Poseidon 1996: Poison of the Deep Sea

Noon, 1996, the blind deep-sea zone across the North Atlantic.

A long crack split the heavy lead-grey oceanic clouds, and blazing white

sunlight poured unobstructed onto the sea surface. The vast blue ocean

shimmered with blinding silver reflections as the ten-thousand-ton aging

cruise ship Poseidon cut through heavy waves and advanced slowly. Large

swathes of paint peeled off the hull, revealing mottled welds of varying

shades beneath. The metal railings on the deck were eroded by sea salt

all year round, covered with an unwashable layer of off-white rust. This

was a mid-sized transatlantic cruise ship in service for nearly twenty

years, normally carrying more than six hundred passengers. At the

moment, it was sailing into an isolated deep-sea area marked on maritime

maps. No merchant ships or search and rescue vessels sailed within three

hundred nautical miles of this zone; cell phone signals were completely

cut off. The old satellite communication equipment was continuously

disturbed by high-altitude geomagnetic storms, losing stable contact

with land base stations entirely.

The entire sea area was wrapped in a thin layer of electromagnetic

turbulence invisible to the naked eye, yet it truly affected all

electronic equipment on board. The dials in the main power room

flickered red frequently, their pointers shaking wildly left and right.

The shortwave radio speaker kept bursting with harsh static noise, and

the satellite receiving antenna lost lock every dozen seconds, requiring

crew members to reset manually repeatedly. The sea seemed calm, with

waves less than one meter high, but veteran sailors who had sailed the

oceans for decades knew well that such dead-calm waters often hid deadly

undercurrents. The brighter and harsher the sunlight, the thicker the

eerie danger lurking beneath the waves. The whole sea was like a blue

cage that isolated more than six hundred passengers and crew members.

On the starboard outer side of the hull, a small oak fishing dinghy hung

suspended by cables, swaying gently with the waves. This dinghy belonged

to the ship's special auxiliary craft, normally locked on storage

hangers under the side gangway. Unauthorized passengers were strictly

prohibited from using it without the captain's special approval. The

wealthy socialite Winnie relied on her private rapport with Captain

Koman and ignored navigation safety regulations. Early that morning, she

ordered the on-duty sailors to lower the dinghy to the sea for fishing,

with her personal butler Thomas forced to accompany her.

Thomas was nearly sixty years old, with grey hair at his temples and a

slightly hunched back. He had served Winnie for more than a decade,

quiet and meticulous by nature. He held a heavy leather fishing tackle

box in both hands and sat silently at the stern, his cloudy eyes

scanning the sea vigilantly all around. His decades of ocean experience

made his whole body tense. The sea area was far too abnormal:

crystal-clear water held no ordinary shoals of fish, seabirds circling

low all swerved wide around these waters, and even tiny plankton had

vanished. The ocean was oppressively silent.

By contrast, Winnie wore a crisp pure white fishing suit with

gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on her nose, her makeup delicate and

bright, utterly mismatched with the shabby old dinghy. Born into wealth,

she was used to using privilege to get whatever she wanted. At this

moment, she indulged in the freedom of escaping the cruise, completely

oblivious to the hidden deadly danger of the deep sea. Her fishing rod

rested steadily against the gunwale, the fishing line hanging straight

down dozens of meters into the blue water. She dangled her calves

casually and laughed softly: "Thomas, you worry far too much. The deep

sea is naturally quiet with few people around. With you protecting me,

what trouble could possibly happen?"

Thomas frowned tightly and lowered his voice to dissuade her: "Madam,

the weather and ecosystem in this sea area are both abnormal. We should

return to the cruise ship at once and not linger here."

Before his words faded, the fishing rod snapped taut in an instant, the

reel spinning fast with a shrill whine. A brutal immense force surged up

the line, bending the carbon fishing rod into a full moon, almost

splitting it in half. Winnie lurched forward unprepared, half her body

leaning out over the gunwale, on the verge of being dragged into the

frigid deep sea by the fishing line.

"Madam, watch out!"

Thomas shot to his feet without regard for his advanced age, grabbing

Winnie's upper arm hard and yanking her violently back into the dinghy.

The second they steadied themselves, water exploded several meters high

to the right of the dinghy, and a severely mutated shark burst out of

the sea and soared into the air.

It was no ordinary ocean shark. Its torso was twisted and bloated, its

skin covered in dull mottled grey-black rotten hide, its eye sockets

empty and pupil-less, emanating an unbearable stench of rot all around.

It was an escaped experimental predator from a top-secret deep-sea

biology base of the Cold War era, lurking permanently in this isolated

sea zone---a deep-sea taboo sealed away in maritime archives. Its

massive body crashed hard into the dinghy's side, and the old oak wood

creaked with a tearing sound, water seeping through the planks nonstop.

Thomas shielded Winnie without hesitation, swinging the heavy tackle box

hard at the shark's head. But the mutated shark reacted far faster than

normal marine life, twisting its torso nimbly and clamping its rows of

tiny sharp fangs firmly onto Thomas's right forearm. The crisp crack of

shattering bones was drowned out by surging waves. Warm blood gushed out

instantly, staining most of the dinghy's deck crimson, and the agony

nearly knocked Thomas unconscious. Still, he refused to retreat, drawing

a portable fishing knife hanging at his waist with his left hand and

stabbing it hard straight into the shark's grey eye socket.

Winnie screamed and stumbled backward, the dinghy tilting violently out

of balance, sending her sliding straight over the gunwale into the icy

seawater. The mutated shark released Thomas's injured arm and spun

instantly to pounce on Winnie. Its sharp fangs scraped her left calf,

tearing a deep, gaping wound, and blood bloomed wide across the sea

surface.

"Madam!"

Ignoring the crippling pain of his broken arm, Thomas dove into the sea

without hesitation, gripping Winnie's collar tightly with his remaining

left hand and dragging her desperately back toward the dinghy. The

endless stream of blood continued to attract the mutated shark, which

twisted its body once more to launch a second fatal strike.

At the critical moment, a lookout sailor on the top deck spotted the sea

anomaly, and a first-level alarm shrilled across every deck of the

Poseidon. Several certified lifeboat crew rushed to the second-deck

lifeboat platform, activating gravity davits to lower enclosed

lifeboats, armed with high-pressure spearguns and extended fenders,

speeding toward the two people in distress. At the sight of the manned

lifeboat approaching, the mutated shark paused briefly before sinking

slowly into the deep sea, its empty grey eyes fixed steadily on the two

humans on the surface, strangely abandoning pursuit as if its hunting

mission had been completed.

The crew hauled the bleeding, weak Thomas and wounded Winnie onto the

lifeboat and hurried back to the Poseidon's second-deck lifeboat

platform. Ship's medic Eve was already waiting with a full first-aid kit

on the deck. She knelt to examine their wounds quickly, her brows

drawing tighter and her tone heavy: "The butler's injury is extremely

critical---compound comminuted fracture of the right arm accompanied by

massive lacerations; blood vessels and nerves are all damaged, requiring

immediate debridement and suturing in the operating room. Winnie's calf

laceration runs deep, contaminated by seawater, carrying an extremely

high risk of systemic secondary infection."

Eve moved swiftly to apply pressure hemostasis and disinfection

bandages, simultaneously injecting broad-spectrum antibiotics and

tetanus shots. Thomas lost excessive blood, his face as pale as paper,

his consciousness flickering in and out. He was moved by crew to an

isolated infirmary on the lower deck for close observation. Tourists

heard the alarm and poured out of their cabins to gather and watch,

whispering, and panic spread little by little.

Winnie sat alone beside Thomas's hospital bed, staring at the

unconscious man wrapped head-to-toe in bandages, a vine-like fear

coiling wildly around her heart. She glanced down at her calf wrapped in

layers of gauze; a cold, itchy numbness lingered beneath the bandages.

Her mind replayed the mutated shark's empty eyes and rotten stench over

and over again, and she knew this was no ordinary marine animal attack.

Yet she was far more aware of the multiple navigation violations she had

committed: applying for a private dinghy without authorization, fishing

illegally in the deep sea, ignoring the captain's safety warnings. If

she reported the full truth honestly, Captain Koman would face joint

liability. She herself would face heavy maritime fines and a lifetime

ban from ocean cruises. Worst of all, in this signal-less, rescue-less

deep-sea expanse, the ship's management might lock her up alone for the

safety of everyone on board.

After a long silence, Captain Koman came to inquire about the incident.

Winnie forced down the terror in her eyes and forced a pale, weak smile,

downplaying everything lightly: "It was just bad luck, attacked by a

large deep-sea fish. Small accidents happen at sea, no need to

overreact."

She concealed the shark's bizarre appearance and the unnatural tingling

cold of her wounds, hiding the truth of the deep-sea virus invasion

alone. Koman looked at her pale, weak face and did not suspect a thing,

merely taking it for a common sea accident. He comforted her softly

before turning to arrange increased sea patrols across the ship.

No one aboard the Poseidon knew that the unknown virus carried in the

mutated shark's mouth and fangs had penetrated deep into Winnie and

Thomas's bloodstream through their torn wounds. The incubation period

officially began---minimum thirty minutes, maximum two hours. A

catastrophe capable of devouring all six hundred people on board was

quietly brewing in an unnoticed corner.\

(Word count: 1,526)