Tom shrugged, then turned and used the remote control to open the doors on a digital projection screen. "I could tell you, but I think seeing it would be easier." He said no more, falling silent as he scrolled through commands on the screen and prepared the footage. It started to play — an aerial shot of a cruise liner, huge, long, sleek — and he paused the film. The picture froze, jerking subtly back and forth as if the ship sought to escape being viewed.
Hellboy knew that it was going to be bad, and he wondered what every person on that ship was doing as the actual scene was shot. There would be couples making love in their cabins; people playing sports; others watching films in the ship's movie theater; families eating in the various restaurants onboard; mothers reading on deck while fathers showed their kids the wonders that such a cruise ship would contain. The frozen moment in time should have screamed happiness and joy, instead of dread and doom. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see, but knew that he would open them again when he heard Tom press play. That was his job: to see the doom and gloom of things, instead of the joy and happiness.
"Here," said Tom Manning. "This is where it changes. This was shot by a press helicopter doing a feature on this new cruise ship. The footage was impounded before it could leak out. You'll see why."
Hellboy opened his eyes.
The cruise ship moved on its way, all instances of happiness on board moving on as well, and seconds later the scene began to shift from reality into disbelief. The sea around the liner — previously disturbed only by the boat's wake — began to stir. Ripples turned to waves, and waves spun into swirling whirlpools that spat spray. It was as if the sea were heating up, reaching boiling point in a matter of seconds, and then something burst from its depths. Calmness gave way to violence. Peace gave way to terror. And the kraken surfaced.
A huge gray tentacle rose from the water, tip waving, feeling up the side of the ship. It twisted onto the deck and slapped down among dozens of tiny shapes fleeing its appearance. As it rose it revealed several bright red splashes on the deck. It smashed down again, swatting a dozen more vacationers into the pale timber. Several more tentacles rose to join it, and then on the other side of the ship, three more came into view. They curved up and over the superstructure, slapping, waving, punching down. Glass exploded out from windows, scurrying shapes were crushed or sent plummeting into the sea, and several lifeboats were knocked from their moorings. They fell, crashing into the churning waters, saving no one.
The liner, massive engines still powering at the waves, began to lift.
A huge gray body surfaced beside the ship, and one eye — twenty feet across — clouded as it emerged into sunlight. The tentacles still raged across the decks, exploding parts of the superstructure and sending showers of timber and metal to splash into the sea. People ran here and there, sometimes in groups, more often alone and lonely in death. Tiny shapes floated in the sea around the emerging monster. Arms waved, but the unfortunates did not remain on the surface for long; the huge swells drove them down, and when they bobbed back up, they were lifeless, drifting at the mercy of the waves.