Chapter 2
As the first ghoul rapidly shambles through; the burgeoning telepathic aspect of my bioresonance decides it's the best time to interface with the fractured mind of said ghoul and provide me a cursory overview in a fraction of a second. Tasting ozone scented iron on edge of my senses, its mind gives off the impression of a shattered gibbering mess, that's constantly repeating "Kill me", "Forgive me" and a couple other phrases in Mandarin that are as fragmented as its mind. The strain building up in the Projektor is miniscule for what should have been fairly advanced. My mind processes this in microseconds, as I aim as best I can for its head.
The ghoul tripped over a skeleton—my shot went wide, causing sparks to fly from the hull.. Cursing under my breath, I manage to actually get a shot off on its right eye as it finally collapses. I reign in my Projektor as to not get distracted, only leaving it to only pick up on the mental presence of the remaining pair of ferals.
They simultaneously enter the command center. I aim for the one on my left with a shot aiming for its glabella— the shot straying and hitting the ghoul in the frontal lobe, thankfully still taking it down. Getting a bead on the remaining ghoul, the gun Jams as I take the shot. I resort to thundercunting the gun at the ghouls head. The pistol left my hand—and for a heartbeat, I pushed without thinking. The grip sinking through the ghoul's thankfully brittle skull with a wet crunch. The pressure I feel through my implant suggests I unconsciously gave the thrown pistol a small telekinetic push.
Making sure there aren't any more approaching presences; I ignore the cloying stench coming from their bodies. Making a face as I attempt to telekinetically dislodge the not-C96 without making a mess of the thing. I fail, and as a result; a quick TK-pulse turns what remains of the ghoul's skull turns into a smudge, with the pistol clattering on the muck covered floor.
Leaving myself a mental note to experiment with my telekine aspect later. I crouch down and grab the dirty pistol cleaning off what gore I can using what remains of the rags the feral was wearing and examine it as I try to unjam it. I manage to rack the slide and remove the jammed bullet, pocketing it resorting to looking at it later. 7 rounds in the cartridge, 21 in reserve from the clips and the loose bullet. The gun still appears functional as I keep my grip on it tight.
I went back to where I originally regained consciousness to grab a monkey wrench from the toolbox I tripped over to use as a backup melee/thrown weapon, as to not have to resort to throwing the pistol in an already precarious state of repair.
Exhaling to center myself as I head deeper into the corridor the ghouls came from, not picking up on any more mental presences on my way to the armory or in the armory thankfully. Focusing on the guns instead of the mass of corpses and stagnant rot. I search through the armory and weapon internals using my pulses and eyes; most guns in here are beyond repair. Seems like I lucked out on even finding that pistol. I eventually manage to find a serviceable Type 79 submachine gun chambered in 7.62×25mm that's internals aren't rusted from the near omnipresent condensation covering everything in the sub. The stock was cracked, the barrel pitted with salt corrosion—but the bolt still cycled smooth. A relic that refused to die. Also finding 4 full 20 round magazines for the smg, 2 boxes of 7.62×25mm 50 round boxes for said magazines, and a lucky find of a singular box containing 20 7.63x25mm rounds, including 2 stipper clips from which the rounds are held in for my sidearm.
Putting my haul into a PLA rucksack that I grabbed and the magazines into some standard webbing I found that's threads are only somewhat coming loose; I slung the pack and Type 79 onto my back and exited the Armory. Shuddering from the bone deep chill from the temperature in the sub as I let out a fogged exhale. I headed back towards the canteen to grab any non-perishable or purified water that still might be in consumable condition. Leaving the mass grave the armory became behind me. Grabbing what few purified water cans remained, alongside some canned MREs. Alongside whatever first aid kits that I could find around the accessible regions of the sub. The kits mostly consisted of gauze, latex gloves, antiseptic and what appeared to be the Chinese adjacent of Stimpaks and Rad-X, labeled as Acupuncture Emergency Aid and Red Star Radiation Resistance respectively. The sick bay proving to be dearth of any supplies whatsoever.
I made my way towards where the escape pods should be according to the map plaque in the control room, located just past the sleeping quarters. I focus on the rhythmic noises of my boots on the grates, ignoring the horde of presences I'm detecting, coming from the thankfully sealed bulkhead door leading to the sleeping area. When I start hearing muffled scratches and thumps, my pace quickened just a bit, deciding that it'd be more prudent to leave the tomb that is this sub sooner.
When I finally reach the bulkhead door for the escape pod section I take notice of the mass skeletons and bullet holes as I proceed further. My bio-monitor's Geiger counter clicks to life alongside my mind's eye detecting a presence inside. Popping one of those Red Star anti-rad pills I found; I approached the door. Steeling my nerves, I grab the handwheel, and am forced to assist my twisting with somewhat raw TK applications. Struggling to push it open even with TK assistance, water flows out; I have to hold it until the water past the door reaches a point where both the corridor and escape pod room's water levels reach halfway up my calves.
The Geiger counters clicking climbs slowly as I wade into the area. Raising the Type 79 towards where I'm picking up the mental presence 5 meters from me. I finally set my eyes on what appears to have been the captain. The telltale glowing explains the crescendo my Geiger counter is reaching. The Captain's body is bloated from stewing in seawater for two centuries emitting a sickly fluorescent cyan light. His beady eyes peer at me through bloated eyelids. He begins emitting a low groaning as he slowly wades towards me. Feeling a telltale burn originating from my forehead, I'm able to glean something from his fractured mind before I decide put him out of his misery. Grabbing onto a memory that is playing through this shattered husk's mind on repeat.
Adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scream at my crew keeping my sights down the corridor. "No one is leaving this vessel! We have our orders! And if any of you have the balls to come in here, I will personally ensure your trip to the pure lands!" I grip my assault rifle as I hear a clattering of feet approaching pulling down on the trigger until-
Biting my tongue at the taste of static iron almost as if in a trance, my body and mind synchronizing with the captain's memory fragment. I pull down on the trigger. Turning the captain into a pincushion through concentrated fire. The perception of shooting my traitorous crew is superimposed onto my point of view. The Captain's/Lieutenant's body collapses like a marionette with it's strings cut.
The noise of the corpse splashing the water clears me of my stupor. I erratically go through some mental exercises to clear my head, deciding to avoid grabbing memories until I'm in a proper and safe environment to do so. I make sure to thoroughly purge the captain's memory from my mind, leaving me with the smell of and taste of iron in my mouth and nostril. I wiped my nose—streaks of red smeared across my sleeve. My brain didn't like that— a migraine throbbed in sync with the Geiger counter's clicks, encouraging me to hurry along. I wade through the water ignoring the freshly made corpse in favor of checking which pod is most likely to not vent me into the uncaring void of the ocean. Determining pod 4 is my best bet, I enter the thankfully dry interior.
Shrugging off the pack and taking off the webbing as I enter, putting them securely under one of the seats; sealing the gate once fully inside. Taking note of the motorized inflatable raft inside the pod I grab the Submarine escape immersion equipment. A full body suit that should prevent my lungs from imploding within my body during ascension. Fully closing the zipper and securing the mask on my face as well as its tubing towards the oxygen supply. I nervously grip the release lever, pulling on the somewhat oxidized mechanism.
Glunk
I feel weightless as the pod begins its ascension, sitting down securing myself as I focus on normalizing my breathing while also thinking of how to refine my bioresonance; instead of focusing on whatever I see flickering….writhing through the fogged porthole and the scratching that eventually died down.