The gory depictions forced his eyes away. He knew he had to focus on these photos – they were facing it soon anyway – but it was just carnage. Bloody. Disgusting. Carnage. Monstrous. Massacre. Repulsive. He’d rather not see such inconsistent things so early in the morning. He’d rather not face the grim reality of their predicament. Something unexpected. They were here to achieve a glorious kill, not a glorious death.  

It didn’t help that everything around him was the same. Consistent. Monotone. Expected. It was especially expected. The people on his right were the same people on his left. And both stood in the same form. Rows and rows of the same people. Looking the same. Die the same. Consistent. Monotone. Expected. And much more expected than the thing they faced; code named “Leviathan.”

Leviathan was spotted destroying fishing boats near the shores and they – Noah’s Ark – were sent to deal with it. It was just like all their other missions; identify the unidentified, tame the untamed, and finally give rest to the restless. However, what was really throwing him off so early in the morning was the swimming little “piranha sharks” that hovered around the unidentified “Leviathan” – they just needed to catch those little bastards. Not “Leviathan.” Not the real concern. There was still hope, but they failed. And they knew it.    

He nearly lost his footing as the steel floor ruptured. He heard the Master Sergeant starting to scream orders, but he didn’t need to hear it. He knew his row was called for some action, as the rest of his row  quickly turned left and marched out the door, heading down some unknown path. “Run! Don’t MARCH!” The Master Sergeant yelled. Everyone in Row 3 started to run, much to his dismay; ‘if you are going to give orders, at least do it formally,’ he thought.

He nearly lost his footing again as the floor vibrated behind him, but most of them remained undisturbed by the “Leviathan’s” rebelliousness. It was better for him anyway; he just needed to follow a predetermined path. Normal. Customary. Expected. And most important, it was expected. Something that was normal and could be calculated. He determined their final destination by passing signs and his own knowledge; this path led to the dorms, and that hallway led to the captains room. But they were not following them. They were going straight down to where all the bulky containers of dangerous chemicals were. The chemicals that were used to subdue the numerous monstrosities in the sea. And the ecosystem, not that it mattered. The ocean was fucked since 2073.

The battleship tremored again, sending people down the stairs headfirst, bashing their heads. But that was for the lazy soldiers who barely trained. He leaped over the railing, and plummeted down, but caught himself with the other railing and threw himself over again, and again, just like everyone else. It was standard protocol.

After much hand and arm work, they finally reached the storage room. Heavy rubbers tubes – normally tied to the ceiling – were dangling in front of them, like vines in a rainforest, and much like a rainforest, It was a death trap. What more could you expect?

The room was filled with multiple flammable gasses, all it would take is one bullet. It took one bullet to ignite the air and set off the fireworks.

There job was to tame the beasts, but it was more expected for a war machine to kill indiscriminately.

He pulled the gun and pulled the trigger. The storage room exploded, sending shards of metal, propelling out of the leviathan’s stomach. Killing, gloriously.