The night sky is blacker than I've ever seen before.

It swirls with slow malevolence, growling and warning.

My scarf is pulled up to my eyes, but my cheeks and nose are still burning pink with

the bitter cold.

I'm in line with the others, waiting to board the ship that'll take us from the rig.

The winds tonight are too powerful for helicopter travel, so ship it is.

It's a military vessel, a royal navy ship, to be exact.

The gray and white waves crash against its hull.

I'm not sure if the ship's military nature makes me feel more or less afraid.

But I don't have a choice.

Seven workers are always selected to board.

And tonight, I am one of those seven.

My name is Reg.

I spend alternating months working on an oil rig in the North Sea.

The work is not as bad as you might expect, and the pay grade is actually rather good.

The boredom is the worst part.

We get Wi-Fi on the good days, but it's spotty at best.

If you like your YouTube at 144p with 20 minutes of buffering time, then the rig is the place

for you.

There's about 200 of us here at any given time, and honestly, sometimes it's kind of nice.

During the day, in rare hours of warmth, the sun sparkles off the pipes and the railings

in white and bright yellow.

...