Chapter 2: Horror Cruise (Part 4)
By the third hour, the dynamic on the ship had changed completely.
The initial chaos of the free-for-all had subsided, replaced by something far more sinister: organized hunting parties. Groups of survivors were banding together not for protection, but to systematically eliminate other passengers and collect ticket stubs. And then there was the crew's cleanup operation, moving through the ship like a slow but inevitable tide.
Selene and I had set up in our Defensible cabin on Deck 8, but we couldn't stay there forever. The ship was too large, and the fighting zones too spread out. Sooner or later, we'd have to move.
"I've been thinking about what Jasper said," Selene remarked as she cleaned her wrench with a piece of cloth. "About the crew acting as enforcers."
"And?"
"He said they intervene when passengers aren't killing each other fast enough. But look at the numbers—193 passengers, and we're three hours in. How many do you think are left?"
I thought about it. The initial bloodbath had probably taken out a significant chunk. Then the organized hunting parties, plus the crew's own cleanup. I estimated maybe 70 or 80 survivors.
"That's still a lot of competitors for the ticket stubs," I said.
"But the trip doesn't end until we reach Vladivostok—it's a five-hour voyage. That's two more hours." She paused. "What if the crew's intervention isn't just about speeding things up? What if they're working toward a specific outcome?"
"What kind of outcome?"
"I don't know yet. But think about it—why put 193 people on a ship this size? The organizers could have done a smaller group, more intimate, like the train. Instead, they went big. They want a bloodbath."
She was right. The scale of this trip was unprecedented. The train had maybe thirty passengers. The cruise ship had nearly two hundred. This wasn't just entertainment—it was a meat grinder.
"Let's scout the lower decks again," I suggested. "We need intel on how many crew members are active and where they are."
We made our way down carefully. The ship was eerily quiet in places. Bodies lay in corridors, some in cabins, others slumped against walls. I tried not to look too closely at their faces.
On Deck 4, near the cabin area where I'd been assigned, we encountered a scene that made my stomach turn. Four bodies were arranged in a row outside a cabin—clearly the work of whoever had killed them, displaying their ticket stubs like trophies on their chests.
"Those are the ones from the cabin next to mine," I said, recognizing faces from boarding. "They must have banded together for safety."
"Common mistake," Selene said. "Groups attract attention. They become a concentrated source of ticket stubs."
The irony was brutal—on the train, safety had come from numbers. On this ship, numbers made you a target.
We continued downward. On Deck 3, we encountered the monk that Selene had mentioned earlier. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the corridor, eyes closed, hands resting on his knees. Not meditating—he was guarding a stairwell.
His head was shaved smooth, and he wore simple gray robes. When he heard our footsteps, he opened one eye.
"Travelers," he said. "Proceed with caution. There are those who hunt in packs below."
"Thank you, Brother," I said, though I had no idea what his actual title was.
He nodded and returned to his meditation. As we passed, I noticed several bodies on the other side of the stairwell. He'd clearly been busy.
We reached Deck 2—the restaurant level. The dining hall was a disaster zone. Tables overturned, food scattered, blood pooling on the once-pristine floor. But it was empty now, or nearly so.
In the far corner, I spotted Captain Qiu standing with his back to us, speaking quietly with two crew members. They hadn't noticed us yet.
I signaled to Selene, and we crouched behind an overturned table to listen.
"...total is 94 so far," one of the crew members was saying. "That's nearly half."
"Not fast enough," Captain Qiu replied. His voice was deep, authoritative. "The sponsors want more. Target the upper decks next. Focus on the isolated ones."
"Yes, sir."
The crew members left through a service door. Captain Qiu turned—and I ducked lower behind the table, but not before catching a glimpse of something on his desk.
A map. The ship's layout, with markings showing passenger locations in real time.
That's how they were tracking everyone. The ship itself was rigged with surveillance, and the captain was directing his crew to hunt down the remaining passengers like a general commanding troops on a battlefield.
"He's tracking us," I whispered to Selene. "The captain has a live map. He knows where everyone is at all times."
"Then we need to get off this ship," she replied.
"The lifeboats are combat-free zones only if we're forfeiting. Otherwise—"
"We're not forfeiting. We're leaving early."
I stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"The ship's course takes us through international waters for approximately five hours. But the distance between Hunchun and Vladivostok is only about 300 kilometers. At 23 knots, that's roughly six hours—except we're not going to Vladivostok."
"What are you talking about?"
Selene pulled out a small device from her pocket—a handheld GPS. "I swiped this from the navigation room while you were fighting the crew members. We're not heading northeast toward Vladivostok at all. We're heading southeast."
"Southeast toward what?"
"Best guess? An unmarked island. I've seen similar routes in previous trips. The organizers use remote locations for the final... testing phase."
Testing phase. The words sent a chill down my spine.
"So even if we survive the five hours on this ship," I said slowly, "there's more waiting for us at the destination."
"Always is." Selene's expression was grim. "The Death Trip doesn't end with the trip itself. Surviving is just the entrance exam."
We retreated back up the stairwell, avoiding the crew patrols, and made it back to our cabin on Deck 8 without further incident.
But our narrow escape had cost us time and energy, and I was beginning to realize that simple survival wasn't going to be enough. We needed a plan—something beyond "stay alive and collect ticket stubs."
Selene seemed to be thinking the same thing. "There's someone else we should talk to," she said.
"Who?"
"The old man on deck. The one who told you to find me. His name is Old Bai—I mean, he goes by many names, but I've seen him on two previous trips, and both times he survived without a scratch. He doesn't fight. He doesn't ally with anyone. He just... survives."
"How?"
"That's what I'd like to know."
We found him on the top deck, leaning against the railing, watching the stars as if he were on a pleasure cruise. The sound of distant screams and crashes didn't seem to bother him at all.
"Old man," I called out, remembering his earlier advice. "We need to talk."
He turned slowly, his white beard fluttering in the sea breeze. "Young man. Have you been enjoying your trip?"
"Not particularly."
He chuckled—that dry, wheezing sound again. "No, I suppose not. These trips are never enjoyable. Educational, perhaps. But not enjoyable."
"What do you know about the organizers?" Selene asked directly. "The ones behind the Death Trips."
The old man's eyes twinkled. "Direct. I like that. But I'm just an old man who likes to travel. What would I know about such things?"
"You've survived at least three trips," I said. "Maybe more. You don't fight, you don't take risks, you just... float through. How?"
He looked at me for a long moment, his expression somewhere between amusement and sadness. Then he sighed.
"You want to know why they don't kill me? Because I'm not interesting to them. I'm not a fighter, not a killer, not a psychopath. I'm just an old man who got caught up in something bigger than himself." He paused. "But you young people—with your fire and your fury—you're exactly what they're looking for."
"What does that mean?" Selene pressed.
"It means they're breeding you. Like livestock. Selecting the strongest, the fastest, the most adaptable. And those who survive? They bring them back, again and again, pushing harder each time, until..." He trailed off.
"Until what?" I asked.
The old man shook his head. "Until you become something that isn't human anymore."
He turned back to the ocean, dismissing us. But his words lingered like a cold fog over the water.
On our way back to the cabin, Selene was quiet for a long time before she spoke.
"Ryan, there's something I need to tell you. Something I've been holding back."
"What is it?"
"My father—Victor Day—he didn't just disappear on a Death Trip. He was the one who told me about them in the first place."
I stopped walking. "Your father introduced you to the Death Trips?"
Selene nodded. "He was researcher. Years ago, he stumbled onto something—something about the organization behind these trips. He became obsessed with uncovering their full scope. He started participating to gather evidence from the inside. After his fourth trip, he just... vanished."
"Vanished how? Dead?"
"I don't know. No body was ever recovered. No ticket stub was returned. According to the rules, if a participant dies, their ticket stub is collected and can be claimed by whoever killed them. But my father's stub never appeared anywhere."
"So either he survived and went underground, or..."
"Or the organizers took him," she finished. "Because he knew too much."
The implications hung heavily between us. We were sailing toward an unknown destination on a ship run by people who might well be responsible for her father's disappearance—if not his death—and we had no choice but to play their game.
Four hours into the five-hour voyage, the ship's broadcast crackled to life again.
"Attention, all surviving passengers. The ship will reach its destination in approximately one hour. At that time, all remaining passengers will disembark for the next phase of the journey. Ticket stubs will be collected upon arrival. Current passenger count: 72."
72. We'd started with 193. That meant 121 people were dead in just four hours.
"One hour," Selene said. "We need to be ready."
I gripped the fire axe tighter. "Ready for what?"
"Anything."