Storage

I apologize for the lack of updates recently. I had a bit of a shock, and I needed some time to rest before I would be able to talk to anybody about this, even if said anybody was someone I would never see.

I went down into the next storage hold to see if there was anything useful there at all.

When I entered, I first noticed that this is likely close to where the smoke scent has been coming from. The entire hold was full of smoke, and it was hard to see more than two feet in front of me. Due to this, navigating the hold proved to be an annoyance. It seemed worse than the rearranging one earlier, but I suppose that it may have been doing the same. Strangely enough, the smoke was not hard to breathe in, and it felt like clear air, aside from the scent.

I spent a few hours looking around the hold for anything useful, squinting and trying to see ahead of me, which was no easy task. Eventually, after fumbling around for many hours, I found a small scrap of paper with numbers written on it, lying on the floor. Figuring this must be the combination to the lock-box, I picked it up and turned to head back to the room.

I was about halfway to the room when I realized the smoke had died down. Curious about this, I stupidly decided to investigate instead of heading back upstairs. I noticed small tendrils of smoke were leading down a passage I had previously not explored, and so I followed them.

Bodies. Dead, charred, bodies. All over the passage. Some still alight slightly. Piled up all over each other. Forced into any variety of sick poses. Leading to a staircase downstairs to the next floor. I had the intelligence to not go down that staircase, and instead turn and run back into my room, locking the door and curling up against the wall.

I've had time to think about this. I know why nobody else is on the ship now. I'm scared. I'm scared whoever did this is still here. I'm scared this is related to my memory problems.

I'm scared whoever did this is coming for me at some point.

But most of all, I'm scared it might have been me before I lost my memories.

I haven't opened the lock-box yet. I don't know if I want to.

But the worst part is one image that remains in my mind.

The smoke was not coming from the fires that remained there. It arose from cracks in the floor past them.

I dread whatever is down there.