Reclaimed Swamp Bed

The refinery’s lowest chamber holds a churning pit of dark, viscous mud that clings to metal grates and corrodes concrete with slow persistence. Ranks of flickering emergency lights cast trembling shadows across the muck’s surface, revealing only glimpses of submerged detritus—rotting beams, shattered control panels, and the occasional skeletal remnant of past drilling operations. Steam vents hiss along the chamber’s walls, thickening the air so it tastes of iron and stagnant water, while the constant low thrum of machinery above vibrates through the floor, making every footfall unsettled. Here the boundary between industrial encroachment and untamed swamp collapses; the mud is both refuge for Kroll and emblem of the Swampies’ displaced worship, where natural power refuses to be leashed.