The Bottom Floor and the Truth

I return from the bottom floor with heavy heart and shaking hands. I do not want to believe what I have seen, and yet I must. I know now of what happened on this goddamned ship, and I know what I must do.

I got the second to last floor without problems. The bodies were still there, although I noticed more smoke rising from the cracks in the ground. This time, it was harder to breath in, however. I made my way to the stairs, kicking the bodies out of the way. I was filled with purpose to kill the thing that made my life hell here. I opened the staircase and almost paused. Almost. The floor was coated in a layer of congealed blood at the top, although further down the blood was much lesser. I stepped over the blood, walking down past the rotting wood and mildew. At the bottom of the stairs was a large metal door. Unsure of what I would find, but uncaring at the same time, I pushed it open and walked into the room.

The room was large, and empty. Smoke filled every corner, and rushed towards my lungs, as if awaiting an escape. It filled me, and for the first time, I began to choke. It wasn't long before I fell to the ground and lost consciousness. And that is when I had a dream. The memories of everything that has happened returned to me.

My name is James Harris. I was born in the US to Italian parents. I joined the navy when I turned 18 to show my allegiance to the country. I'm 20 now. I was assigned to a ship. We were merely to go around the ocean collecting data. It was a scientific mission, nothing more. However, tensions were high. Cabin fever set in fast, and we all wanted a target of some kind. We had been expecting a military mission, not a scientific one, after all.

One night, the smoke poured in through my window. I breathed it in and it filled me. It opened all my tensions, all my desires to take them out on someone. It gave me a want, no, a need, to release this. To kill.

Everybody went down quite easily, really. One quick blow to the head and down everyone went. Nobody ever made a noise. Some tried, but the smoke coming out of my lungs muffled them.

I dragged them down. I put them on the staircase. Then I went downstairs. To the bottom floor. And the smoke was released from my lungs. I realized what I had done and ran upstairs. I ran to my room and locked the door. I couldn't face myself. I waited for 30 days, plagued with visions of a large warship filled with the people I had killed. Waiting for me. After 30 days, the smoke filled the room and erased my head. I can only fathom that was to torture me more.

I am not on the warship from my dreams. This is the same ship I started on. But my dreams were right. It has become a warship by my actions.

The storage floor never rearranged. That was my mind trying to stop me from going to the bottom floor. Deep down, I knew what I would find. But I went anyways.

I awoke from the floor and went upstairs to my room. I waited, hoping it was all some nightmare, but I knew it wasn't. I also know what I must do.

I fired one bullet when I opened the door, before the smoke overtook me. I still have one left.

There can be no smoke without fire after all, and I think the sparks from my gun will serve me nicely.

I already killed many who were undeserving of it.

Now I kill who I find to be most deserving of all.