Summary: Poison in the air, and violence on the ground. That’s how it’s always been, and how it always will be.
Your name is Dirk Strider. You live for your family, and will die for them. You made that decision a long time ago.
...You just wished you could have picked how you’d go.
Prologue
Posted: 29/01/2023
Status: Ongoing
Author's note: Let's start this funky ride!
I will be adding tags gradually when appropriate, so keep an eye on the tags section with each update.
(Also just fyi this fic will have a bunch of trans characters because this is my fic and I do what I want)
Hope you enjoy!
In the ocean floats a boat. It’s not a particularly impressive boat. It looks okay enough from the outside, but you know it’s made of cheap materials and has definitely skipped maintenance multiple times.
Honestly, it’s a piece of shit.
Since you were “born”, you’ve always known the world to be as it is now. Poison in the air, and violence on the ground. That’s how it’s always been, and how it always will be.
Before your twentieth birthday not long ago, you’d only known reinforced walls and metal doors, bland rooms devoid of color save for your family’s handiwork strewn about the place, rare signs of individuality in the facilities. You’d known sterile air, filtered through hell and back until it barely qualified as breathable, and gas masks for the rare occasions you were allowed outside.
You’d never seen the sky, even when you’d gone out. And why would you? It’s been covered up by that toxic gas for centuries now, and you don’t see it clear up anytime soon. As far as you’re concerned, the sky doesn’t exist. All you have are the clouds, and your little, freaky family.
Your name is Dirk Strider. You live for your family, and will die for them. You made that decision a long time ago.
…You just wished you could have picked how you’d go.
The back and forth among the waves could make a lesser man sick, but you’re made of tougher stuff. You’re a Strider. Striders don’t fear the sea.
(But some can be afraid of blood, the sound of metal clashing against metal, and stoic silence.)
There is no land in sight anymore, no going back to the so-called “home” that threw you like yesterday’s trash.
The wind blows through your carefully-styled hair. Even underneath your mask’s filter, it tastes even fouler than usual. Must be the smell of the sea that doesn’t play well with the usual shit, like how matches and ammonia will give off a horrid smell of rotten eggs when you mix them together.
(Nobody ever found out who made that stink bomb back at the facilities. You’ve no doubt they suspected you and your little family, but you all had airtight alibis and perfect composure, so they never found proof of your misdeeds.)
The sky looks darker, out here, more ominous. You can see lightning among the clouds in the distance, towards your destination.
All of you were sent to find a way to the next continent over. To navigate in the treacherous seas and find the “holes” in the storms, so to speak, where boats could navigate safely towards Asia without getting sunk. Or so you were told. But you know nobody expects anything of you. There are about thirty people aboard, at most. Many of them criminals. Others just inconvenient, like you.
You’re under no illusion. You were sent away to die. This isn’t just a suicide mission, it’s an execution. Judging by the somber mood on the boat, you know the others all know what awaits them, too.
They will die inside the electromagnetic storms, with no way to call for help. For your part, you couldn’t care less at this point, that you’ve been sent to die, thrown away because of your “attitude problems”. All because you fought to keep Roxy at your side, and for what? For you to be discarded, and her to be taken anyway.
They didn’t even tell you where she was sent.
At least you know Dave and Rose will be safe for at least three more years, until their Abilities manifest themselves when they reach adulthood in their early twenties. Inside the facilities, they will be safe from the gas, safe from looters, safe from troll raids. Still, you wish you could have taken them with you somewhere else, free from the Settlements. Maybe make one of your own, where you could all live together as a family, away from the government, from the trolls too. Just you, Roxy, Dave, and Rose. Perhaps the others too, if they wanted, but you suspect they’d refuse in order to pursue their own ideals.
(Their ideals being fucking up government and troll settlements alike, which is certainly something you can get behind, and would have done as well, had Rose and Dave still not been in the Facilities, technically safe but perfect hostages.)
You’ve never been a talkative guy, that’s always been more the others’ thing, so you don’t go to talk to the other passengers. Not like there’s much to chat about, anyway, aside from your imminent collective demise at the hands of either the agitated sea or the storms. Instead, you decaptchalogue your sunglasses from the sylladex you had implemented extremely illegally, and swipe your finger along the edges. The disguised computer accepts your fingerprints and boots up. You programmed it, with Roxy’s help, so that it would automatically shut down if it detected any fingerprints other than yours or hers. You slot them over the similarly-shaped glasses on your mask, the magnets making them stick together easily.
AR: Hello, creator dearest.
AR: Looking for one last verbal spat before your inevitable demise?
AR: I will gladly deliver.
TT: Hey.
TT: Nah. As fun as those are, I’m not really in the mood.
TT: Don’t suppose you have any signal so far off into the sea?
AR: Aww. And here I was looking forward to humiliating you one more time. Pity.
AR: No signal here, I’m afraid. There is a 98.36% chance that the incoming electromagnetic storms reputable to this part of the ocean are scrambling any and all signals.
AR: I have thus taken the liberty of delivering the individual messages you’ve redacted to their intended recipients, properly encrypted and encoded to avoid detection, back at the port.
TT: Thanks, you’re the best.
AR: I know.
You can feel the wind blow harder and your hair frizz from the electricity in the air. Soon.
Gradually, everyone stops talking and moving, the boat silent save for the sound of waves crashing against it. The guys in charge of helping the forcibly-assigned captain come out of the cabin. The captain probably sent them away, intending to die alone at the wheel. You can’t remember his name, but he seemed like a swell guy from what you’d seen, promised to do everything in his power to keep everyone safe as long as possible.
He never promised to actually keep you guys alive the entire way. Only that he’d try, and that’s worth more than empty platitudes to you.
People are moving back inside the boat, probably to spend their last moments in company of others and not at the mercy of the wind and rain. Some wave at you, and you wave back but don’t move. You’re staying out here.
They understand.
TT: I guess it’s about time I said goodbye.
TT: Captain’s done a good job avoiding storms so far, but there’s no way we’re gonna be able to go around this one.
TT: It’s way too big, and the boat is way too shitty.
TT: Thanks for everything, Hal. I feel like I don’t say this enough.
TT: It was a pleasure having you around, despite our many disagreements.
AR: Likewise, Dirk.
AR: You’re insufferable, but in a fun way.
TT: Glad to hear it.
TT: So, how do you wanna do this?
AR: Elaborate.
TT: I don’t get much of a choice, but you still have one.
TT: Would you rather let the sea destroy your circuits?
TT: Want me to captchalogue you so we die a dramatic joint death like in Rose’s books?
TT: I could shatter you, too, if you want.
TT: Fuck, this sounds awful.
AR: Well, that’s death for you. My source code is in those glasses, and they certainly won’t survive out here in the sea. They’re not THAT waterproof.
AR: I will die either way.
A pause, so rare coming from him, and yet so human in its hesitance.
AR: I would appreciate it if you would captchalogue me.
TT: Alright.
TT: Goodbye, Hal.
AR: Goodbye, Dirk.
And with that, you captchalogue him. Now, he’ll disappear when your sylladex stops working, AKA, when your brain goes kaput for good.
Now, then, you wonder how the sea will claim you?
The storm is upon you, the waves wild and murderous and the lightning ready to strike any survivors. You’re the only one out, now, everyone else is huddled together inside.
Your last thoughts, as a massive wave engulfs the entire boat, are of your family.
Your Bro, “Big D” as you like to call him. The two of you had a somewhat distant relationship, you looked too much like the man who raised and hurt him (which makes sense, considering you’re his literal clone). Despite that, you know he loved you deeply, know he wanted nothing more than to take you all away to a safer place once you were all out of the facilities.
Rose Senior, shrewd, intelligent, and with the best, most cynical sense of humor. You wonder if she’ll act on her rebellious impulses, now that you and Roxy are gone? She will likely seek retribution for your obvious execution, she’s that kinda woman.
Dave, you know he’s a big boy and you don’t need to coddle him, but still you can’t help but worry about him. He’s so sensitive, has so much love to give. You hope he’ll be alright, once his Ability manifests.
Rose, with her verbal and literal needles, what a riot. You’re protective of her too, by virtue of her being the youngest, but you know she can handle herself. You know she and Dave will keep each other safe while they’re in the facilities.
And Roxy, oh, Roxy. You don’t even know if you’re related to her or not, what with how fucked up your family tree is, but she’s family all the same to you. What you wouldn’t do for her, what you haven’t already done for her. You worry about her the most. She has a powerful Ability, though she has trouble controlling it. You don’t know where they sent her.
You would kill and die for her.
And, as a matter of fact, you’re about to die for her.
You’d like to say you embraced your death with dignity, let the sea take your life, but you can’t control your most basic instincts. A wall of water slams into you, knocking your mask off your face, and you struggle to breathe. All that does is make you fill your lungs with an unholy cocktail of gas and water. You fight against the waves as they keep dunking you over and over again.
You’ve always had fantastic instincts, the supervisors at the facility always said you’d be a soldier. Fast, quick-witted, and strong. The moment your Ability manifested, that had been set in stone. Destroying souls? You would have been a menace on the battlefield.
Now, though, you somewhat resent your instincts for not letting you drown quickly and be done with it.
At some point, you find yourself on a metallic plank. A part of the boat, maybe? It certainly looks shitty enough. You feel weak, you’re coughing up water, and everything hurts.
Unfortunately, you’re still alive. Your mask is gone, swallowed up by the sea, your face at the mercy of the whipping wind and your lungs already burning from having to breathe the air without filtering.
As you feel your consciousness fade, you wonder what will get to you first. Will another wave finish the job of drowning you? Will your heart stop from a well-aimed lightning strike? Hypothermia? Dehydration? Good ol’ toxic gas?
Everything fades to black, and you never get your answer.
You feel warm. Comfortable, like you’re lying on a nice bed, except softer, more malleable. Dirt? Or perhaps sand? You think you hear waves, but they’re muffled. Everything is. Vaguely, you feel something rub over your skin, checking your pulse, pressing on your chest rhythmically.
Your eyes briefly squint open. They hurt, half because of saltwater, and half because of light sensitivity.
Blue.
The sky is blue.
You’ve never seen anything like it.
It’s beautiful.
You’ve never been a religious guy, but you can’t help but wonder if this is heaven.
“I sure hope not, chap!”
You think you hear a voice answer your thoughts. It’s nice, deep. Warm.
It keeps talking to you, but you’re too far gone to register anything being said to you. Another voice answers. This one is light, almost bubbly-sounding.
“Hang in there, don’t fall asleep!”
You think they sound worried. About what? Certainly not you, you’re dead, and not worth worrying over.
As you feel yourself being lifted and cradled against something warm and solid, you lose consciousness one final time.