Inspired by our up and coming promotional miniature, budding writer David has come up with a nice short bit of fan fiction. Hoping to get lots more fan fiction in from the Wild West Exodus community.

The Storms are getting worse, or so those lucky enough to go to the View Deck said when the Nautilus finally surfaced, but what did it matter so far below those churning waves in the oppressive darkness of the ocean depths...

As the Nautilus continued ploughing its way through the dark depths of the ocean Seaman McClelland, 12th Class, had glum thoughts as he swabbed the metal walkway on the lower decks, cursing his luck each time his head cracked against a bulkhead.

”You just had to open your mouth at the wrong time,” he mutters, “How was I supposed to know she was standing there!?” His mutterings are only broken by the splash and swab of his mop. 

”Lucky to be alive...” came whispered words as the deck lights suddenly flared and dimmed.

”Who’s there, show yourself!” cries McClelland, eyes wide in fear, mop held in both hands as if to strike.

Silence. Not the usual ship born sounds of creaking metal and the low thrum of the RJ engines above him. Just a cold oppressive sound-sucking silence.

”Just my nerves, no one should be this far below decks. Only a few hundred meters left,” muttering he takes uneasy steps and, with caution he carries on with his work. 

”Only a few hundred meters left,” is now his mantra as mop hits floor and then bucket.

Scratch... scratch… scratch… pause... scratch... over and over the crewman hears the relentless scratching.

”What’s in there?” wonders McClelland aloud, ear pressed to the door as his breath mists in front of him. 

”Hungry...” comes the whispered voice.

Once more the lights flare and dim to darkness. An eerie glow seeps around the edges of the door and wisps of what appears to be steam or smoke curl up and around his legs.

The door hisses open. 

He steps away and turns to run as panic set in. His eyes meet that of his Captains, standing and watching silently, stopping his dash to safety midstep.

”Captain?” he utters as the door fully opens and the tendril around his legs become solid dragging him down, coiling around his throat and choking the scream from him as it drags him through the Bulkhead to the darkness.

”I will not be disrespected in front of the Crew and my pets are ever so hungry.” 

The door slams closed and in the brief moments while the door is open the Captain watches as the hapless crewman is devoured by the ever-hungry mouths of the creatures of the depths.

The lights return to their usual brightness as the Captain makes her way to the command deck, head tilted as she listens to the sounds of the Nautilus and the caress of her pets along its hull. Making its way, unseen, in the cold dark depths of the ocean as the storm rages above.
— David (Community Blogger)