Subnautica: The Reaper [Fanfic]

Chapter 5: Fabricated Air

Swish! A herd of tiny hoopfish split around Atronac's face and rocketed around an sandstone pillar. He punched a piece of rock again. A crack appeared, in both the rock and his hand. A little cloud of blood billowed outwards.

He held in a curse and covered the cut with his other hand, kicking hard for the surface. Only ten meters away... but he felt his breath running out too. Swim! He told himself, and gave up covering his wound. He paddled with his arms too, ignoring the pain his knuckles gave him.

Bursting through the surface, he gasped for air so hard his lungs hurt. His hand stung from the seawater, and his left wrist still did ache from twisting it when he first woke up.

He examined his waterproof satchel he'd managed to fabricate. A few chunks of copper, a piece or two of silver, and a thimbleful of gold sand. Not much for the day, but he could work with it. He'd managed to lug a few pounds of titanium into the pod.

"You have exceeded your weekly workout quotient by 24%," reported the AI as he pulled open the underwater hatch and heaved his satchel onto the floor of the pod. Then he clambered in as well.

He just stood there for a moment, dripping wet. He had done it. Defeated his fears. And his fear's fears, too! Then he had smashed his fear's face into the ground!

That was a metaphor, obviously. He didn't actually shove his fear's face into the ground. That would have meant he would have to shove his face into the ground, since fear existed only in his brain. Also, he would have to swim fifty meters straight down to smash fear's face into the ground. And fear didn't have a face, either. It was a concept. An emotion.

He chuckled and emptied his satchel's contents into the lifepod chest. Then he pressed the on button for the fabricator and waited while the panel flipped out. Then he lugged his huge chunks of titanium - some defabricated from ruined scraps of the Aurora and the Atlas - and rested them at his feet.

As the little screen popped open and he selected what he wanted to fabricate, an uneasy feeling came over him. It was like before. A tugging sensation in his gut, luring him towards the deep waters. He felt like there was something important he was missing, something he needed to go to right now. But he fought off the urge and resisted. That was lunatic talk. He would never go into the deep-deep waters. Shaking his head, he selected an oxygen tank from the list of personal tools and pressed the button to fabricate it.

Blue rays shot out of the two little nozzles, forming the sharp titanium blade from pure blue light, it seemed. He always loved looking at fabrication in process. Once the fabricator's beams were safely away, he picked up the heavy metal cylinder. This would allow him to dive deeper. Much deeper.

He fitted it on, clicking black plastic straps into place along his chest and stomach and attaching a little screen to his wrist. This little screen was attached to the tank via a tube, and was meant to gauge remaining oxygen and how long it would take to reach the surface. Handy little gadget.

He grabbed the breathing end of the main tube and placed it like a snorkel. The plastic mouthpiece felt alien and strange to his gums and teeth. He breathed in and out a few times. The oxygen tasted dry and stale.

But this would keep him alive. Slight discomfort shouldn't be a big exchange for something that could literally save his life thousands of times. Atronac spat out the mouthpiece and popped open the top of the tank. A hiss sounded as air rushed in. Once the little screen on his wrist confirmed it was full of oxygen, he snapped the lid shut and placed the whole apparatus on the wall hook, then ate half a nutrient block and took a few glugs of fresh water. He'd earned it.

As he relaxed on the top of the pod, watching the sunset, thoughts turned to escape, and how the ships crashed in the first place. The Aurora, Sunbeam, Degasi and Atlas all crashed on the planet. It was too common to be a coincidence - there must be something that caused it. Meteors? Long-range weaponry? Or a weapon of a similar kind, on the planet? All good guesses, but none of them felt right. He had to trust his instincts as well as his brain. They kept him alive as much as his head did.

He laid down to rest. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was splashing into the ocean, white fangs snapping an inch from his face.