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Description
“Mr. Goldshir, is there a reason why you called into my office today?” The mustached fisherman with the graying scalp and tattered cap had asked, flipping through several pages of dull paperwork of meaningless findings.
—
“Tell me, sir. Do you believe in hell?” The question was unprompted and took the captain by surprise.
—
“Hell as in... like, demons ‘n whatever? What does that shit have to do with our work?”
—
“It’s a yes or no question, sir.”
—
“I can’t say I do, no. Mind asking me a more relevant question?” He wasn’t humoring the notion of such religious speak at all.
—
“Well, let’s say you did. What is the first thing you think of when you hear that word?”
—
The captain rolled his eyes, puffing at a pipe he had resting beside him. He sighed harshly, coughing.
“I don’t know, fire? Brimstone? Suffering? What does any of this matter?”
—
The room grew silent for a moment, the waves from outside the deck just barely filling the void.
—
“You’re wrong. It’s nothing like that and I feel like by now you should know.”
—
“Yeah? Then what do you think hell really is?” The captain’s eyes slightly squinted.
—
“A foolish question, sir.” The younger man’s voice trailed off shakily.
—
Only a second had gone by before Goldshir slammed several photographs down on the desk in front of him, all showcasing the dark depths, shadows and shapes of horrific just vaguely humanoid bodies surfacing to the light, their features unrecognizable yet unsettling all the same. The vastness of such a scape becoming blurry and unfocused, truly alien to the surface world by all definitions of the word. Not another moment had gone by before Goldshir spoke again, this time with a voice as strained as a pair of suffocating lungs.
—
“You’ve been living in it.”

Description
“Mr. Goldshir, is there a reason why you called into my office today?” The mustached fisherman with the graying scalp and tattered cap had asked, flipping through several pages of dull paperwork of meaningless findings.
—
“Tell me, sir. Do you believe in hell?” The question was unprompted and took the captain by surprise.
—
“Hell as in... like, demons ‘n whatever? What does that shit have to do with our work?”
—
“It’s a yes or no question, sir.”
—
“I can’t say I do, no. Mind asking me a more relevant question?” He wasn’t humoring the notion of such religious speak at all.
—
“Well, let’s say you did. What is the first thing you think of when you hear that word?”
—
The captain rolled his eyes, puffing at a pipe he had resting beside him. He sighed harshly, coughing.
“I don’t know, fire? Brimstone? Suffering? What does any of this matter?”
—
The room grew silent for a moment, the waves from outside the deck just barely filling the void.
—
“You’re wrong. It’s nothing like that and I feel like by now you should know.”
—
“Yeah? Then what do you think hell really is?” The captain’s eyes slightly squinted.
—
“A foolish question, sir.” The younger man’s voice trailed off shakily.
—
Only a second had gone by before Goldshir slammed several photographs down on the desk in front of him, all showcasing the dark depths, shadows and shapes of horrific just vaguely humanoid bodies surfacing to the light, their features unrecognizable yet unsettling all the same. The vastness of such a scape becoming blurry and unfocused, truly alien to the surface world by all definitions of the word. Not another moment had gone by before Goldshir spoke again, this time with a voice as strained as a pair of suffocating lungs.
—
“You’ve been living in it.”