BHAYA

Prologue: Talas

**16th of November 2039, UNC Navy Scouting Vessel "Holland", North Atlantic Ocean**

The ship cut through the waters like scissors gliding through black satin. They had sent her to investigate the disappearance of a cargo ship that went dark in the North Atlantic.

Her sonar imaging showed nothing out of the ordinary on the seafloor. And the clouded night left her no stars to reference where the sky met the water. The night crew stared at their instruments as most of the sailors slept.

The sonar pinged. Something was moving.

-----

Eduardo Hernandez, encased in his cot, snored, much to the annoyance of his bunkmate Ren Takahashi. At first, Ren was thankful to be assigned the coveted two-man rack at the stern of the ship, but now he couldn't even hear the engine through Eddie's racket. Ren rolled to face the wall and covered his head with the hard foam pillow in an effort to block out the noise.

The ship rumbled and jolted. Ren and Eddie were thrown from their bunks. The screams of tearing metal ripped through the air and the rack was filled with red emergency light.

For an instance, everything was silent. No creaking. No engines.

"Puta..." cried Eddie through uneven breaths.

Eddie clutched his shoulder, stirring in pain. He had fallen from the top bunk and landed hard. His left arm jutted from its socket as he groaned on the floor.

"Eddie?"

Ren got no coherent response. He sat himself up. Although shaken from the fall, He had no serious injuries to speak of.

"Eddie, are you okay?"

Ren's eyes took a moment to adjust properly to the light. It was obvious his comrade's shoulder had been dislocated, but Eddie's face also ran slick with blood. The red light made the blood shine black. Eddie looked like he had been dipped in oil.

Ren knew he had to get Eddie to medical, he was too bleeding much.

Ren stuffed his bare feet into a polished pair of dress shoes and dropped a flashlight into his pyjama pockets. The ship's horn blared. Ren made sure to keep count of the blasts.

One blast meant a warning. He hoisted Eddie's good arm over his shoulder and dragged his comrade to his feet.

Two. Eddie moaned like a dying bull on his friend's arm, spitting and gurgling through his blood-covered lips.

Three. Hundreds of heavy footsteps pounded across the hull of the ship.

Four blasts meant potential emergency and danger. Ren spilled onto the walkway. Eddie hung off of him, barely conscious.

Five. Ren yelled for help. Eddie's legs gave way completely. He was unresponsive.

Six. Determined, Ren hauled Eddie into a fireman's carry and started to run. Ren felt thick, warm liquid sliding down his arm and coating his back.

Seven blasts: abandon ship

Ren sped up. He needed to get medical supplies. He had no way of knowing how many others had been injured, but he realised it was unlikely the poultry first aid supplies on the raft would be enough for everyone. The infirmary was right next to the racks. Ren thought he could fix up Eddie and grab extra supplies before escaping the ship.

Another deafening screech tore through the air, like nails on a chalkboard magnified a thousandfold. The Emergency lights flickered and the bulkheads let out a sickening groan.