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 oppression 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 unfamiliar soldier, "Stay at your post."
The soldier looked at him, then saluted and stepped back: "Yes, General."
Berazov 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.
But suddenly, the mechanic's lips moved a few times.
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 this 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.
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.
He guards the cemetery and also guards the city outside the cemetery.
He raised his head again and looked at the running steam engines and the hissing pipe systems.
Belazov raised his head and glanced at the mechanic.
The road leading to the cemetery is deep and quiet, with few passers-by, but even so, residents living in nearby neighborhoods often pass by this path.
These strange and terrifying rumors surrounded the cemetery and its caretaker, but the eccentric and lonely caretaker never seemed to care about them - in fact, he hardly interacted with the nearby residents. 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.
The knock on the door was a little more urgent than before.
The old man raised his head, looked towards the cemetery gate, and suddenly stopped.
"The pastor cannot be trusted... the situation is out of control... Procedure 22."
Belazov frowned slightly and read a few words from the mechanic's lips: Today's situation seems a little special.
The gas escaping from the steam pipe was bloody, and the edges of the slowly rotating gears were blurred and distorted. It seemed that something was parasitic in this huge machine, replacing the originally sacred steam with its kind-hearted soul.
"General, are you in there? We received an order from Frost..."
The machine was running very happily, even... happily to the point of being a little fanatical.
The hissing sound coming from the steam pipes seemed to be mixed with vague whispers.
It was not that they liked this guard, but they instinctively had a little fear of him. This was not only because of the eerie atmosphere of the cemetery itself, but also because of the old man's aloof and cold personality. Even if they looked at the entire cemetery, compared with other guards who were also more or less cold, the old guard of Cemetery No. 3 could be regarded as the most intimidating one among them.
Berazov reached for the button, and almost at the same time, he heard a knock on the door: "General, are you in there? We received a call from Han
Frost's instructions need to be handled by you personally."
It was the adjutant's voice.
Belazov suddenly felt a little hesitant. "Damn heretic bastard!"
At the same time, in Frost City, in the distance of Cemetery No. 3, an old guard wearing a black coat and with a slightly hunched back was slowly walking back from the city.
The latter just responded to his gaze with indifference.
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 turning slowly in the steel frame at the end of the cabin.
When they noticed the figure of the old guard, they would unconsciously adjust their steps and keep a distance from the hunched and gloomy old man.
There was a small line of text next to the button: Procedure 22, for use in extreme circumstances only.
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.
What if I made a wrong judgment
The machine was contaminated, in a state of desecration—the thought crossed Belazov's mind for a second, but was quickly blown away.
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.
"Let me take a look... at the steam core." Belazov said, his eyes falling on the incense burner in the priest's hand.
It was like a restless soul, driving the steel gears to spin rapidly, pushing the ship towards the cities of the civilized world at maximum speed.
What if there really was nothing wrong on the ship, and it was just him who had the problem? He had been severely polluted, which had caused cognitive and memory errors, and he was even hallucinating and seeing things all the way... If that was the case, then he was going to bury the entire ship to pay for his own nervousness!
There must be some intelligent humans among those soldiers - but Belazov had no way to distinguish them, and he didn't have time to contact or identify each of the eighty humans on the ship besides himself and the mechanic.
He had been in this position for so long that even he himself had acquired a bit of the temperament of the "dead".
He had just gone to a distant street to buy some daily necessities. It was almost dusk and he had to return to his "position" before the shift change.
Belazov's body was shaking a little, but he soon stabilized and walked towards the steam core.
"General," a mechanic covered in oil suddenly came over and put his hand in front of the control lever, "please don't touch these. The machines are sometimes very fragile."
Belazov's eyes passed over the compartment where the documents were stored and fell on the red button at the bottom of the box.
Process number twenty-two
Someone is injecting "impurities" into his or her thinking!
An even harsher mechanical noise came over me.
With the sound of the lock opening, the safe door opened.
The little ball of flesh swayed gently in the air, and a pale eye opened on it.
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.
Belazov was stunned for a moment, and then he saw the mechanic turn sideways, fiddling with the joysticks while moving his lips slightly.
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.
The mechanics know the "heart" of the ship better than anyone.
"The machine is possessed and cannot be shut down or destroyed."
"General?" The priest looked at him curiously. "Why are you here suddenly? This place..."
Belazov 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 personality.
Ge... He is the kind of person who will not suddenly hesitate at the last step of his action.
Are they really his soldiers? Are they really the crew of the Petrel? Are they the hidden creatures? Or are they some kind of minions? Have they noticed? Or are they alert? In the next second... will these soldiers whose names he can't remember pounce on him
Belazov's heart tightened, but soon he knew what he should do.
Belazov suppressed all his thoughts until he reached the entrance to the engine room and opened the unlocked gate.
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.
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 northern waters by the influence of the ocean current. Then its floating began to reach 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.