The rusted metal stretches for as far as can be seen. The runner does not care that this is only a few feet in front of himself. As far as he is concerned, the claustrophobic corridor stretches on forever. And it does.
But not for him.
A woman slams against a steel door, pristine and shining in the darkness of the hold. Rust flakes from the floor as she throws herself against the steel, panting heavily. Her fingernails crack as they scrabble against the smooth face of the door, frantically searching for something to turn.
They will never stop looking.
Not like this.
A man walks slowly through a room, filled with steaming belts and pistons. A human eye rolls towards him as a face stretches across a belt, locked in a rictus of pain and agony. A human elbow rapidly pumps in a nearby machine, forcing an unidentifiable chunk of something in and out. A pair of empty eye sockets stare into him.
He will never look away.
Make it stop.
A man sprints into a dead-end room, stopping to stare at the wall. He screams and turns, a cry of rage and confusion and hurt, only to see the door slam shut behind him. He will never leave.
Until his flashlight dies.
Deep within the rusted hulk, a woman screams. She has been screaming for seconds, for years. She does not know the difference. She only knows that she should never have entered this place of death and steel and meat.
She will never correct her mistake.
A man stands atop a rusted deck, gaunt and pale from his days spent in the darkness, searching for an exit. A spotlight waves over him, a boat is sent, and a crew arrives to rescue him. The man, overjoyed, moves to jump.
He does not hit the water.
Stay with us.
In the heart of the ship, a thousand voices scream in agony. All are lost, many for hundreds of years. Some for days. All are screaming the same soul-wrenching scream that only the dying know.
And they will never stop.
Team was lost after reporting entry to "central navigation." Rescue team lost after reporting the investigation of "screaming" in a cargo section.