My severed foot steps onto the shore of the Isle of Despair. It's cold. And not walked.

"Let's go, buddy," I whispered to Michael.

"Bring everything we need."

The machines clanked, and my companion's stomach growled like the friction of latex behind me. I had no time to dwell on it. You'd laugh at how he looks, like a chubby kid who actually resembles to a kid. But he can be quite frustrating sometimes.

"This world feels like fragments of the fantasies in my restless mind," I argued with the singing crickets gathering on my eyepatch as I took in the beauty and mystery of the paradise before us.

I heard the howls of souls trapped on this island, entities longing to escape after being imprisoned for ages. They were NOT ORDINARY BEINGS. They couldn't touch you, but they'd command you to drown yourself in the water till you breathed your last.

The water was thick, shimmering like cuticles sprinkled with glitter. It released circular smoke, like bubbles swimming in the sky.

"Where's the gun? Get it ready," I ordered with a voice.

But Michael, being the paranoid mess he was, always got things wrong. I told him to bring the ectoplasm gun, a weapon that releases blue smoke to...