I first downloaded War Thunder out of boredom, looking for something to fill my evenings. Little did I know that this game would become an all-consuming obsession, changing me in ways I could never have imagined.

At first, it was just a harmless diversion. The thrill of flying vintage aircraft, commanding powerful tanks, and experiencing the heat of battle was exhilarating. The game's realism was unparalleled, and I found myself drawn deeper into its world with each passing day. I spent hours perfecting my tactics, honing my skills, and unlocking new vehicles. My friends joked about my new addiction, but I laughed it off, confident I had everything under control.

But then things started to change. It began subtly—a sense of disconnection from reality, a creeping numbness in my emotions. My daily routine revolved around War Thunder. I woke up thinking about it, played it during every free moment, and fell asleep dreaming of epic battles. My friends and family noticed my absence, but I assured them it was just a phase.

One night, after a particularly intense session, I stumbled upon a hidden forum. It was filled with cryptic messages and ominous warnings. One post caught my eye: "War Thunder isn't just a game. It's a gateway. A method to extract souls, leaving empty shells of humans to feed the Snail."

The Snail? It sounded absurd. Yet, I couldn't shake the unease those words stirred in me. I brushed it off, attributing it to internet conspiracy nonsense. But as the days passed, I couldn't ignore the changes within me. My reflection in the mirror seemed distant, almost hollow. The spark in my eyes had dimmed, replaced by a vacant stare.

Determined to break free, I deleted the game, vowing to reclaim my life. But the withdrawal was unbearable. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep. I felt an insatiable pull towards my computer, an invisible force urging me to reinstall the game. I tried to resist, but the urge was overwhelming. I caved, reinstalling War Thunder, promising myself it would only be for a short session.

Hours turned into days, and my addiction deepened. I lost track of time, my health deteriorated, and my relationships crumbled. The game had become my reality, and the world outside was a distant memory. The cryptic message from the forum haunted me, but I was too far gone to care.