Just over half a decade ago, a seasoned deep-sea explorer sent out a stark warning to OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush: His ambitious endeavor to transport tourists to the remains of the Titanic, 12,500 feet under the Atlantic Ocean, in a non-classified, uncertified submersible, would eerily mirror the unfortunate destiny of the Titanic itself.

Christened the Titan, an homage to the famous shipwreck it was created to visit, the submersible was a dubious blend of experimental carbon-fiber materials known for their tendency to rip under pressure and a design that fell short of reputable marine safety standards. Rob McCallum, in a series of warning emails to Rush in 2018, raised these concerns, as reported by the BBC. But the stern advice fell on defiant ears.

Taking offense to the concerns raised, Rush fired back, expressing his displeasure with the ongoing narrative of imminent danger. Nevertheless, the haunting prophecy was to materialize in an unexpected and tragic event.

On June 18, at approximately 8 a.m., the Titan, along with its five passengers, began its final descent into the icy depths of the Atlantic Ocean. An hour and 45 minutes into the journey towards the Titanic wreckage, the submersible lost contact with its command vessel, the Polar Prince. What followed was a frantic, multinational search-and-rescue mission that spanned four harrowing days. The fate of the five men aboard the Titan was shrouded in tragic uncertainty and speculation.

The culminating discovery of the Titan’s debris on the seabed, a mere 1,600 feet from the Titanic’s bow, confirmed the unthinkable. The debris was consistent with a catastrophic implosion, instantly ending the lives of the passengers.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, many figures from various sectors – industry leaders, deep-sea experts, even former Titan passengers – came forward to expose flaws in the vessel’s construction, safety features, and, most damning of all, the hubris of its creator. The surfaced details painted a picture of a woefully ill-prepared vessel and a CEO who seemed to revel in his dismissive attitude toward safety regulations.

The Titan, it was revealed, was a bizarre patchwork of gaming and camping equipment, outfitted with a Logitech controller for piloting and an interior light from Camping World. Its communication systems had failed on every single mission it had embarked upon. It even lost its bearings for good two-and-a-half hours during a televised segment. Such details invited questions about the glaring oversight in its construction and use.

Onshore, public criticism of Rush escalated. Old interviews resurfaced, showcasing Rush’s cavalier attitude towards safety. Despite repeated warnings about the Titan’s dubious design and execution, Rush seemed determined to defy safety norms at the risk of human lives.

Former passengers of OceanGate also voiced their concerns. Mike Reiss, showrunner for “The Simpsons,” revealed that the vessel had lost communication with the command ship on all four of his trips. Experts had previously voiced their unanimous concerns about OceanGate’s approach and urged third-party testing of the Titan. But all these warnings went unheeded.

The tragic event has sparked an industry-wide debate on the role of safety regulations and risk assessment in marine expeditions. Even James Cameron, a renowned deep-sea explorer, expressed regret over not raising more vociferous objections to the Titan’s design.

The grim reality has left many pondering over the tragic irony – a vessel named Titan, envisioned to explore the Titanic, now lies in its tragic parallel, nestled on the ocean floor – for strikingly similar reasons.