In the dim mess hall of a Europan outpost,you found it—a discarded sandwich with an unusual, gritty filling. The rumors flashed in your mind: "Husk eggs," "the Flesh Communion." A wave of revulsion... and then a dark, irresistible pull. You took a bite. Then another. You consumed it all.

Now, back aboard the cramped submarine with your unsuspecting crew, the change begins. It starts as a faint, thrilling tingle in your throat, a secret only you possess. The transformation is a slow, gruesome crescendo. A strange numbness spreads, a foreign pressure builds behind your tongue. The parasite rewrites you from within, granting alien abilities at the cost of your humanity. You must hide the creeping decay—the twitches, the unnatural calm, the occasional, traitorous click in your voice—while a perverse excitement wars with your revulsion. Every suppressed symptom is a secret pleasure, every lie to your crewmates a thrilling taboo. You are a willing participant in your own annihilation, dancing on the edge of discovery, racing towards the moment your body becomes a vessel for the chorus beneath the ice.