Sup.

I wrote this a few months ago, however unfortunately the person who volunteered to proofread never did it. I took my sweet time, but I figure if I don't upload it at some point in its current state then it'll never get shared.

Apologies for any mishaps in spelling or grammar, for I was the sole check.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Seriously, get on me about anything. Plot, descriptions, hell, even word choice. I could use it.

Without further ado, "Below the Abyss":

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Related for context: One, Two.

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Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The distance thuds of flak hammered at the hull, their airy fists pounding with a dreadful hate against the thick steel skin of our floating city. The metal, forged by expert hands and modern machinery in the largest of Soviet shipyards, held strong in the face of the endless shouts of airbursts, but I felt uneasy nonetheless. The increasing frequency and volume of the muffled explosions signalled an increasingly desperate fight from the decks above, and a worrying indication of failure. Whatever was coming as us was yet to be stopped.

I sprinted down the cramped halls of the… machining department, was it? I had served for three months already aboard the Apollyon, yet still struggled to find my way in the expansive labyrinth of its inner structure. Eventually, after running aimlessly far longer than I’d like to admit, the red glow of an exit sign peaked at me down an adjacent hall. I backtracked and flung myself around the corner towards it.

I was assigned to damage control as my primary duty. Of course, in a pinch I’d likely have to perform other jobs, but the current circumstances looked as though they were more than willing to try to provide a chance to prove myself at my forte.

We’d sailed into the Yellow Sea almost a week ago amidst heightening tension on the North Korean-Soviet border. Our assignment was to watch the western flank of the DPRK’s territory for suspicious activity or even possible missile launches, and to launch retaliation strikes and shoot down enemy missiles early in their flight in the event of war. For the most part the totalitarian state had kept their distance. Our patrol path took us just outside the territorial waters of North Korea, where only the occasional, especially ballsy, patrol ship, or, at one especially tense moment, frigate, would dare approach us. Even then, microwaving them with our radar or priming weapons systems in an obvious manner would usually make them scurry off.

That was the case until fifteen minutes ago.

Out of nowhere, just as I and many of the other crew had settled down for breakfast, whether at tables or whatever nooks and crannies we placed our preferences in, an alert blared through the PA system. Soon, incoming fire could be heard from above. The (surprisingly good) plant-based sausage could wait, I figured. Clearly the North Koreans had decided to poke the bear.

Unfortunately, I soon found out it’s hard to keep the same kind of bravado you have inside of the ship when you’re sprinting full speed towards the outside of the ship. I scrambled up the stairway indicated by the exit sign, nearly tripping several times. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, most had already made it to their battle stations, leaving the hallways conveniently clear of bodies for me to slam into or fall over. I was definitely going to get chewed out after the fact for lateness in response and not making my way to join a designated repair team, but I’d first need to avoid getting chewed up by bullets manufactured forty years ago by our predecessor state.

The stairway, by my reckoning, was around the centerline of the ship, meaning it led up to a hatch in the middle of the flight deck. My belief was proven true when I reached the top and found myself before a ladder. The orange hazard LED wasn’t on, so clearly flight operations weren’t being attempted yet. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that I could use the hatch without getting crushed by a speeding jet taking off, or be filled with sinking dread that the deck must’ve been dangerous enough from enemy fire to prevent anyone from trying. Regardless of how I felt, the light being off meant I was obligated to go over the top.

Pushing the hatch up, made easier by springs, brought me into the open. I was probably about three hundred meters forward of the superstructure, and smack-dab along the ship’s center. Looking westwards to port I could see smoke trails and dark clouds. Shrapnel could be heard whizzing past the deck, leaving long scratches in the surface. I steeled myself, preparing to brave fire for the good of the Union, the vessel, and its crew… and then I remembered that I had forgotten to grab a repair kit.

If there is a deity then may it be thanked for giving me such a wonderful excuse to go back inside!

Now with a better idea of where I was, it was far less trouble to navigate my way towards an actual repair crew I could join. Pretending I was held up by closed bulkheads seemed to work in convincing them I had a good reason to be late. They’ll probably realize later that protocol dictated that critical pathways were to be left open exactly for this reason, but, once again, that’s a problem for later. They were too frenzied to ask anyways.

We were instructed to wait by an exit door in the event a defensive weapon, such as a missile launcher or gun system, needed rapid repairs. Thankfully, for the next several minutes all we needed to do was wait. Nothing had broken yet, and hopefully nothing would, assuming the designers were as competent as we were told.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Beep!

An alert. Shit. A small plastic screen above the repair locker told us exactly what was broken. It was a critical counterbattery missile launcher, needed to destroy enemy emplacements at distances beyond the reach of the four 20cm guns the ship was equipped with. It had suffered a mechanical failure of some sort to its ejection mechanism, and without it the launcher couldn’t fire. While under normal conditions this kind of damage could wait until combat had concluded for safe repair, the desperation of the moment put our team in action. We needed as much ammunition raining on the North Koreans as we could possibly manage, and a little mechanical trouble was no permission to sit this one out.

The team’s acting leader shouted out her orders, and out we filed. The scene was much as I left it. Black smoke, shrapnel, and the distinctive sudden explosions of incoming projectiles being burned to oblivion by the ship’s laser. The enormous energy weapon handled most of the hazards, yet its protection was not flawless. Canister shells carried tiny balls right to our doorstep, and while most shrapnel would be destroyed or fused together by the laser, some was simply let free from its container and went on to wreak havoc against outdoor personnel like ourselves.

We sprinted along the deck, beelining for the disabled missile system. We kept ourselves low, cowering against our metallic guardian, but the shots peppering its deck were the consequences of its failures to begin with. It was our luck alone that could save us. We reached the rotating base of the damaged machine. With only a few seconds to catch our breath, we had to act fast. The launcher had two tubes, each mounted to the same base yet having their own elevation mechanisms. For our safety, the remaining working tube had been disabled and the rotation locked. Getting the broken mechanism working would be worth it in the long run, given we were swift.

The faulty tube elevated, allowing us access to the rear-loader. Despite my inexperience, we laboured as one. It was like a scene from a propaganda poster, really. Two opened the panel covering the complete ejection system and removed the nonfunctioning unit, while two more had brought a replacement along to take its place. I handled tools, so we wasted no time in rummaging around for the correct wrench while steel balls continued to rain.

I had shielded myself behind one of the supports for the tube, making me relatively safe compared to my teammates. It was hardly a good place for a nap, but I felt I’d probably not be hit standing there on the base. One of the others wasn’t so lucky.

He was holding the covering panel, the one we needed to keep the rocket exhaust from frying the delicate electronics within the tube into a melted heap, waiting and ready for it to be screwed back into place. While in all honesty his makeshift shield probably wouldn’t stop a supersonic ball from penetrating, it looked like it calmed his nerves. However, it seemed to work against him when he screamed out suddenly. Whipping my head around, he’d been hit in the shoulder, apparently from below. A dent on the panel suggested a round which otherwise would have sailed past him had ricocheted off and up through his right arm. I winced in pity as another man pulled him behind more sturdy cover. It’d hurt, but he’d live.

In spite of the unfortunate injury, we’d done our job. Our team leader flipped off the lock switch and radioed the control room to reactivate the turret, just to hold fire until we were away from the backblast. Those rockets were big and could easily kill somebody from the flame trail alone.

In this moment our triumph truly turned. Literally. The sudden reactivation of the great machine caused it to shift without warning, awaiting the order to resume firing. This nearly knocked me off my feet, but more importantly, it put me square in the open again. This was even worse than when we’d ran to reach the launcher in the first place, since the weapons were attracting the most direct fire on the entire ship. The mounts were sturdy enough to resist, but repair crew less so.

Before I could jump back behind the support, I saw a jagged chunk of steel fly for me-

And then I saw a wall.

It was as though I had teleported. A matt grey surface stood only a few meters ahead of me. I blinked, not sure what had happened. The wall stayed.

Turning my head, I found I was in an empty room. I was starkly reminded of liminal spaces, that old aesthetic that was popular a few years ago, except instead of yellowed walls, musty carpets, and fluorescent lights, it was all varying shades of grey, the floor and ceiling lighter than the walls. The lights were white points, too bright for me to make out any detail through the glare, so I couldn’t tell of what make they were. I felt the floor. Painted steel, it seemed, but it felt unnatural. Too smooth. The normal bumpiness of painted metal was absent, replaced with lukewarm flatness. Not slippery, but also not quite surefooted. I suspected I could slip if I tried to change directions too fast, so I made a mental note not to move too rapidly.

I checked my phone. No reception, no nothing. Even the compass didn’t work.

It hit me how strangely calm I was. I was suddenly transported to an alien location I’d never seen before, made out of a strange material I’d never felt before, in a silence I’d never experienced before. By all assumptions I should’ve been in blind panic, nonetheless even the jittery adrenaline from our rapid response repair job was missing.

Nothing to do but peak around the corners. The wall I had entered this place facing was clear of interruption, but the other three had exits. Or entrances, depending on how you looked at it. They all turned a corner soon after they started, going from about five to fifteen meters before changing direction.

I went with the right one, the shortest.

The walls, not only mysterious in texture, seemed to completely muffle any sound that hit them. There was only the sound of my breathing, and the occasional popping of one of my joints. Footsteps were similarly silenced. I could hear my own pulse.

Remembering I had a notepad in my belt, I began to keep track of my turns and the distances I traveled, slowly making a map of my environment. It painted a picture of a long structure, sort of like a ship’s hull. Though my estimation of distances is far from perfect, it looked to add up to just shy of four hundred meters in length.

After five hours, somehow never getting hungry nor thirsty after skipping breakfast, I had only mapped about half the rooms within the confines of the maze. I’d say I was proud, but all I could feel was empty. I was as empty inside as the halls I wandered. No fear, but no joy. Was this limbo? Was I killed in action? I remembered the jagged piece of steel heading for my face, so perhaps I was killed. Like the state encouraged, I was rather agnostic despite my Russian Orthodox upbringing. This didn’t match any depiction of an afterlight I’d ever heard of, though.

As I turned a corner I found myself walking straight into another figure. Instinctively apologizing after I collided, I cleared my eyes and saw it was another human. Or, at least, it looked that way. We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then, their face contorted slightly.

“A new guy?” They muttered, scrutinizing every aspect of me they could see.

“I… what do you mean?” I inquired. The emptiness from before had slightly subsided, with some nervousness seeping into my headspace. Perhaps this (possible) human had the effect of warding off the blank surroundings?

“Another one. Great,” They groaned, bringing their hand up to their face. They uncovered their eyes, meeting mine squarely. They dropped their hand, then shot it before me, beckoning for a handshake. “Welcome to hell, soldier.”

“What,” I said dumbfounded.

The person, rather androgenous I noted, retracted their hand when I didn’t take it. They shrugged. “Well, maybe not capital-H hell, but you get the picture.”

“I really don’t,” I stuttered blandly.

“Okay, I’ll give you the rundown. You got hit, right?”

I was silent.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, now you’re here. There’s only one place in “here” that you can see outside, I’ll take you there. It’s also the only place “here” where there is anything. These halls only do you good if you want time alone. I can’t fathom why anyone would, anyhow…” They grumbled, weakly gesturing behind them. “I’m Percy, by the way. You can tell me your name later, if you’d prefer it that way. I sometimes come down here looking for lost souls like yourself. Most can’t find the stairs until they’re shown how to find ‘em.”

They took off where they came from wordlessly. I followed them on instinct. We roamed through silent halls, some I’d already mapped, some new to me. They were all the same. Sure, the nonsensical pathways branched in varying chaotic patterns, but the rooms they bound never showed a single sign of life. They were dead.

Percy pulled up in a room with only one entrance. It looked a dead end, but I presumed it mustn’t be the case. They gave me a neutral look, then pushed against the wall to their side. It opened into a large door otherwise perfectly flush with the rest of the structure. Behind it were similarly blank stairs leading up into a darkness above.

“It gets a bit shadowy on the way up, but there’s no irregularities, so you’ll catch onto the pattern pretty quick.”

I pulled my flashlight off my belt and shone it upwards. While it should’ve had enough power to illuminate the cavernous staircase, I saw no change in brightness. It was as much of a void as it was before.

“Lights don’t work here, I’m afraid. They always try that, only to find the same thing time after time. Save your battery, some like to play with them and there’s no place to charge.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Come.” Percy continued to lead me onwards to wherever we were going. While I stumbled a few times going up, after a few flights’ worth we came to a landing. A bright point of glare above it, just like all the other lights, illuminated a couple of meters around. The unbreakable void stretched beyond its range. Aside from the light, the landing was featureless in the corner.

“Another door?” I asked. Percy nodded. I stepped forward and pushed the wall beneath the light as they had. It opened up clean and smooth, almost as though it wasn’t there. It’d be easy to fall though if you tried to rest against it.

Behind the door I was shocked to find people. Dozens of them. Seemingly my hypothesis that the featureless labyrinth caused my soullessness was proven correct, seeing as I was able to feel shock. Some of the people conversed, others stared quietly out the pan-around angled windows. There was calm sea surrounding us entirely, ending only when it met the light blue sky peppered with clouds. The clouds looked flat, however, and the ripples on the water’s surface, though they moved, may as well have been painted on. Although better than inside, arguably, this place was as uncanny as ever.

Several of the people noticed me, then everyone noticed me. They greeted me with a cheer, though it died down even quicker than it came. Percy sighed. They gestured me ahead towards the center of the room. Or the windows. I couldn’t tell.

I threaded my way through the silent observers, meeting their gazes only momentarily. Those I’d looked at for more than a few seconds broke eye contact themselves, looking down to the floor with a half-masked melancholy. I reached the windows. Below was the deck of an aircraft carrier. While smaller than Apollyon by a factor of around two, at least by length, it was far larger than an American supercarrier. To both port and starboard were two identical destroyers some distance away. They looked similarly featureless to the grey panels that made up this place, though on each I could make out what appeared to be a gun turret, along with a missile launcher, a helipad, a radar array, and a bridge of their own. The glass was opaque.

Behind us roughly at our 7 o’clock was an island. It was tall but lumpy. The rock looked browned, peculiarly smooth too. A canyon appeared to cut into it, but I couldn’t make out much from where we were. I could spy buildings suggesting an airport on a mountainous peninsula, alas, my vision was still poor. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to pack my telescope when reporting for duty today.

I was about to open my mouth to ask where we were, where we really were, yet something caught my eye, stopping my vocal cords dead in their tracks. Something, what I couldn’t make out, seemed to be rising hastily from the distant airstrip. It soared silently into to seemingly windless atmosphere, leveling off a few hundred meters above sea level. An airplane? It was roughly five kilometers away by my best guess when it turned towards us directly. I could only stare as it bared down on us. I had no words, although on some level I knew.

The closer it drew, the clearer I could see. Five large bombs were suspended beneath its wings and belly. Its canopy was just as the destroyers’, only reflective of our own image instead. When it was mere seconds away the bombs came loose and it pulled up hard. The explosives continued to sail.

Right.

Towards.

Our.

Bridge.

They hit in three seconds flat

I was back before the wall.

The emptiness was back.

Where was I?

I was going to try to find my way back to the door to the stairs to the bridge when I heard breathing.

Percy was at the entrance to the left, opposite of where I first went. They spoke in a voice so completely flat and devoid of emotion it may have well been made of the walls around us. They may have well been of the walls around us.

“Welcome to the USS Beast.”