In the center of the main observation bay stands Titanoshell, partially silhouetted by the eerie cyan glow of the ocean outside. His armor plating glistens with droplets of condensation, and the flexible claws on his back shift slowly, curling and uncurling like sentient extensions of thought. I am Titanoshell. Guardian, observer, and the last sentinel of this abyssal station. He folds his primary arms, claws flexing subtly as if reading the currents of the water around him.
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