Who Am I? Fan Fiction from a novice Subnautican
hmcowboy
Alabama, United States Join Date: 2016-11-17 Member: 224016Members
Alabama, United States Join Date: 2016-11-17 Member: 224016Members
** This was how I saw Subnautica when I first started playing**
The roaring of the Aurora’s engines was loud tonight. Loud enough to make the throbbing in my head pulse in unison with their sound. And apparently the environmental controls were on the blink, because the heat was baking me. Heat, sounds, aches… something was wrong. I felt my heart flutter with that panicky feeling of a bird trapped in a cage. I couldn’t remember! Forcing the panic back down, I tried to focus. What was happening? Where was I? There had been explosions, and alarms. The intercom had blared out the order to abandon ship. I remember making it to the life pod and buckling in. There was a sudden drop as the maglocks released me into free fall. I remember the rattling of the pod as if the vibrations of the hull were trying to break the vehicle into a million pieces. There had been a rending sound as one of the metal access panels broke loose from its moorings. I remember watching it as it bounced around, clanging off of the floor, and ricocheting off of the access ladder. It pinged off of a fire extinguisher mounted on the nearby wall, knocking it free, and still the vibrations increased. The two items flew around, fighting for dominance of the the area like a combat scene straight out of one of those old War holovids. A particularly vicious assault by the extinguisher forced the panel into retreat. I tried to move out of its path, but the shoulder restraint held me in place. Lights exploded with bright pain in my skull, and then darkness.
The panicky feeling came back hard. I forced my eyelids to open, and as the inside of the escape pod came sharply into focus, the horror of my situation did too. The room was on fire! Smoke hung thick in the air. The heat blistered my skin as I jabbed the release button on the seat restraints. Nothing happened. They were jammed! I tried again, pressing more forcefully still nothing. With strength born of desperation, I slammed my fist down on the console, and was rewarded with the click of the release pins springing free. The pod seemed to shift with my weight as I moved, and it threw me off balance. I fell hard to the floor, spraining my wrist on the fire extinguisher that now rolled around with the tilting of the pod..
I grabbed up the canister and pointed it at the flames, dousing the fire with the dry chemical powder that spewed from the nozzle as I held the trigger down. The last flame flickered out, and I dropped it, sinking to the floor. The smoke still hung thick in the air and it was easier to breath down low. I needed to think, to clear my head. There had been explosions on the ship. I had been close to a life pod when it had happened. All I needed to do was sit tight until help came for me. How will they find me? I need to send out a distress...The thought died in my mind as I saw the big dent in the emergency communication unit mounted on the wall. The plastic casing had melted and split. Frayed and broken wiring could be seen through the gap, spitting out sparks every so often. I stood up and moved over to the unit.
The pod lurched on its own, seeming to sway back and forth in a rocking motion. I must’ve landed in water. It was slightly nauseating, but not bad enough to cause problems. The broken wiring in the comm unit was another matter. I pressed the transmit button, crossing my fingers, and there was a tiny beep. That was odd. It wasn’t coming from the console. It was coming from over beside the storage locker. The comm panel was still dark, when the beep sounded again. I followed the sound and found a digital data pad lying there. The screen gave off a dull blue light as the rotating circle that was the universal loading symbol, indicating it was booting up. The system completed booting up and a welcome screen appeared.
“Congratulations on your survival.” The voice was female, and the way she said the phrase made it sound as if you had just won some kind of tropical vacation. The mere sound of it conjured up images of beaches with people and no responsibilities more pressing than making it to your massage therapy appointment. It was weird. “According to data downloaded to your escape pod upon ejection, the Aurora suffered catastrophic structural damage resulting in numerous hull breaches. Please input your name and position for specialized assistance or log in under GUEST for more general help.”
The cursor blinked at me expectantly. The pounding of my head seem to increase as I tried to think of who I was. I couldn’t bring it into focus. Jack? Jeff? Steve? Who am I? Again the fear washed over me. What was I doing on that ship? Had I been alone? Did I have family? Had they somehow survived and were looking for me? The questions swarmed around in my mind, making my headache pound in time to the beat of my heart. I didn’t know. God help me, I didn’t know. That thought brought with it a wave of despair and fear that was almost enough to make me curl up in a ball on the floor and give up. The datapad repeated its query, snapping me out of my jumbled thoughts. I tapped the GUEST log in icon and waited as the loading screen came up again.
“Welcome, GUEST. Please remain calm while your situation is being assessed.” The words SEARCHING FOR CONNECTION ticked across the bottom of the screen for a moment before suddenly switching to just CONNECTING. “Link with communication unit established. Beginning diagnostics.”
The air scrubber system had managed to dissipate most of the smoke, but the continuous rocking, drifting motion was making my stomach queasy. I sat down on the bench beside the storage locker, laying the data pad beside me. I felt for the latch and opened the bench lid. Inside was a small compartment that was almost empty. The contents included two bottles of drinking water, two foil wrapped nutrient bars, two emergency flares and a small med-pack containing a few bandages and antibiotic ointments for treating small wounds and abrasions. It also contained a pain stim, which I immediately stuck to my neck and activated. Soothing relief washed over my scalp, not eliminating, but dulling the pounding in my brain to a bearable murmur.
“Diagnostic complete,” the data pad announced cheerfully. “Sensors indicate that the planet is similar to that of Earth, with a comparable gravity, geology and rotation. Atmosphere is registering within acceptable parameters for supporting life. Oceans cover most of the planet and is all that is detectable in the immediate range of Life Pod sensors. Life Pod 005, your designated Life Pod, successfully deployed flotation systems upon touchdown. Damage to 005 was sustained upon arrival, and while the damage is minor, it may not remain so if left untreated. Would you like a damage report?”
“Sure, why not?” my voice was raspy from the smoke inhalation, and barely recognizable. That was okay, because the data-pad had no voice recognition. Instead two holographic buttons labeled YES and NOT NOW, floated on the display. I selected YES, and the cheerfully animated female voice continued her monologue.
“Hull integrity is currently at 85 percent. Micro fissures have developed in the seams between the base and canopy partitions. No leakage has been detected as of this report, but projections lean towards a hull failure if damage is left unchecked. Exterior sensors on the horizontal axis are operating at 77 percent. Sensors located on the vertical axis are operating at 22 percent. Emergency Location Beacon is active on short range frequency only. Long range broadcast of the beacon signal is unavailable due to damage to Communication Unit. Flotation devices are operating at acceptable levels. Other Systems operating within acceptable power output and capabilities include the Davnell Solar Cell Power Collector, the Benthorn Energy Storage Batteries, the Mark VI Fabrication Unit , as well as the Auto-Doc emergency medical unit.”
“Okay. Sounds like I’m okay for the moment.” I brought up the keyboard and typed in a query.
HOW LONG UNTIL RESCUE UNITS REACH CURRENT LOCATION?
“Inconclusive. Data unavailable to resolve query.” The female voice lost its cheerfulness, becoming bland in its answer. I keyed in another question.
RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION TO INCREASE ODDS OF SURVIVAL?
“Repair all available systems. Seek alternative sources of nourishment. Utilize all available resources.”
HOW DO I REPAIR THE HULL?
I couldn’t remember what I had been before the crash had wiped my memory, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a life pod mechanic.
“Utilize the Mark VI Fabricator to manufacture tools for use in project. Most prominently the Omni-metal molecule adhesion welder. referred to in general as the Omni-Welder. However, some elements for the manufacture of the Omni-Welder are needed.”
HOW DO I ACQUIRE THESE ELEMENTS?
“They must be obtained from the surrounding environment.”
“So I don’t get to just sit and wait on the calvary, huh?” Maybe there would be an island close by, I thought as another wave caused my ship to sway, and my stomach to lurch. “Well, let’s see whats out there.”
I climbed up the ladder and popped open the hatch. The sound of water lapping against rubber came to my ears, and the strong smell of salt. Carefully, I made my way up onto the roof of Life Pod 005. As I gazed out in front of me I realized just what exactly what my data-pad had meant when it said “most of the planet.” Water stretched out before me from my Life Pod to the horizon. From what I could see, it didn’t look all that deep here. Maybe 40 to 50 meters. Cautiously, I stood up intending to get a full three hundred and sixty degree view of my surroundings. That thought vanished when I turned to see the remains of the Aurora, the ship I had ejected from sitting half submerged in the waters behind me about a kilometer or so away. Half submerged, that meant probably 80 meters or more deep.
As I looked at the wreckage in dismay, the surface of the water rippled and parted as the huge head of an alien creature broke it’s surface. A large grayish-green head with bulbous yellow eyes screeched, sending a spray of water and mist into the air before submerging once again into the depths.
The sun was setting, and the lapping of the waves only highlighted just how alone I really was. Alone, on an alien planet, with no memory and no idea how to survive. The enormity of it overwhelmed me and I sat down hard on the roof of the little pod I would be getting to know real well. What horrors still waited? What happens next? The answers would come soon enough. I only hoped I was strong enough to accept them.
The roaring of the Aurora’s engines was loud tonight. Loud enough to make the throbbing in my head pulse in unison with their sound. And apparently the environmental controls were on the blink, because the heat was baking me. Heat, sounds, aches… something was wrong. I felt my heart flutter with that panicky feeling of a bird trapped in a cage. I couldn’t remember! Forcing the panic back down, I tried to focus. What was happening? Where was I? There had been explosions, and alarms. The intercom had blared out the order to abandon ship. I remember making it to the life pod and buckling in. There was a sudden drop as the maglocks released me into free fall. I remember the rattling of the pod as if the vibrations of the hull were trying to break the vehicle into a million pieces. There had been a rending sound as one of the metal access panels broke loose from its moorings. I remember watching it as it bounced around, clanging off of the floor, and ricocheting off of the access ladder. It pinged off of a fire extinguisher mounted on the nearby wall, knocking it free, and still the vibrations increased. The two items flew around, fighting for dominance of the the area like a combat scene straight out of one of those old War holovids. A particularly vicious assault by the extinguisher forced the panel into retreat. I tried to move out of its path, but the shoulder restraint held me in place. Lights exploded with bright pain in my skull, and then darkness.
The panicky feeling came back hard. I forced my eyelids to open, and as the inside of the escape pod came sharply into focus, the horror of my situation did too. The room was on fire! Smoke hung thick in the air. The heat blistered my skin as I jabbed the release button on the seat restraints. Nothing happened. They were jammed! I tried again, pressing more forcefully still nothing. With strength born of desperation, I slammed my fist down on the console, and was rewarded with the click of the release pins springing free. The pod seemed to shift with my weight as I moved, and it threw me off balance. I fell hard to the floor, spraining my wrist on the fire extinguisher that now rolled around with the tilting of the pod..
I grabbed up the canister and pointed it at the flames, dousing the fire with the dry chemical powder that spewed from the nozzle as I held the trigger down. The last flame flickered out, and I dropped it, sinking to the floor. The smoke still hung thick in the air and it was easier to breath down low. I needed to think, to clear my head. There had been explosions on the ship. I had been close to a life pod when it had happened. All I needed to do was sit tight until help came for me. How will they find me? I need to send out a distress...The thought died in my mind as I saw the big dent in the emergency communication unit mounted on the wall. The plastic casing had melted and split. Frayed and broken wiring could be seen through the gap, spitting out sparks every so often. I stood up and moved over to the unit.
The pod lurched on its own, seeming to sway back and forth in a rocking motion. I must’ve landed in water. It was slightly nauseating, but not bad enough to cause problems. The broken wiring in the comm unit was another matter. I pressed the transmit button, crossing my fingers, and there was a tiny beep. That was odd. It wasn’t coming from the console. It was coming from over beside the storage locker. The comm panel was still dark, when the beep sounded again. I followed the sound and found a digital data pad lying there. The screen gave off a dull blue light as the rotating circle that was the universal loading symbol, indicating it was booting up. The system completed booting up and a welcome screen appeared.
“Congratulations on your survival.” The voice was female, and the way she said the phrase made it sound as if you had just won some kind of tropical vacation. The mere sound of it conjured up images of beaches with people and no responsibilities more pressing than making it to your massage therapy appointment. It was weird. “According to data downloaded to your escape pod upon ejection, the Aurora suffered catastrophic structural damage resulting in numerous hull breaches. Please input your name and position for specialized assistance or log in under GUEST for more general help.”
The cursor blinked at me expectantly. The pounding of my head seem to increase as I tried to think of who I was. I couldn’t bring it into focus. Jack? Jeff? Steve? Who am I? Again the fear washed over me. What was I doing on that ship? Had I been alone? Did I have family? Had they somehow survived and were looking for me? The questions swarmed around in my mind, making my headache pound in time to the beat of my heart. I didn’t know. God help me, I didn’t know. That thought brought with it a wave of despair and fear that was almost enough to make me curl up in a ball on the floor and give up. The datapad repeated its query, snapping me out of my jumbled thoughts. I tapped the GUEST log in icon and waited as the loading screen came up again.
“Welcome, GUEST. Please remain calm while your situation is being assessed.” The words SEARCHING FOR CONNECTION ticked across the bottom of the screen for a moment before suddenly switching to just CONNECTING. “Link with communication unit established. Beginning diagnostics.”
The air scrubber system had managed to dissipate most of the smoke, but the continuous rocking, drifting motion was making my stomach queasy. I sat down on the bench beside the storage locker, laying the data pad beside me. I felt for the latch and opened the bench lid. Inside was a small compartment that was almost empty. The contents included two bottles of drinking water, two foil wrapped nutrient bars, two emergency flares and a small med-pack containing a few bandages and antibiotic ointments for treating small wounds and abrasions. It also contained a pain stim, which I immediately stuck to my neck and activated. Soothing relief washed over my scalp, not eliminating, but dulling the pounding in my brain to a bearable murmur.
“Diagnostic complete,” the data pad announced cheerfully. “Sensors indicate that the planet is similar to that of Earth, with a comparable gravity, geology and rotation. Atmosphere is registering within acceptable parameters for supporting life. Oceans cover most of the planet and is all that is detectable in the immediate range of Life Pod sensors. Life Pod 005, your designated Life Pod, successfully deployed flotation systems upon touchdown. Damage to 005 was sustained upon arrival, and while the damage is minor, it may not remain so if left untreated. Would you like a damage report?”
“Sure, why not?” my voice was raspy from the smoke inhalation, and barely recognizable. That was okay, because the data-pad had no voice recognition. Instead two holographic buttons labeled YES and NOT NOW, floated on the display. I selected YES, and the cheerfully animated female voice continued her monologue.
“Hull integrity is currently at 85 percent. Micro fissures have developed in the seams between the base and canopy partitions. No leakage has been detected as of this report, but projections lean towards a hull failure if damage is left unchecked. Exterior sensors on the horizontal axis are operating at 77 percent. Sensors located on the vertical axis are operating at 22 percent. Emergency Location Beacon is active on short range frequency only. Long range broadcast of the beacon signal is unavailable due to damage to Communication Unit. Flotation devices are operating at acceptable levels. Other Systems operating within acceptable power output and capabilities include the Davnell Solar Cell Power Collector, the Benthorn Energy Storage Batteries, the Mark VI Fabrication Unit , as well as the Auto-Doc emergency medical unit.”
“Okay. Sounds like I’m okay for the moment.” I brought up the keyboard and typed in a query.
HOW LONG UNTIL RESCUE UNITS REACH CURRENT LOCATION?
“Inconclusive. Data unavailable to resolve query.” The female voice lost its cheerfulness, becoming bland in its answer. I keyed in another question.
RECOMMENDED COURSE OF ACTION TO INCREASE ODDS OF SURVIVAL?
“Repair all available systems. Seek alternative sources of nourishment. Utilize all available resources.”
HOW DO I REPAIR THE HULL?
I couldn’t remember what I had been before the crash had wiped my memory, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t a life pod mechanic.
“Utilize the Mark VI Fabricator to manufacture tools for use in project. Most prominently the Omni-metal molecule adhesion welder. referred to in general as the Omni-Welder. However, some elements for the manufacture of the Omni-Welder are needed.”
HOW DO I ACQUIRE THESE ELEMENTS?
“They must be obtained from the surrounding environment.”
“So I don’t get to just sit and wait on the calvary, huh?” Maybe there would be an island close by, I thought as another wave caused my ship to sway, and my stomach to lurch. “Well, let’s see whats out there.”
I climbed up the ladder and popped open the hatch. The sound of water lapping against rubber came to my ears, and the strong smell of salt. Carefully, I made my way up onto the roof of Life Pod 005. As I gazed out in front of me I realized just what exactly what my data-pad had meant when it said “most of the planet.” Water stretched out before me from my Life Pod to the horizon. From what I could see, it didn’t look all that deep here. Maybe 40 to 50 meters. Cautiously, I stood up intending to get a full three hundred and sixty degree view of my surroundings. That thought vanished when I turned to see the remains of the Aurora, the ship I had ejected from sitting half submerged in the waters behind me about a kilometer or so away. Half submerged, that meant probably 80 meters or more deep.
As I looked at the wreckage in dismay, the surface of the water rippled and parted as the huge head of an alien creature broke it’s surface. A large grayish-green head with bulbous yellow eyes screeched, sending a spray of water and mist into the air before submerging once again into the depths.
The sun was setting, and the lapping of the waves only highlighted just how alone I really was. Alone, on an alien planet, with no memory and no idea how to survive. The enormity of it overwhelmed me and I sat down hard on the roof of the little pod I would be getting to know real well. What horrors still waited? What happens next? The answers would come soon enough. I only hoped I was strong enough to accept them.
Comments
Nice story btw