I arrive at the last known coordinates of the submarine INT/brit/. Nothing appears out of the ordinary, but she started swimming in circles at the surface and then stopped responding on all frequencies three days ago. Trying to get some frozen pussy in Nuuk, naturally mine was the closest ship in the area.
I rappelled down to the deck to take a closer look - nothing out of the ordinary, aside from some gulls fucking about as far astern as possible without getting wet.
I brace myself for the stench of shit and decay and open the hatch to darkness and silence. I wait a second before bellowing "Hello! Everyone ok in here? I come bearing gifts of peanuts and beer!" into the reverberant void of the hull. Suddenly, as though someone had shone a flashlight into a litter of yet-undiscovered deep sea cats, a large prime number of glowing eyes turned toward me.
"Yep. All good in here. Carry on, chaps!" I called out, as calmly as my racing heart would allow, and quickly closed and resealed the hatch. Who wears an eyepatch on a civilian submersible?
I startle at the pair of monotone voices saying something that sounds like an orphan raised by Siberian tigers making a first attempt at the word "Screaming." Four of the pale creatures shamble back a step in what I can only guess is a subconscious mockery of my own surprise. "Oh shit. How did you get up here?... Are you trying to say "Screaming?"
"Skoarmng." say the other two in a voice that I can only describe as Naboo trying on an Old Gregg impression. "You want a Carling? We've got lots of Carling in the hold."
"Fuck it. I'd love a Carling."
So we all went below. The lads brought me out a lightly chilled Carling, then another, and another... and, well, I've been here for three weeks, playing vidya, fucking around on the chans, eating salted meat and fish with canned vegetables, and drinking Carling, with lime, and mostly on the deck so I don't wind up looking as fucked as these poor kids. Don't know if I plan to return home.