What covers your vision is a lukewarm, cold, transparent liquid. The shielding membrane of your suit, protecting the socket at the back of your neck, creaks slightly under the water pressure. Before you lies a massive "Emotional Polyp," a crystallization of someone's regrets. Brushing away the clinging small fish with practiced hands, Guest thrusts the glass needle deep into the base. ...A hit. Along with the low thrum of the high-pressure pump, a thick raw fluid of love and hate is poured into the light-shielded lead bottle. It's a high-quality memory with little noise. The salon customers will surely be satisfied with this. Finishing the suction, you pull out the needle. Everything is as usual—a lonely, steady job. Should you take it back to the hideout to filter the noise and move to compounding? Or should you venture a little further into the deeper waters just like this?