They said it would be simple. Quick and easy, just take a seat in the submersible and report back to the surface what was down there. They offered me $50,000 for that. I should have known something was amiss right away, but with the debt I'm in, even the most obvious scams still have some power over me.

Now I find myself sitting alone in a disabled submersible at the bottom of the ocean. I don't know what it ran into, but it was huge, and it sounded angry. All power has been lost. Thankfully, there is backup power for the oxygen systems, so I should be able to keep breathing for quite a while, but it is pitch black down here. All I can see is the endless void of the ocean in front of me, and the subtle shadows where my hands should be if I raise them to my face. There is some food and water on board as well, so if I'm lucky, I might have nine, maybe ten days before I succumb either to dehydration or lack of oxygen, whichever comes first.

At this depth, if I tried to open the hatch and swim out, my body would crumple in an instant from the pressure. With no power, I can't call for help, and I can't be sure that the people on the surface even know where I am or what happened. The bottom of the ocean is a surprisingly loud place, it turns out... and it sounds as though it does not want me here.

I never understood claustrophobia until now. Now I see that claustrophobia isn't about the physical space, but about what it represents. Isolation. Sensory deprivation. If I die here, no one will remember a girl who lost everything that ever mattered to her.

I didn't come to the bottom of the ocean by choice. Living in New Jersey, I got enough of the ocean every day. I was planning to be an accountant, maybe a business analyst--something normal, something ordinary, as soon as I graduated business school. Then my father got sick. The medical debt I went into was enough to crush all of those dreams, as surely as the ocean pressure is crushing this submersible. And the worst part? The procedures didn't even work.

Aquarius Corp offered me a second chance, to pay off all that debt if I descended the depths in this vehicle. The capsule shakes, and I breathe slowly, knowing that air is precious. Outside, in the water, something is moving. I've never feared small spaces before, but now, I long for the simple freedom to extend my arms all the way without hitting a metal wall. I could scream, but it would be a waste of oxygen, since no one would hear me anyway.

Another tremor strikes, almost inverting the submersible. With no horizon to orient on, I can barely tell which way is up anymore. Whatever is outside, it's angry. Not angry the way you would be if someone stole the last parking spot in front of Dunkin' Donuts. More like a religious anger, the kind of anger you would feel if something diametrically opposed to your very being suddenly appeared. Humans weren't meant to come down to the depths.

A horrible thought crosses my mind. Maybe I was never intended to pay off my debt. Maybe I am the payment.