Piggy Ships 소설 & 이야기

I shouted into the glare, I had spotted up to five tiny ships coming towards us with immense speed. They all had black flags on them, designed with human skull as a warning. “Pirates, oh silly human pirates messing around.” “Oh how very great,” Tasha muttered to herself, she threw her orange peels into the water. “Just as I was about to get comfortable and have a good nap.”

But the water wasn't the scary part. Floating on the black sea were ships. Hundreds of them. There were Viking longships, their wood rotted and petrified. There were 17th-century galleons with tattered sails frozen in mid-flap. There were rusted ironclads from the Civil War. And dominating the center, massive, grey steel hulks of WWII destroyers and U-boats. They bobbed silently in the black water, bumping into each other with dull, hollow thuds.

The black horizon of the Pacific didn’t just rumble; it bled. Through the dense, wet curtains of the harbor fog, the silhouette of *The Leviathan* materialized like a prehistoric leviathan cut from matte-black steel. The naval destroyer sat three miles out, a ghost ship commissioned by the absolute peak of corporate desperation, its heavy forward cannons slowly rotating toward the coordinates of the free port of Blackridge. They weren't here to negotiate an asset recovery. They were here to execute a scorched-earth liquidation.

Ships, particularly warships, have watertight compartments to stop internal flooding from torpedoes, bombs, or other hull damage to the ship. Sailors slam the heavy steel doors (hatches) shut and seal them tight, also known as dogging the hatches. This keeps the ship afloat during times of crisis.

POV MADDISON The deep, vibrating roar of the cargo ship’s diesel engines shook the entire concrete foundation of the warehouse as the massive vessel began to pull away from the pier. The pouring rain slashed through the open loading dock doors, instantly soaking the bodies of Yuri Romanov's fallen men. "He's getting away!" I shouted over the thunder, pointing out at the dark silhouette of the ship cutting through the black waves of the bay. Richard was up on the lower deck, a pathetic, desperate shadow clutching our encryption keys to his chest.

“Fine! Gotta go. Teacher Mary’s coming!” The line cut off. I exhaled and smacked my cheeks with both hands. It helped me focus on my predicament. With arms crossed, I watched the barge swaying gently on the waves. Its massive gray structure was just as my father once described—the Kulbahinam Barge, a large vessel with twelve passenger cabins, forty double decks, and too many weathered plastic chairs bolted to the deck. It belonged to the Garcia family, a shipping empire. Father used to work for them when he was alive.

On a pier on the edge of the Central Sacred Continent, countless ships, large and small, crowded around densely. There was no end in sight. According to visual estimates, there were at least hundreds of thousands of ships. Although there were many ships, it did not appear chaotic. They were all in line and arranged in a very orderly manner. Many staff members were also directing the ships. More than 90% of these ships were merchant ships that transported goods. Some just got here and they were ready to sell their cargo on the Central Sacred Continent.

Maverick said as he pointed to a big, black cargo ship. “Very subtle.” I observed. “Actually, it is. It brings supplies to another island behind ours. It makes an unscheduled stop randomly. We started walking down the hill, towards the boat. My eyes were surveying the area, looking for someone I knew. I had nothing. There were wolves everywhere but none that I recognized. As we got closer, I started paying attention to what was being loaded. Cages of monkeys, wooden crates that said “flammable” and “Fragile”. There were more animals off to the side in cages that I could hear. Sounded like a lion or cheetah.

I would argue that without the wind, the sea would have remained calm and the ships would not have crashed. In the end, it worked out that she prefers the treasures on the ships themselves, while I prefer the treasure of the ships masts or the parts of the ships that identify them. Some of my ships date back to the 1100’s and would be worth millions, if not billions of dollars, in the human world. Ishir walks to the wall where the pieces of my ships are iced in, like pictures hanging on the wall. “The White Ship?” Ishir says reverently, looking at the piece of the ship I found with the name still intact. He turns and looks at me stunned.