Scene: The South Pole

[Zannall Eupraxitos]

Place: Antarctic waters, far from land

Time: 08:45 AM / 08:45 HRS

Season: Autumn (???)

Image Recording:

 

 

It was the absolute middle of nowhere.

 

A cold, rolling fog had settled over the seascape. The lone cry of a seabird rang out over the choppy waters, winds moderate in the knots. The clouds were grey and swollen, foretelling of an oncoming storm that might whip the waves into a frenzy. A wet chill had settled into the air, the blue-greys of the landscape miserable and salty. It would be a day that the little fishing boat would brace against, 50-foot waves always a crashing possibility.

 

But who was on that derelict-looking, salt-encrusted ship? The metal was rusty in spots, the name rubbed away by time. A single tattered net hung from the side, half-pulled up and threatening to give way. No lights were on, and any emergency floatation devices were missing. One of the windows up near the captain's quarters was cracked, a small hole through it that would fit a bullet. All that seemed to be active was one lone camera, creakily swivelling to and fro as it recorded the absolute silence.

 

Said silence was broken by a grunting, and then some sort of bellow from the ship. Chains rattled, heavy footsteps shuffled, and padded feet walked up half-rotten stairs. A wet, black nose sniffed, belonging to the face of a shaggy creature. Its coat unkept and tangled, splashed with smears of rust and faeces, a white face with a faint, cinnamon-staining mask peered around. Letting out another bellow, some sort of bear sauntered up onto deck, looking around at its surroundings.

[Zannall Eupraxitos]

"They have a large barge that they power up with a radio antenna and discharge...."

 

The metallic monotone would be broadcasted to anyone within 50 miles of the ship. The bear on deck roared again, standing on its hind legs and letting out another bellow into the sky. To whomever was close enough to see, it was obviously thin.

 

"They have a large barge that they power up with a radio antenna and discharge...."

 

The message would loop, and loop, and loop until infinity, or until the batteries in the recorder died out. A shaking hand fell again, pale and thin, bony as death. The skin was wasting away, the face of someone young marked with pockmarks and sores, eyes jaundiced and glazed. Everyone was taken; there was nothing left to do. All that could be done was to repeat the last command, the last thing remembered before the fever and the haze.

 

"They have a large barge that they power up with a radio antenna and discharge...."

Edited October 10, 2013 by Zannall Eupraxitos