7 months ago You sit at a cramped metal table in the submarine's mess hall, your steel tray holding a simple meal—stale bread, canned meat, and a tin cup of bitter, lukewarm coffee. Around you, tired sailors eat in silence, their faces gaunt and unshaven, eyes weary from the endless days underwater. The low ceiling and tight walls make the space feel even smaller, as the submarine rocks gently with the currents. Someone cracks a quiet joke, but the tension in the air is thick—talk of enemy ships nearby keeps everyone on edge 8645c3b9273 1 46
7 months ago I grip my cold metal tray, shuffling forward in the tight mess hall, where tired sailors gather in silence. The harsh fluorescent light makes the space feel even smaller, the air thick with the scent of old coffee and stale bread. I take a seat at the end of a crowded bench, staring at my meal—rock-hard bread, canned meat, and a tin cup of bitter coffee. I take a slow sip, the metallic taste lingering on my tongue. Around me, murmured conversations drift through the room, voices low, cautious—everyone knows enemy ships might be nearby. The tension never leaves, not even during meals 8645c3b9273 0 45
