Would You Like To Come Aboard? By Voidling

Prereq:

{}{}{}{}{}

It seems that quite a few people did not quite catch what the current state of the White Whale is implied to be.

Miles and miles of empty, freezing corridors where the only illumination comes from intermittent flashes of electricity arcing across broken wires. Opulent rooms filled with nothing but darkness and still, dead air.

And there's damage. Many passages are sealed by torn metal. Walls are shredded, punctured and fractured in places, showing off twisted conduits and torn wiring. Beneath the slapdash hull patches, whole decks have been deformed by pressures capable of molding a meter-thick reinforced steel bulkheads like warm butter.

Despite all of this, it still flies. Strange liquids flows through broken pipes as if the holes weren't there. Power moves past empty gaps and twisted wreckage as if the lines were still intact.

What's worse, it changes itself. From moment to moment, the ship adjusts its operation - machines are turning on and off between one moment and the next. Material flows abruptly stop or reverse themselves. All of it creates sounds. Deep groans of shifting hull, shrieks of metal moving across metal, seething crackle of lightning and dull engine roar all contribute to a single cacophony which renders any silence all the more oppressive by comparison.

And at the center of all of this is the captain, sitting alone on a darkened bridge, still as a statue, even as the controls move by themselves all around him.

The White Whale is a ghost ship.

Would you like to come aboard?