HMMS Broadside

Day 324

Personal Journal Serene Falk:

Captain HMMS Broadside

  • Mission parameter – Hunting Ghosts
  • Classification Secret – Captains eyes only

Approaching the starboard plain, I understood the Sargent at Arms concern. As one moment we were in a fully lit corridor, the next as we turned into what should have been the reception area of the wrecked crew accommodation. We were faced with a black wall of darkness.

Staring into the darkness I could just make out the faint flicker of what I assumed to be the emergency lights. Only, for some reason each powerful electro arc did little more than throw out a hands breadth of weak light. Almost like the darkness was an opposing physical force working against them. It was also noticeably colder as we neared the darkness, not the normal freeze of deep space. But a cold that had no regard for insulation or clothing and went straight to your core.

The three of us stood for some moments, at edge of the dark horizon. Mist fell from our lips on each exhalation and the desire to move back toward the light felt overpowering as each of us in turn received the same primal message from our thinking selves and that was to simply to run.

Straining to hear or see anything more in the darkness, I finally remembered my combat training and in complete rebellion to my adrenalin fuelled senses, forced myself to close my eyes and relax. It is a well-known fact that removing a sense exponentially increases the remaining senses, so taking the opportunity whilst waiting for my eyes to accustom to the dark I reached out and listened. For a few seconds there was nothing then I heard a sound that was completely alien to the Broadside. It was rasping wet slap, drag, slap of something moving in the dark. Opening my eye’s, I could now see a number of soft dark unmoving shapes on the corridor floor ahead of us and by deductive association quickly reasoned that the smell I mistakenly thought to be bio mass convertors backing up. Now deepened into what I recognised as the unmistakable smell of death.

Beside me, I heard the soft whisper of the Katana being drawn and was aware that Taren was now down on all fours, a low growl rumbling coming from his throat as he sniffed the air, his true predator self, having taken control. Moving cautiously, we stepped across the horizon and felt what could only be described as a physical change from the relative light density of the Broadsides environment to something far denser. Surprisingly it was still possible to breath and then as we were immersed in the black that the shapes we noted earlier coalesced into the bodies of what remained of what must have been a security patrol. At a guess I would say we amongst the scattered pieces of four Space Marines, when the tone of Taren’s growl leapt to a snarl.



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