When seven chosen ones wake beside a round table on a deserted island, the menu reads: red-eyed white rabbits as tall as people, and man-eating leopards the size of mice. There's also a friendly reminder: “When you measure the abyss, the abyss measures you too.”
The negotiator nudges a pair of imaginary glasses. “Let's draw up some ground rules first.”
The soldier quietly counts his bullets. “Ground rules won't stop a rabbit three meters away.”
The hacker girl has already broken into the island's broadcast system. “Bad news: we're inside some creature's stomach.”
Sizes here are random, time runs in loops, and your teammates might suddenly understand the monsters and start smiling.
The only thing you can count on is this: whenever you think you've figured out the rules, the rules change themselves behind your back.
They thought they needed to escape the island.
Only later did they realize they needed to escape the selves the abyss was slowly turning them into.
Later still, they understood: some gazes, once fixed upon you, can never be escaped.
Welcome to New World 0089. Please remain sane, if you still can.
