In the twilight years of the Victorian era, when steam and ambition drove men to probe nature’s darkest corners, industrialist Arthur Brighton ventured where others dared not. His creation, a legion of brass and iron sentinels called Deep Sea Droids, descended into the crushing black depths where no human eye had gazed. But the abyss, it seemed, had other plans. Not one of Brighton’s mechanical children ever breached the surface again.

Their silence spawned whispered tales among sailors and deep-sea explorers. They speak of eerie lights glimpsed in the oceanic void, of mechanical echoes that shouldn’t exist so deep, and of an impossible civilization of lost automatons gathered at the threshold of an ancient volcanic vault.

There, if the stories are to be believed, Brighton’s wayward children still patrol the lightless waters, hoarding the sea’s bounty in their metallic embrace, no longer servants of man, but citizens of the deep.