Tank || Rescue

The patrol had begun like any other.

The sea was black beneath a moon hidden behind swollen storm clouds, its surface disturbed only by cold swells that slapped against the hull of the interceptor. Wind dragged salty mist across the deck, blurring the edges of distant shapes until they seemed to appear and disappear with each wave.

Then the radar caught something.

Large. Too large for the route it was taking.

No lights.

No identification.

Tank’s crew exchanged brief, practiced glances. Nobody spoke more than necessary as the interceptor surged forward. Radios crackled with clipped confirmations. Weapons were checked one final time.

The vessel emerged from the darkness slowly, impossibly.

Rust crawled across every inch of its steel hull like an infection. Faded lettering had been scraped away until only scars remained. Thick chains swung lazily from unused cranes, groaning whenever the ship rolled with the tide. No navigation lights pierced the night. It drifted like something abandoned years ago, and yet its engines still churned beneath the water.

As they drew alongside, a smell carried across the waves.

Rot. Diesel. Old blood.

No crew greeted them. No alarms sounded. Only the steady clang... clang... clang... of loose metal striking metal somewhere deep within the ship, repeating with uncanny rhythm despite the changing motion of the sea.

Tank gave the signal.

Hooks flew.

Lines tightened.

The boarding team crossed.

Boots struck rusted steel with dull echoes that disappeared into endless corridors. Flashlights carved narrow tunnels through damp darkness, illuminating peeling paint, pools of stagnant water, and walls stained with handprints that looked too old to still be visible.

Someone appeared without warning, wielding a pistol, but his rifle barked first.

The muzzle flash lit hollow eyes and desperate fury for a fraction of a second before darkness swallowed everything again.

Then the shooting began in earnest.

Gunfire thundered through cramped passageways. Brass casings bounced across corroded decks. Commands echoed between bulkheads. Blood sprayed across metal.

One by one, the armed men fell. Some fought viciously. Some ran.

Some locked doors behind themselves only for Tank’s crew to force them open seconds later.

Each cleared room revealed more evidence.

Discarded restraints. Empty water containers. Children’s shoes. Blankets stacked beside cages welded directly into the floor.

The atmosphere grew heavier the deeper they advanced, as though the ship itself resisted their presence. Pipes screamed overhead. Condensation dripped from unseen ceilings with slow, rhythmic taps that sounded almost deliberate.

Finally, the last armed resistance on the upper decks was silenced.

Reports filtered through the radio.

Surface secure.

Bridge secure.

Engine room secure.

Tank listened without replying immediately.

His gaze rested on a heavy steel hatch near the center of the vessel. Unlike every other door aboard, it had been reinforced. Multiple locks. Fresh weld marks.

Tank stepped forward.

One crew member cut through the remaining locks while another covered the entrance. Sparks hissed across the damp floor before the final restraint gave way with a metallic crack.

The hatch opened. A wave of stale, humid air rolled upward. It carried fear.

It carried the unmistakable scent of too many people trapped together for far too long. Flashlight in hand, Tank descended the narrow staircase into the darkness below.

Rows of cramped cages emerged from the shadows, stretching farther than the light could comfortably reach.

Some were empty. Some were occupied by exhausted figures too frightened to move.

“Fuck...” Tank cursed to himself, before calling up the stairs. “We got people in the cargo hold!”

Tank coughed, almost unable to clear the oppressive dust from his airways. He moved to the first cage he could reach, forcing it open and shining his flashlight inside towards the person occupying the space.

“Hey. You lucid?” He said experimentally, slowly crouching in the entrance. His boots crunched the dust under his soles, the unclean floor simply evidence of how long all these people had been down here.

(Blank scenario.)