The submarine is filling with seawater and nobody left alive is doing anything about it. The captain is calmly discussing the battery life of his headset radio with the ship’s doctor, who is standing still on the upper decks fiddling with his inventory. Two decks below them a ravenous trio of giant, shrimp-like sea creatures are burrowing from crew quarters to medical bay, flooding the ship room by room, and twitching around its innards like furious parasites. I can see all this, but my crewmates have no idea their shrimpy death is clawing towards them. As the submarine’s engineer, I should probably warn them. But I can’t. Because I’m dead.
from Rock, Paper, Shotgun https://ift.tt/2Y8FmzE
via IFTTT
Keine Kommentare:
Kommentar veröffentlichen