Rolling in the 'Deep [Exemplary]

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

The two strode briskly down the dimly lit corridor, stopping as they reached another reinforced door. This door differed from those that Vincent had seen throughout the rest of the ship, namely in that it was actually labeled. The words “CAUTION: Do Not Enter” had been scrawled onto the metal with what seemed to be paint or some such material. Caution? The prime wondered.

“That’s a maintenance door; it leads to area behind the ship’s exterior armaments… or, at least where they would be.” Tal stated, looking at the schematic.

Vincent nodded in response, opening the door effortlessly. “I wonder...”

The duo stepped cautiously into the maintenance corridor, closing the door behind them. It was slightly wider than the hallway from which they had just entered, running perpendicular to it. The room was lit, though only dimly; what could be seen gave the impression of disuse. Glancing quickly around the room, Vincent could make out the shapes of various machinery: floor buffers, pallet jacks, tool boxes and miscellaneous supply. They had seemingly arrived at yet another converted storage area. Vincent furrowed his brow and peered into the darkness; had he wound up in the wrong place?

“Another junk room.” Tal sighed, look down at his schematic. “It's odd that they'd make an area this low and close to the exterior a storage bay, though.”

The prime agreed wordlessly, stepping over the scattered junk. He sighed, making to heave a dusty crate toward the door to serve as a barricade lest they were found. As he turned to push the box, something caught his eye; beyond the rusting machinery, he saw something peculiar. At regular intervals some 5 feet away, a phalanx of broken and partially dismantled cannons stood sentry before hastily-sealed holes. A smile spread across the Prime’s face as he realized what he had found. The sound of splashing seawater could be heard.

“I think I’ve grasped your plan.” Tal said with a grin. “I’ll find us some tools.”

- - -

“L-lieutenant,” the navigator muttered, frantically scampering to keep pace with his commander. “The room adjacent to the w-weapons hold is showing an elevated t-temperature as well…”

Duro gritted his teeth; he didn’t have to be told which room adjoined the hold. “Get back to the helm and await my communication,” he spat. His subordinate obliged, quickly fleeing his raging commander.

“Duro, sir,” a deep, grizzled voice muttered from behind the Lieutenant. “What would you have me do?”

The commander spun around, rage pumping in his veins. A mountain of a man behind coal-black armor, he faced the leader of the Vultures, Grak Samm. Samm’s presence gave him pause; the man was able to command a squad of dangerous outlaws without a single word of disobedience, unlike his own subordinates. This, combined with the Vulture’s reputation of ruthlessness made Duro change his tone. “Make sure your men do as they were told.” He asserted, with the smallest hesitation. Grak nodded silently, following his men belowdeck.

- - -

“Such messy children these Imperials are,” Tal taunted. He wielded an old-looking blowtorch, attached to a fuel container strapped to his back. “Just leaving tools everywhere,” he smirked, handing Vincent a formidable-looking cutting device topped with a circular blade.

Vincent glanced at the 9x9 steel sheet covering the cannon’s vantage. The weld was not the best, the rust creeping around the edges standing as testament to that. Along the edges, the occasional beam of moonlight slipped through a gap, the gentle rocking of the ship casting moving shadows on the dusty floor. He stared absent-mindedly at the dancing shapes for a moment, the sound of sloshing seawater a fitting backdrop to the gentle movement.

“ATTENTION,” A booming, computerized voice spoke from an overhead speaker, shaking Vincent from his thoughts. “LOCKDOWN IN PROGRESS.”

“I think they’re wise to us,” Tal said, cursing loudly.

“We’d better get to work,” Vincent replied, depressing the trigger on his saw. The machine roared to life, Tal’s blowtorch following suit.