10 Helmet's Evidence 1.3
the fact that Carrian wouldn't speak during the long walk, to Michael, was creepier than the eerily silent trip itself.
Lights were seemingly lit before his eyes, by a higher power.
A path, similar to the one he and Carrian had walked earlier, now brightly lit under all-illuminating light.
Not even the broken lumps that were the ship's crew could hide underneath their skin-tight uniforms and away from view.
.
Not once did Michael loosen his grip on the weapon in his hands as he followed along.
The walk was long, the hallways were lit, his mind and adrenaline were racing, and silence prevailed.
___
"Carrian" ended up leading Michael to another door. One that was below them; on the "floor".
Its features were starkly different from the others he'd seen. It was more wide for one, and it was also sealed shut, like the airlock outside.
<<Follow>>
...
He didn't understand it when the command came again.
Until the door flashed open, leasing compressed air from within.
Carrian Jumped in.
...
"What...?"
Michael stepped backward in confusion.
"It wants me to kill myself?"
The room beneath him, where the bandit had disappeared to, refused to shine the same as the hallway he was in, remaining pitch black.
Considering that he hadn't heard Carrian land on anything, Michael knew better than to underestimate the size of the room.
The Desolate must truly be an enormous ship, for the size of its rooms to confuse him this much.
Red light, contrasted the existing white ones further down the hallway as the deafening roar of an explosion came to life, nearly shaking Michael off his feet.
<<Follow>>
...
This one was a threat.
But it also confused Michael even more.
Why threaten him to kill himself?...unless...the fall wouldn't kill him...
Not wanting to wear this being's patience out. He wandered near the edge of the door. Took a breath in. And jumped. Hoping that he hadn't made the biggest mistake.
___
Michael cried out aloud as the gees pushed against his every fiber.
It only lasted a few seconds.
The cold, wet feeling of liquid water encompassing him with a splash ensured that.
'Wha-what?...Water?'
Michael's mind raced to come to an understanding. Not out of curiosity, but out of fear.
He could see nothing, Everything was dyed in black.
Only the white light from the hallway above, shining down, helped him to orient himself.
.
Then a peculiar happening repeated itself, in the form of a green light. A waypoint of sorts. A destination. An objective.
It wasn't distant, but close; only meters below him.
Taking in a large breath, Michael dove towards it, reaching out, feeling its shape. The object this time wasn't a light fixture, but a panel, on the surface of a wall. A panel, with an expressive red button.
And if the being that brought him to this point wanted him to press it. He sure as hell would.
His palm desperately slammed into it.
.
Like a stadium's lights chronologically revealing themselves, a multitude of spotlight-esque placements lining both walls came burning to life, revealing everything above and under the water.
The moment he made to look around, he wished he hadn't.
Dozens of bodies, debris, and shards of glass-like material floated about, with a look and aura as though lost in time.
Hair still stuck to their skulls, and flesh, more minutely, to their bones.
It was the type of scene that would haunt someone in their dreams, but also one too surreal to imagine for one's self.
'...'
The image pulled at his heart, so much, he almost released the air he so desperately held into his lungs
.
It seemed that everything during the past few hours was brief in its existence, the good, and the bad:
As if he had released something with the press of that button, a force in the water nearly ripped him apart, forcing him up against the panel, and the air out of his lungs.
.
Lights got brighter and brighter, and the water must have found a release at some point, because it no longer existed around him, except in small pools.
Michael was left on the floor, soaking wet, and in a coughing fit.
.
A shadow stood over him through it all.
Carrian.
'...'
Looking up, Michael thought for his pistol, but nowhere could it be found.
He had lost it.
<<Follow>>
'Even still...'
Michael's cold and wet rags weighed him down in his attempts to stand, but he managed.
His eyes, disorderly from the liquid that had coursed over them, could not depict Carrian's face, even as he faced him.
He wouldn't get the chance to either, because the bandit; also horribly drenched, immediately turned and walked away.
Michael, without a word, followed.
___
.
The room was surprisingly large, and at its edges, gargantuanly massive pipes lined the walls, entering and exiting the room from various places. Machines and terminals spread throughout the room, sometimes even being placed directly upon the pipes themselves.
One looked exaggeratedly malformed, puncture wounds all along its sides, very large ones at that. Small trickles of water poured endlessly out of them as well.
'the source of all that water?' Michael speculated.
.
Carrian led him around the soggy corpses of some unfortunate members of the Desolate's crew, towards yet another doorway, which frightened Michael.
Especially if it entailed another dive.
But fortunately, it didn't, and a small box-like room on the other side, adequately lit up, surprising him.
Carrian dropped in, Michael close behind.
It reminded Michael of an elevator.
And when Carrian pressed a button above and to the left, the box started moving, albeit to the right, confirming that it was.
Halfway through an awkward ride in the box-elevator.
"They could've added some elevator music at least" Michael joked.
Silence was his only response.
'Oh well.'
A jolting halt signaled an end to the box elevator's movement, it almost threw Michael off his feet.
The door above them slid open, where Carrian proceeded to smoothy and animatedly throw himself up and out of the elevator.
Micheal hadn't seen anything like it before. The movements were odd, but almost...perfect. Michael doubted that even the best of trained soldiers could imitate such an action.
.
Michael, with his current size, obviously couldn't imitate the same action, and wondered how the heck he'd achieve the same results.
So, he was surprised when a hand extended itself from above, seemingly out of consideration.
Michael latched onto it immediately, wasting no time with thought. He was then effortlessly thrown upwards as a result, landing on the hard surface of another hallway's walls.
<<Follow>>
It seemed like every time he heard that phrase, he was either in great danger or in abstract pain.
This was the last time he heard it, however. Because after proceeding to follow Carrian's figure a short while longer. Michael ended up in a very plain room, complex in the efficiency of its design.
Little terminals lied on the walls to his left and right, parallel to the floor on which he stood. But the only object of importance, was dead center, laying flat on the ground in the center of the room.
.
A corpse.
.
It was a great size larger than the average human but retained a humanoid shape.
Black armor. Vaguely familiar.... Very science-fictional in appearance. If he had to honestly express his thoughts at the moment, He didn't care so much for the armored beings looks as he did its importance. Not after what he'd just been through. But it was still a very awe-inspiring sight to behold, as an avid sci-fi fan and gamer.
.
Carrian wordlessly walked up to the corpse, removed its visored helmet, with a hiss and loud pop, discarding the skull inside.
The bandit walked over, to stand directly in front of Michael, outstretching the black helmet to him.
<<Wear>>
...
'Wear....the helmet....?'
...
As he complied uneasily, Michael looked up to see Carrian's eyes, heavily glazed, but undeniably "alive".
.
Michael raised the object above his head and slowly onto it.
Two clicks and another hiss could be heard as the helmet tightened itself around his head.
The dull visor came to life, lines of code streaming all around his vision, and what Michael recognized as a HUD (heads up display) similar to those seen in fps games came into being.
"This..." Michael was overwhelmed.
A message then extended itself across his field of view, transparent, like the blue screens.
// Greetings, Betanic human, I am Artificial Intelligence - Serial Number: 55a936t, designate; 'Foreward Star', The Desolate's ship-bourne A.I.
It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance//
