A better future One Shot

In 2XXX, the fifth world war finally descends upon mankind. The annuals of history are blood soaked with sand and tears. Thanks to the previous world war, the world is mostly water, with what little land being vast desert. A one of a kind submarine, with a one of a kind crew, are given an important mission: Find a better future. With you as the captain, you are tasked with such a mission. But will you be able to carry it out all the while keeping the harem that is your crew at bay from tearing you and themselves apart, AND repel enemy attacks?


A single light filled the cabin, shadows thick and light intermingling. There was your bed, a simple number that you actually preferred other any else. An alcove with a booth, a bottle of liquid courage and solace standing, waiting for its time to shine, on a shelf overhead, with a pair of empty crystal glasses. A desk, from where the light came, out from the green lampshade that covered the wide lightbulb. On it were documents of various topics, one very important order form, and... a framed photo in your hands. You toyed with a cigar - a precious possession - between your ungloved fingers, occasionally smelling it, biting it like a coy girl would do to send a message to her love. With bedroom eyes, you mused. You wanted to smoke it, very badly you wanted that, but you held off, knowing full well now wasn't the time to do so. There were rules, and regulations, everything had order, and its place and time; in other words, you smoked only when the mood fit it, when something was accomplished.

Nothing was accomplished, except melancholy for the faded past; and that wasn't worthy of lighting your precious possession. In the photo were three people, all cocky grins and bright eyes staring at the camera. A giant fish with a hook in its mouth dangled in the middle of the trio, all proud of their catch. They were your friends, and this photo was taken before WWV. A whole year before, in fact. Days after everyone vanished into the horizon. This photo was the last time you spent with them, and as physical proof of that day, it brought you pain.

The photograph was gingerly laid back on the desk, a creek of chair as it accomodated the weight of your tired shoulders, tense back. You smelled the cigar, then simply rolled it against the gap between your mouth and nose. It felt like it had tiny pores for traction, and a small piece of wraped paper.

You let your mind drift, your body easing up, loosing tight cords of muscle and worry. Old memories of a long gone home, on a sunken piece of land, floated with the infinite carelessness of seaweeds to the forefront. Old memories like your girlfriends smile, your mothers apple pie, a hill full of grass swaying to the wind from green, green trees. Times were different back then. You missed them. You wished you were back there... To the peace..ful... days...

A giant whiff of nature, with the noise of branches and wind swirling around you. Your girlfriend, gripping her straw hat and sun dress, looked like she had a lot of problems on her plate, assaulted by the wind from nearly every direction. When the gust died down she looked at you with pleading in her eyes.

"Lets go back inside, ****. I don't like this wind!" Y o u laughed.

"I like it. I like you in it, even more."

At that she smiled.


The door to your cabin opened suddenly. If words were a clock, and the period was the last tock, then you would've been passing the messenger by the end of her sentence, throwing your arms through the sleeves, yanking the jacket over your frame, and firmly setting your hat in place. She followed right behind you, traces of alarm and concern on her face.

They had found you again. The intense game of cat and mouse was coming to another head, ugly and pulsating.

Back on the control bridge you knew you wouldn't get so lucky this time.

"Status!" You bellowed to the personnel assembled, all at their stations.

"Our friend has found us again, and is determined to ram us. We're currently in a deep trench, with them behind us. If we keep on our course, we can outrun them to an open field." Your logistics officer answered first.

"Or ascend and blow them up in the trench! There's no where to run, we're the more advanced ship here. Luck is on our side."

Your XO - the one who came to you earlier - looked at you, the face and eyes all tired and tight.

"Your orders, Sir?"