Before Dawn

In the dead of night, beneath the sweeping gaze of the searchlight, only a faint white mist was illuminated. The seawater squirmed like a beast, continually caressing the ship's hull, licking at it hungrily, stirring up wave after wave of bloodcurdling splashing. Sailing through the night was like navigating through hell itself. However grand and magnificent the sight by day, the night was equally grim, gruesome, and suffocating. Yet, on the deck above, a bonfire had been lit, surrounded by wild jubilation. Splintered pieces of chopped-up furniture had been heaped together, doused with gasoline, and set ablaze into roaring flames. The firelight lit up dark, sun-blackened faces, every one brimming with delight. It looked like a carnival. Men slinging rifles sang cheerfully, while the food, snacks, raw meat, and flour ransacked from the cabins were piled indiscriminately into mounds. After stuffing their pockets full, they crammed whatever remained straight into their mouths. Some held pieces of jewelry up to the firelight, trying to distinguish gold from silver; others squabbled over unfamiliar electronic gadgets, clicking their tongues in wonder. It was as if New Year had arrived. Gifts and bounties had descended from the heavens in such lavish generosity. Amidst the churning flames, shadows cast upon the hazy fog stretched into grotesque silhouettes, dancing and writhing like crawling monsters. It was a scene of sheer merriment. Yet beneath the deck, within the ransacked, shambolic hold, it was a prison. There were only sobs and groans. Wails and prayers. Drip, drip, drip... Blood dripped through the spaces between fingers. A through-and-through wound. Blood welled up like a spring, gushing incessantly, staining the torn white lab coat pressed firmly over the wound into a garish crimson. Among the disheveled captives, the person lying on the floor was already drawing his final breaths. "Dr. Yu, stop wasting your efforts." The emaciated captain looked down, staring at the first mate's dying form. "Give him an easy way out." The doctor seemed deaf to the words. In a daze, he continued to press down, his fingers already drained of color. A choked sob sounded alongside heavy gasps; another crew member being resuscitated on the other side fell completely still. There was no more sound. Dead. "Excessive blood loss. Cardiac arrest." The woman kneeling on the floor lifted her head. Residual blood smeared her glasses, yet it could not mask the dim, lifeless look in her eyes. Yu Shu froze for a moment, then looked back. "What about CPR?" "It's useless." The female doctor slowly shook her head. Yu Shu fell silent. With his head lowered, he watched the face of the wounded man in his arms turn progressively paler. His expression twitched once, then again, until he could no longer hold back a desperate scream. Facing the soldiers outside the hatch who were smoking weed and chatting, he shrieked, "I'm a doctor! You can't treat us like this! I came here to save your people! I came to save you!" He scrambled to his feet, stumbled forward, and pounded furiously against the glass, shouting over and over, "I'm a doctor! I'm a doctor! I need my medical kit! Forceps, needle, and thread... Please, just—" Yet no matter how he screamed, the men merely grinned, puffing their cigarettes, eyeing him with amusement as they spoke in their local dialect. It wasn't until Yu Shu frantically turned his pockets inside out that they reacted. "I have money! Money!" He pulled out his wallet, threw aside the credit cards and IDs that were useless out here, and withdrew the last few notes of Federation currency, pleading, "I'll give you money! I still have—" The man outside the door had his eyes light up in an instant. Finally, he pushed the door open. Glancing at his expression, he held out a hand. "Money... needle, thread, forceps..." Yu Shu repeated the words again and again. At once, the man appeared to understand. Nodding as if enlightened, he snatched the cash, turned back toward his comrades, and waved it about to show off his haul. Then, spinning abruptly around, he swung the butt of his rifle and slammed it straight into Yu Shu's face. *Smack!* Yu Shu stumbled and crashed to the floor, his vision blacking out. Pocketing the cash, the soldier raised his weapon as if gripped by sudden fury, barking curses in his native tongue. He kicked and stomped intermittently, pressing the muzzle against the doctor's face. Beside him, the captain panicked, hastily raising both hands to plead and explain in the local dialect until the assailant let out a cold snort. The door was finally slammed shut. From beginning to end, the soldiers outside looked on with mockery, roaring with laughter. As if watching a monkey being beaten. Only the captain sighed, helping him back up. "Give it up, Dr. Yu. These bastards are rabid dogs. They've been high on drugs and carrying rifles to murder people since they were seven or eight. They don't see their own countrymen as human, and they don't even see themselves as human... Why would they care who you are?" Yu Shu rose unsteadily to his feet. Dazed, like a walking corpse, he took one step after another back to his spot. He looked down at the dying patient. His lips twitched faintly. "Don't be afraid. The church won't abandon us." He offered unconscious comfort, trying to soothe him. "Soon... It will all be over soon..." "Doctor... Doctor... I'm... so cold... It hurts so much..." The exsanguinating casualty wheezed, coughing violently, twitching as he struggled for air. No more words could come out. Yu Shu remained silent, his fingers twitching again and again. Abdominal trauma, open pneumothorax, massive hemorrhage. Unless operated on immediately, even if the patient didn't die from blood loss, he would perish in agony through prolonged suffocation, slowly suffocating to death. Those hollow eyes looked at him, filled with silent entreaty. His lips parted and closed soundlessly. Like a prayer. Yu Shu closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight any longer. Yet in the silence, trembling, he raised his hand and laid it gently across the man's throat. Just... press down here... just... for a brief moment... Cutting off blood flow to the brain, inducing shock—perhaps even a peaceful, painless death. And so, the choked coughing ceased. When Yu Shu opened his eyes once more, only a corpse remained in his embrace. He shook it once, then again, but there was no response whatsoever. Only then did he finally understand... what he had just done. "Aaaahhhh—aaaargh!" His face, twisted with torment, finally shattered. Weeping, howling, and shouting, he threw himself at the door like a madman, roaring, "Fuck you! You piece-of-shit scumbags, fuck your mothers! Do you hear me?! Come on, kill me! You worthless trash belong in hell for the rest of your lives! In fucking hell!" No one understood a word. Even if they could, no one would care. Hell? Hadn't that kind of place been everywhere from the very start?! "Don't blame yourself, Dr. Yu." The captain sighed, dragging the crewman's corpse to the side. "Being able to go quickly and cleanly is a blessing... We're the ones who are truly screwed. "Ekonzo... that general who took power through the recent coup in Punabantu is an utter perverted lunatic. He's covered in tumors—nobody knows what disease he has. "He fried his own brain on drugs, and he belongs to the Great Gluttony Cult. He eats anything." He paused, his expression turning grim. "They say he personally severed the previous president's head and ate his brains raw. He believes eating his enemies grants him power, ensures his foes can never rise again, and steals their lifespans so he can live forever. "The men under him are all cut from the same cloth..." "Does that even work?" The stunned male nurse asked in disbelief. "Is that guy retarded? Who would believe that?" "You'd better pray it doesn't." The captain crushed the last cigarette in his pocket and chewed on the tobacco leaves, wearing a derisive sneer. "In a world where Celestial Chosen exist, why wouldn't he believe it?" In the dead silence, everyone fell mute. "Dr. Yu, you and your wife are good people. You shouldn't have to suffer such an end. I can give you a swift way out," the captain whispered softly. "Trust me. Falling into their hands is worse than death." The female doctor froze, murmuring instinctively, "The church... The church wouldn't..." "Those bastards don't even know when they'll die. Every day they live is a day earned—why would they give a damn about the church?" The captain shook his head. "If they can't get money from the church, you won't survive. If they do get the money, they'll still silence all witnesses..." A commotion suddenly broke out. A mob abruptly charged downstairs. Someone was shouting as they barged into the hold, grabbing every living person they could find, kicking and beating them as they forced them outside. Everyone stood stunned and bewildered, having no idea what was happening. Only the captain's expression began to twitch. "What are they saying?" a crewman asked under his breath. "Those bastards... they... they changed their minds!" The captain's voice trembled. "Their general just called. He said they don't want the ransom anymore... He ordered them to finish us off. Quickly and cleanly, leaving no loose ends..." Instantly, wails and shrieks erupted. Amidst the chaos, someone attempted to run, only to be shot dead on the spot by a rifle-wielding soldier without the slightest hesitation. In the end, everyone was herded onto the deck, forced back toward the railing. An officer with a bullet scar on his cheek glanced over them, his gaze cold, shouting loudly in his native tongue as if barking a reprimand. Then, he repeated it in broken Imperial tongue: "Despicable foreigners... All of you... devil's disguises... poisoning us, defying the guidance of the Great God. The great General punishes you... purifies you... grants you the glory of ascension to heaven... Now, pray! Pray to the Great God and his worldly incarnation, Lord General!" He stepped closer, staring at the trembling, dazed crewman on the far left, barking at him, "Pray!" The crewman looked back blankly, his lips trembling, unable to respond. *Bang!* A gunshot rang out. The crewman fell backward, plunging into the sea and vanishing without a trace. Only a dull splash echoed upward. Then, holding his pistol, the officer moved on to the next person, staring into his face. "Pray..." *Bang!* A second gunshot, and another body fell into the ocean, disappearing from sight. Yu Shu turned his head, staring blankly out at the pitch-black water. In a daze, he seemed to hear singing from far away—so distant. And bodies. As if in a hallucination, amidst the rising and falling swells, corpse after corpse floated over from afar. Rotting, bloated, shattered, drifting with the current. Singing from within the sea. They drifted slowly past in the opposite direction, bound for a place none of the living could reach. He suddenly felt a twinge of envy toward those illusory corpses. Even in death, their faces carried a release and serenity he might never attain in his lifetime. Perhaps there was no real difference between any of them. Once he died, he too would wear such a look of bliss. Wouldn't he? "Pray—" A gun barrel pressed against his forehead, but he didn't care in the least. He merely brought his gaze back, looking at the stern, solemn face before him. Yet, for some reason, he felt no fear. If anything, he wanted to laugh. "Praying won't do any good, and there is no heaven." Yu Shu shook his head, speaking to him in the Imperial tongue, "Both you and I are going to hell. "—And that includes your general." *Bang!* The enraged officer pulled the trigger. Amidst the deafening blast, a shrill scream tore through the air. Yet the one who collapsed was not Yu Shu, but the officer. His arm had been severed, and the hand gripping the pistol fell to the deck as blood spurted in torrents. Where had the shot come from?! Gripped by sheer terror, he thrashed and crawled across the deck, staring dumbly at his wrist and severed hand, shrieking something. Yu Shu couldn't understand the local dialect, but he recognized the word *Ayiba*. The local patients had often addressed him by that word with deep gratitude. Perhaps it meant "doctor." Unfortunately, there was no doctor left. In the face of suffering, for the first time in his life, he shoved both hands into his trouser pockets, feeling a sudden, invigorating lightness of spirit. Before death arrived, he chose to turn back and look out over the ocean once more. Yet there were no longer any corpses in the water. It was as though everything that had just happened was nothing more than an illusion. Nor was there any death. The hallucination had abandoned him, drifting far away. In that instant, day broke.