December 25, 1968: Today would have been Christmas back on Earth. We'd be celebrating with our families, exchanging gifts, enjoying a festive feast, and sipping on warm eggnog. But instead, we find ourselves trapped in this strange and harsh world.
In the first few days after arriving here, about twenty of us fell prey to the Bloodbeard Pirates, a savage group of cannibalistic raiders. Despite their small numbers just around a hundred, they're cunning and deceitful.
This new world bewildered us as we encountered creatures beyond anything I'd ever heard of. Enormous serpent-like beings slithered about, whales of such immense size that they could be mistaken for islands, and even a colossal octopus named Edyssey that transforms into an island once it passes away. It's as if we've been thrust into a realm of unbelievable wonders and unimaginable dangers.
As we arrived in this strange new world, our eyes were met with an expansive stretch of water that seemed to stretch on forever.
Weeks went by without any sign of land, and our concerns deepened. However, our luck took a turn when we finally spotted an island emerging on the horizon. Filled with a mixture of relief and curiosity, I proposed that we make our way to the island to seek some answers.
With my invitation, around twenty-five of our group decided to join me in setting foot on the mysterious island. Commander Norman was left in charge aboard the NS Scorpion, while the rest of our crew remained stationed there.
Stepping onto the solid ground of the island, a sense of both excitement and trepidation filled the air. Our eyes met with an astonishing sight: humans, much like us, albeit clad in unfamiliar garments. This unexpected encounter kindled a spark of hope within us.
Our initial joy, however, gave way to frustration as we attempted to engage in conversation with these newfound inhabitants. Their speech was a baffling labyrinth of sounds and rhythms, entirely foreign to our ears.
This encounter that had initially held so much promise turned into another stark reminder of our isolation in this enigmatic world. Despite our longing for connection, the language barrier stood as an impenetrable wall, leaving us stranded once again in a sea of misunderstandings.
As we contemplated our next steps, the islanders extended an offer for us to drink something. Some of us hesitated, unsure of the unfamiliar concoction, while others saw it as a hospitable gesture and partook. Despite my own reservations, I followed suit. After a few minutes, a wave of dizziness overcame me, and I collapsed to the ground.
Upon regaining consciousness, I was met with a horrifying tableau. The island's inhabitants, numbering around a hundred, had brutally attacked our group.
Approximately twenty of our people lay lifeless, and to my shock and dismay, some of the islanders were even consuming the remains of our fallen comrades. Horror washed over me, and I believed that this was to be my grim conclusion as well.
However, a stroke of luck intervened as reinforcements arrived led by Commander Norman. A handful of our men accompanied him, swiftly engaging the attackers with gunfire.
Many of the islanders were taken down, while a few managed to escape in the chaos. Amidst the fray, one figure, in particular, caught my attention. He was a young man in his twenties, distinguished by a beard the color of blood.
As we mercilessly fought against them, the individual with the blood-colored beard suffered a gunshot wound to his leg, causing him to limp. Our original intent was to eliminate them all, but they managed to slip away into the dense forest of the island, evading our grasp.
Fearing the loss of more of our men, we chose not to pursue them further. Little did I know that this decision would come back to haunt us. The wounded individual would later rise to infamy as the Captain of the BloodBeard Pirates, infamous for their cannibalistic acts and ruthlessness in this unfamiliar world.
After successfully eliminating the majority of the cannibals, the weight of guilt settled heavily upon me. The choices I had made had directly led to the deaths of our comrades, and now they rested in an alien land. As their captain, I grappled with the sense of failure, haunted by my inability to ensure their safe return home.
When I confided my intention to step down from my position as a captain aboard the NS Scorpion, those around me offered reassurance. They reminded me that the burden of responsibility wasn't mine alone to bear and that anyone else in my place might have made the same decisions.
The memories of those events continue to haunt me to this very day, often invading my dreams in the form of nightmarish visions. It was then that I resolved to seek revenge for my fallen comrades, to become a beacon of hope for fellow drifters like us. However, to achieve this, we needed to rid the world of as many cannibalistic pirates as possible.
Later, I came across a rumor suggesting that the Blood Beard had lost his leg due to an infection. Quite an anticlimactic twist for a captain leading a cannibalistic pirate crew.
Our encounter with the pirates came at a high cost. Many of us, nearly twenty, including Commander Norman, were gravely injured. The Blood Beard himself slashed Commander Norman across the left eye. I couldn't fathom the extent of the injury, but sadly, Norman lost his sight in that eye.
After successfully defeating the pirates, we decided to search their belongings for anything of value. Among the items we found were peculiar blue coins, numbering in the thousands, and a map.
It appeared to be a map of this unfamiliar world, with a prominent marking indicating a massive landmass named "Continent TerraNova." With this discovery in mind, we resolved to set our course toward that distant landmass.
It's been almost seven months since we arrived in this strange world. During this time, we've reluctantly taken on the role of mercenaries, a stark contrast to the proud soldiers we once were. The thought of our transformation into mere hired hands weighs heavily on my mind.
Over these past seven months, we've gained a wealth of knowledge about this world. It turns out we're not the only ones who've found themselves here from Earth. We share a common title: 'Drifters.' Among the drifters, most are ordinary individuals who arrived through vessels like fishing boats, cargo ships, yachts, and the like.
There are even those who arrived aboard commercial or private planes, although instances involving military ships and aircraft are quite rare.
As for the NS Scorpion, there's nothing comparable to it in this world. While some have made their journey via submarines, these are typically fuel-powered and equipped only with conventional torpedoes. Our vessel stands as a unique presence in this unfamiliar realm.
In contrast to the NS Scorpion, a Nuclear Powered Submarine equipped with access to Nuclear torpedoes, our strength lies in our strong crew with their Navy training and an array of weaponry, including assault rifles, pistols, machine guns, and grenade launchers.
Although firearms exist in this world, much like Earth, they come with a hefty price tag that puts them out of reach for most. Moreover, the ammunition we use differs from what's commonly found here, contributing to our limited supplies—a situation mirrored with our torpedoes.
A rumor has caught my attention, speaking of an Omni Replicator Forge situated in the capital city of Avians, Atherpolis. This remarkable device is said to replicate any non-living object, regardless of its source.
Securing it could hold the key to ending our shortages of ammunition and torpedoes. Unfortunately, while Avians maintain friendly relations with humans, they maintain a strict policy of not granting access to Atherpolis to outsiders.
Only a privileged few, such as influential merchants, renowned mercenaries, and government officials, are permitted to enter the capital. The odds are stacked against us in acquiring this crucial resource. However, bolstered by the capabilities of the NS Scorpion, we stand poised to potentially rise as a notable mercenary group, given the right circumstances.
After a few days, we reached a place called Port Aurora, and fortunately, they spoke the same language as us. We learned that the unfamiliar blue coins were the currency of this world, and we possessed around ten million of them.
Converting them to our world's currency would amount to roughly ten million US Dollars. It was astonishing to realize the wealth amassed by those cannibalistic pirates, even if a significant portion of it had been obtained through illegal means.
Procuring a safe house in Port Aurora, we decided that becoming mercenaries was our best course of action for survival. Due to Commander Norman's injuries, he and nearly twenty others were left behind under his care.
Embarking on this new path, we set out to accumulate both money and reputation. Assisted by the NS Scorpion, we executed various missions with remarkable proficiency.
Within just seven months, we had already established ourselves as a renowned mercenary group. Fueled by our Navy training, our impressive arsenal, and most notably, the unparalleled power of the NS Scorpion, the people of this world began to refer to us as the Scorpion Syndicate – a title that had a certain charm to it.
Among our many assignments, one mission stood out. This task was assigned to us by the Terranova government. My objective was to eliminate two or more Edyssey octopuses – creatures with unique biology that transformed their remains into islands upon their demise.
While the process remained a mystery, the government aimed to exploit this phenomenon to create a small outpost island near the territory of the monstrous Mermen. Eventually, I learned that the island we contributed to establishing was named "Mermaid's Veil."