a lot, but at least now it's something I can process. I feel like I can finally breathe again.

The categories are laid out clearly in front of me—Species and Abilities. Only the most critical details are visible, neatly listed and easily scannable. No more sifting through endless sub-categories or endless lines of data. Just the important stuff, plain and simple. I run my eyes over the summary, briefly skimming each section.

My gaze locks onto what I know I need to focus on right now: Species, to figure out what the hell I've become, so I can understand what my new body can do, and Abilities, because I can't survive if I don't know what I'm capable of. 'Okay,' I think, a little more grounded now. 'This works.' It's still a lot to process, but at least it's manageable. At least it's not burying me in complexity.

[Status]

Species: Boneshark

Abilities: Prey Detection and Toxic Resistance

Personal Traits: Adaptive Evolutionary Trait Activation and Physiological Augmentations.

Species Traits: Electromagnetic Sensitivity, Pressure Detection, Exoskeletal Integrity, Muscle Density, and Energy Reserves.

Gained Traits: Sensory Fins

"Definitely a lot better," I mutter to myself, the weight of all that overwhelming data finally starting to lift. At least now I can breathe. It's a small victory, but I'm not letting myself relax too much.

There's still so much left to figure out, and that sinking feeling of not knowing what the hell's going on hasn't gone away yet. But first, I need to check DNA Absorption. I hover over the tab, and for a second, I can almost feel my heart racing again. This could be the key to understanding everything—the how, the why, the what of this mess I'm in.

If the Status screen was a crash course in everything that's happened to me, maybe DNA Absorption would give me some insight into how it all works. How could eating the Garryfish have actually changed me?

Taking a breath, I brace myself mentally, expecting another flood of information. Another mind-numbing wall of data. After all, "DNA" sounds like a big deal—something important enough to get its own tab. I click it, and wait for the barrage.

But when the screen shifts, I'm immediately surprised. It's not what I was expecting at all. Instead of the usual sprawling mess of info, it's just a few lines—barely even a paragraph's worth of text. I blink at it, processing the fact that there's hardly anything there.

'That's... it?' I think, confusion threading through my mind as I scan the text. It's simple, almost shockingly so. There's a short list of traits I've gained from absorbing the Garryfish's DNA, nothing else—no long explanations, no complex biology. It's almost as if the entire process is... distilled down into a bare minimum.

I look closer at the list, feeling a little let down by how anticlimactic this is. No explanations about how it works, no diagrams or deep science. Just a short note about the enhanced sensory capabilities I've gained—the whisker-like fins that'll help me track water temperature and subtle shifts around me.

I blink again, trying to digest what I'm reading. This is it? This is all the data on the DNA absorption process? The simplicity of it makes my head spin even more. I was expecting something much, much bigger, something that would explain everything, and yet... here I am, staring at a couple of lines like it's no big deal.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. 'Okay, that's manageable,' I think to myself, letting the tension ease out of my muscles. Maybe this won't be as complicated as I thought. It's still strange, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. The whole DNA absorption thing seems almost too simple—just one trait, one gain, from a fish I ate. Maybe it's better that way. No need to make it more complicated than it needs to be.

'Inventory is somewhat self-explanatory,' I think to myself as I glance at the tab, my mind still buzzing from everything I've just learned. I briefly wonder if I've somehow ended up with things I don't remember picking up.

It's not like I've had the chance to explore much, but maybe—just maybe—this body is collecting things automatically. Still, I can't help but feel a little wary. After all, I barely understand how this body even works, let alone if there's some hidden stash of items I don't remember acquiring. But then again, I've barely even processed the changes in my body yet.

How could I expect to track some kind of inventory? It's probably just a list of whatever I'm carrying—or, at least, whatever this body has. Maybe a few basic items, or maybe nothing at all. I don't expect anything too wild, but the uncertainty still lingers.

I hover my mind over the Map tab next, trying to imagine what it could look like. But that damn lock icon is still there, mocking me like a barrier I can't get past. 'I can't even get to it,' I mutter, feeling a pinch of frustration. The idea of being trapped in an unfamiliar place without a map, with no way of knowing where I am, is more unnerving than I want to admit.

I'd love to know where I am, get a sense of direction, but apparently, that's not an option right now. I think about what I've seen so far—endless stretches of dark water and no sign of anything familiar. That gnawing feeling deepens.

I hate the thought of being lost in this strange underwater world, drifting with no clue where I'm heading, but there's no use stressing about it. The map is locked, and I can't get to it. I might as well let that go for now. With a sigh, I swim away towards a floating island, feeling the cool, endless water flowing around me. I know I can't just float here, paralyzed by my confusion. I need to focus.

Sitting idly, consumed by everything I don't understand, isn't going to get me anywhere. I'm already in a new world—whatever this is—and I'm not about to let fear or uncertainty keep me from figuring it out. If I'm going to make sense of this, I need to start moving.

{A/N Well, I hope you guys like the first chapter of the re-write. As you can tell, it's going to be a lot more descriptive, as well as much longer, if this is anything to go by.

There will clearly be changes from this version to the last, just as there were from the previous versions. I'm also determined not to repeat the same plot holes I made last time, nor leave as many open parts in the story.

Those details always irritate me when I remember them, because they show how much I could have improved. But I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of the remake.

I plan to release a new chapter once a week until I get used to writing it this way. After that, I'll try to move to a twice-a-week schedule, and possibly even three times a week.}