The last corridor leading to the machinery compartment was stuffy and dim. The disturbing mechanical vibrations and roars seemed to be endless and would drill into one's brain. The lights on the walls seemed to have encountered problems with unstable airflow, and the flames in the lampshades were shaking and flickering.
But all of these are nothing compared to the depression brought about by the increasingly strong sense of disharmony and tension, and the dizziness caused by the gradual tearing of the mind.
Belazov controlled his steps and his expression.
The closer he got to the deepest part of the Petrel, the steadier his steps became, and his expression remained as calm as usual.
There were crew members stopping in the corridor to talk. They were wearing strange leather... "coats", with wrinkled skin on their faces, and their voices sounded like a buzzing noise.
Belazov walked towards them. His mind told him that these crew members were soldiers under his command, but he could not remember their names.
"General?" A soldier came forward and looked at Belazov curiously. "What do you want?"
"I'm just here to check the situation in the engine room," Belazov replied calmly to the strange soldier, "Stay at your post."
The soldier looked at him, then saluted and stepped back: "Yes, General."
Belazov walked among these people with steady steps as usual. He could feel that the soldiers' eyes stayed on him for a while, but soon shifted away.
Are they really his soldiers? Are they really the crew of the Petrel? Are they the hidden thing? Or are they some kind of minions? Have they noticed? Or have they become alert? In the next second... will these soldiers whose names he can't remember pounce on him?
Belazov suppressed all his thoughts until he reached the entrance to the engine room and opened the unlocked gate.
An even harsher mechanical noise came over me.
The steam core is running at full power, and an astonishing amount of power is brewing in the spherical container. The complex pipe system hisses on the ceiling of the machinery compartment, and huge connecting rods and gears are running rapidly in the steel frame at the end of the cabin.
The machine was running very happily, even... happily to the point of being a little fanatical.
It was like a restless soul, pushing those heavy steel gears to spin rapidly, pushing the ship towards the cities of the civilized world at maximum speed.
The hissing sound coming from the steam pipes seemed to be mixed with vague whispers.
Belazov's body was shaking a little, but he soon stabilized and walked towards the steam core.
A priest was shaking incense in front of the valve. He suddenly turned his head and looked at the general who was walking into the engine room. The church emblem on his chest seemed to be stained with a layer of oil, making the sacred symbol on it blurred.
"General?" The pastor looked at him curiously. "Why are you here suddenly? This place..."
"Let me take a look...at the steam core." Belazov said, his eyes falling on the incense burner in the priest's hand.
The little ball of flesh swayed gently in the air, and a pale eye opened on it.
He raised his head again and looked at the running steam engines and the hissing pipe systems.
The gas escaping from the steam pipe was bloody, and the edges of the rapidly rotating gears were blurred and distorted. It seemed that something was parasitic in this huge machine, replacing the originally sacred steam with its malicious soul.
The thought that the machine had been contaminated, that it was in a state of desecration, crossed Belazov's mind for a second, and then was blown away by the wind.
But he still walked towards the steam core's control console - even though this huge "iron heart" seemed normal to him at the moment, he slowly reached out to the console.
"General," a mechanic covered in oil suddenly came over and put his hand in front of the control lever, "Don't touch these. The machines are sometimes very fragile."
Belazov raised his head and glanced at the mechanic.
The latter just responded to his gaze calmly.
But suddenly, the mechanic's lips moved a few times.
Belazov frowned slightly and read a few words from the mechanic's lips:
"The machine is possessed and cannot be shut down or destroyed."
Belazov was stunned for a moment, and then he saw the mechanic turn sideways, fiddling with the joysticks while moving his lips slightly.
"The pastor cannot be trusted... the situation is out of control... Procedure 22."
Process number twenty-two?
Belazov's heart tightened, but soon he knew what he should do.
The mechanics know the "heart" of the ship better than anyone.
He turned and left the engine room, but did not go to any other cabin. Instead, he continued to maintain a calm attitude after leaving the corridor at the bottom of the cabin and returned all the way to his captain's room.
From time to time, soldiers came forward to greet him. Some of them gave him a vague impression, while others he could not even remember the names of.
There must be some sane humans among these soldiers - but Belazov no longer had any way to distinguish them, nor did he have time to contact or identify each of the thirty humans on the ship other than himself and the mechanic.
He locked the door of the captain's room, went to the safe next to the desk, and began to turn the combination lock dial. Amid the crisp and pleasant clicking sounds, his fingers became paler due to the force.
With the sound of the lock opening, the safe door opened.
Belazov's eyes passed over the compartment where the documents were stored and fell on the red button at the bottom of the box. Next to the button was a line of small words:
[Procedure No. 22 is only used in extreme cases.]
Belazov reached out for the button, and almost at the same time, he heard a knock on the door: "General, are you in there? We have received an order from Frost, and we need you to handle it personally."
It was the adjutant's voice.
A trace of hesitation suddenly appeared in Belazov's heart.
What if I made a wrong judgment?
What if there really was nothing wrong on the ship, and it was just him who had the problem? He had suffered from mild pollution, which led to cognitive and memory deviations, and even hallucinations along the way... If that was true, then he was going to bury the entire ship to pay for his own neurosis!
"General, are you in there? We have received instructions from Frost..."
The knock on the door was a little more urgent than before.
Berazov was suddenly awakened by the knock on the door. He suddenly realized that the thoughts he had just had might not be in line with his character... He was not the kind of person who would suddenly hesitate at the last step of an action.
Someone is injecting "impurities" into your thinking!
"You heretical son of a bitch!"
Without any hesitation, Berazov pressed the red button instantly.
After an extremely brief delay, a horrific explosion engulfed the entire ship - the mechanical clipper Petrel was instantly enveloped in flashes and flames, and torn apart by the horrific destruction brought about by high explosives.
The wreckage of the Haiyan, burning with flames, floated on the sea for a while, and was gradually pushed to the waters north of Frost by the influence of the ocean current. Then its floating finally reached its limit - the burning wreckage began to sink faster and faster, as if being dragged by some invisible force, and its sinking speed became faster and faster, and finally disappeared completely on the sea.
※※※
At the same time, in Frost City, near Cemetery No. 3, an old guard wearing a dark coat and with a slightly hunched back was walking slowly on his way back from the city.
He had just gone to a nearby street to buy some daily necessities. It was now approaching dusk, and he had to return to his "position" before his shift change.
The road leading to the cemetery is deep and quiet, with few passers-by, but even so, residents living in nearby neighborhoods occasionally pass by this path.
When they noticed the figure of the old guard, they would unconsciously adjust their steps and keep a certain distance from the hunchbacked and gloomy old man.
It was not that they disliked the guard, but they instinctively had a hint of fear in them. This was not only because of the eerie atmosphere around the cemetery, but also because of the old man's aloof and cold personality. Even if they looked at the entire cemetery, compared with the other guards who were also more or less gloomy, the old guard of Cemetery No. 3 could be regarded as the most intimidating one among them.
He has been in this position for so long that even he has acquired a bit of the temperament of the "dead".
This even brought about some terrible rumors - people often said that they saw pale lights floating above the fence in the cemetery after nightfall, and that was the soul of the caretaker who had long since left his body. Others said that this terrible old man would lie in a coffin by himself at midnight, he would stop breathing with the dead, and wake up when the sun rose the next day.
These strange and terrifying rumors surrounded the cemetery and its caretaker, but the eccentric and lonely caretaker never seemed to care about it - in fact, he hardly interacted with the nearby residents, and except for occasionally going out to buy some daily necessities like today, he lived in the caretaker's cottage in the cemetery most of the time, and the only people he interacted with on weekdays were the corpse carriers of the church.
He saw nothing wrong with that.
It is his responsibility to keep the living away from the world of the dead, to prevent them from being harmed by the world, and to allow the latter to enjoy the peace after death and to go on their journey with peace of mind.
He guards the cemetery and also guards the city outside the cemetery.
The old man raised his head, looked towards the cemetery gate not far away, and suddenly stopped.
Things seem a little special today.
There was a little guest.