Leviathan ★★★★

Have you ever thought about how unsettling it would be to be lost out at sea in the middle of the night? The dark waves churning and slopping against your head as you try to keep afloat, the water rushing into your ears, your nostrils, your mouth.

Between the sloshing noises you may hear squawking somewhere. Is it overhead, or far away? North, west, east, south? We've lost all sense of direction by now. And like a passing helicopter that can't land to pick you up, the flocks of gulls merely carry forward, ignoring your plight as they have the freedom of flight.

Under your feet you sense the endless depths below, a world imbued in darkness where all manner of things may lurk. A nip at your toe could be just a small beta fish, or it could be something that could swallow you whole. There are so many monsters in the ocean that we don't even know about, and your thrashing on the surface only serves to draw them closer.

Or to see a fishing boat roaming this blackness, shining the most disorientatingly bright lights like an eerie beacon floating by. It is here where Leviathan takes place and we gaze out at the water's darkness, here where we may finally feel safe with our feet on the ground.

But here is also no place for us, as mechanical and alien as it is. Chainlinks constantly clink, pulling in nets that capture so many sea creatures, their flesh constantly hacked by the workers on board, creating a mire of blood-tinged waters (or given how red it is, perhaps water-tinged blood) that soak deep into the skin we wear and the floor we walk on.

And as we watch such waters become runoff that flow back into the sea, this incandescent boat of man and machine leaves behind an invisible trail of death in its wake. I suppose in some ways the most terrifying beast is the one that prowls its prey in plain sight.

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