Homecoming (Kancolle)

[Aurora Raven]

The Shetlands were supposed to be safe. They were safe. Years without any attacks, without even any sighting of an Abyssal, but the moment I decide to visit it… Always picking the wrong queue at the post office.

It's ridiculous to be thinking about post office queues at a time like this. Ridiculous thoughts are all I have left in the wake of fear and hysteria.

Two days in a lifeboat being towed somewhere by Abyssals. Two days waiting to be killed. Two days imagining what they're going to do to us.

I don't know how many people were on the ferry. At least three dozen, probably more. Now there are just three of us on this lifeboat.

I shall not soon forget what happened to the others, no matter how much I want to. The small ones look like children, but they're the worst. Smiling angelically as they kill in the bloodiest ways imaginable. They would have killed us all if the adult ones hadn't dragged them off, still covered in blood and guts. They kept us alive, are keeping us alive, for some reason.

There's only so long you can be scared out of your mind, and it's less than two days.

I ran out of tears a few hours in, rested in catatonia, then cried for hours more.

I don't know the order of the stages of grief, but I've been through denial, I was too scared for anger, and who would I bargain with? The monsters outside? That just leaves depression and acceptance, right?

Maybe I cried all the stress hormones out because I just feel numb now. Is this depression or acceptance? It could be either.

No, I don't think it's acceptance. I'm not ready to die.

Maybe I should. Maybe I should climb out of the boat. Not to try and swim to land, that would never work. Even if I were a strong swimmer, which I'm not, no one could make it to land; not this far out, not in this cold. But to drown, to die before we get to wherever they're taking us, before they do whatever they're planning to do to us.

I'm too scared though. I really don't want to die.

Am I really going to just sit here and wait for them to torture us to death because I'm too scared to drown?

If I'm even allowed to drown. They want us alive for some reason. Would they just fish me out of the sea? If I got past the adults, the small ones would get me.

Drowning is the best case.

I still don't want to drown.

At least we have plenty of food and water with so few of us. Not that the food is good, or our appetite great. We have eaten little, and in silence. The presence of the monsters outside is oppressive. I still don't know my fellow survivors' names.

Is there any point in asking the names of people who are about to die?

Yes, so someone remembers them, so someone can tell others about what happened to them. Everyone deserves that, but I can't do that for them. I'm going to die too. I'm in the same boat as them. Heh, I'm literally in the same boat as them.

My breath catches and I almost giggle at the unintentional wordplay.

I thought the hysteria had ended. I guess I've still got a little left in me.

Thoughts running around my head. Anything to distract from the situation. I feel sick. Nauseous with stress. Static in my mind.

I try to control my breathing, choke down any more sobs.

It's stupid, no one will judge me for this, no one can blame me, I've already done it plenty, but it still feels embarrassing to cry in front of people. The others aren't crying. Am I lesser for doing so?

Maybe they want to cry too and we're all just putting on a strong front for each other.

I'm glad I'm not alone.

It's selfish to be glad they're here too, dying too, but I don't want to die alone.

I should talk to them. These are the last hours of my life, I shouldn't squander them in my own head.

How can I be scared of speaking to another human, especially at a time like this? Terminal and still procrastinating. I'm so pathetic.

No. I won't die with regrets over not engaging in the last opportunity for human connection I'll ever have. I muster my courage.

"Hey—"

I'm cut off and thrown forward as the boat jerks harshly to a stop.

The door is ripped off its hinges.

An Abyssal climbs in. One of the adult ones. She reaches for me.

This is it then. Oh God I hope the Christians were right about life after death. I'm the thief on the cross, the atheist in the foxhole. Lord forgive me. Forgive me for not knowing the words, for not having the time, for not… for not. I hope I see my parents again. I hope—

She doesn't kill me.

She grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. She drags me out of the lifeboat.

I try to pull away, but her hand is like a vice, her pace inexorable. There's nothing I can do against her strength.

The other two men are being pulled out as well, their resistance just as futile as mine.

One spits at the Abyssal holding him. It hits her square in the face. He pays for his defiance. She tightens her grip. A terrible crack. An agonised scream. His arm shatters. He collapses, only held up by the hold she has on his broken arm.

I don't know if she intends to do more, but a fourth Abyssal pulls her away.

"We need them alive!"

"It's just an arm. He's not dead."

"Control yourself." She hisses, then turns to the one holding me. "Bring them, everything is ready."

We are made to walk up the black beach, lest we be dragged up it. Everything is black. The sand, the rocks, the clouds filling the sky above. It looks like hell. It feels like hell.

The air is thick, I struggle to breathe it in.

Every step makes it worse, the nausea and dizziness growing.

Ahead is a structure. Dark brick, dark metal, just, dark. Blurry, the details changing moment by moment, shadows deepening, contrast not showing properly. My eyes refuse to focus. My headache intensifies. I close my eyes and let my captor pull me along.

I can feel it as soon as we enter. The absence of what little sunlight there was outside, the cold that feels like it's leeching all vitality from me. Which circle of hell is the frozen one? Is Lucifer waiting for me at the end of this corridor?

I'm led into a larger room. There is something, someone there. Worse than Lucifer. Bigger than the other Abyssals. No, the same size, but larger in presence. Such terrible presence. My eyes burn trying to look at her. My ears ring, the screech rising in pitch and power beyond what I thought possible. The pressure on my eardrums building and building. I can't take this.

My legs give way. I fall to my hands and knees. I throw up, acid burning my throat and mouth. I try to wipe away the tears from my eyes and my hand comes back with blood. My nose runs with hot blood, dripping onto the stone floor, the only colour in this monochrome hell.

I'm dying. Just being near this monstrosity is killing me.

The pressure lessens. I can hear again. Footsteps heading away.

The devil is leaving. Sparing me. I see her back as she walks away. Her demons are still here though.

I can't stand. I try to crawl away, dragging limp legs behind me. I reach a wall. I cower against it.

I see a circle in the centre of the room, blacker than black. A void within its boundary.

I see the other two, their pale, deathly pallours, the blood streaking down from their eyes and noses. They're alive. They look dead. I must look the same.

None of us are leaving this place alive.

I'm so tired. Everything hurts.

Why can't we be saved?

Why is there no one to save us?

One of the Abyssals picks up the man with the broken arm. He twitches in her arms. She walks to the circle, and drops him into it. A splash reveals it to be a pool of something. A black liquid that quickly covers him.

Whatever life is left in him stirs as he thrashes and flails. Trying to get out. The liquid coats him, spreads across him, his bright yellow jacket disappearing under the black. His figure becomes less defined. He's melting. He's screaming. He's gone.

The pool returns to stillness.

The Abyssal walks back to us and grabs the second man. I don't watch. I need to get out of here.

I hear the splash behind me.

I crawl.

I hear the crying.

I crawl.

I hear the silence.

I feel a hand grab my leg.

No no no no no.

My fingers find no purchase on the stone floor.

I'm dragged backwards, towards the pool, towards death.

Splash.

I thought it would hurt. I don't feel any pain. I don't feel anything. I'm sinking. I can't feel my legs. The liquid covers everything. I reach for the edge. My arm is too short. Where are my fingers? Where is my hand? The liquid is up to my neck. I think I'm kicking my legs, but nothing is happening. I keep sinking. It's in my mouth now. I'm drowning.

---

Where am I?

It's cold. Are my eyes open or closed? Do I still have eyes? I can't tell. It's pitch black. It's so cold.

I can feel something vital leaving me. Something I didn't know I had till I felt the absence.

I'm dying. I'm being consumed.

Please. Someone. Anyone. Help me. Please. I don't want this. I don't want to die. Please. I'll do anything, just save me.

Something moves, brushing against me. It's vast. It hates. It hates so much. It touches me.

---

I'm looking at the stone floor.

I'm kneeling. The circle is around me, but the pool is gone.

I feel… fine. The sickness is gone. I can see, I can hear, I can feel, I can think.

My arm! I look at it. It's all there: arm, hand, fingers. This isn't my hand. It's too small. It's white.

I turn my head to examine it, white strands fall into the edge of my vision. Hair?

"A carrier, not quite like Tungsten though." One of the Abyssals is talking to another. "I'll go tell the Princess. Tungsten will want to know as well." She leaves the room.

The Princess! That monster is coming back here? I can't face her again! I need to get out! I feel fine. I can stand. I can run!

Fear and adrenaline fill me.

Action stations. Action stations. Assume damage control state one. Condition Zebra.

I can almost hear a klaxon, a voice whispering in the back of my head.

I jump to my feet and sprint for the door. My foot doesn't hit the ground right, but I adjust and keep running.

An Abyssal is blocking my way, the one that manhandled me earlier.

I try to push past her, hoping my momentum will do something.

Crash!

She goes flying, slamming against the wall. I don't slow down at all. How did I do that?

No time for that. I continue my flight. I don't know what happened, but I feel so strong. I can escape! I can survive!

Sunlight! Only a bit further. I'm out of their godforsaken keep. Stone tiles give way to rock, give way to soil, to sand, to water.

I'm running on water. On the sea. Like a Shipgirl. Like an Abyssal.

I'll run all the way home.

Full speed ahead, all engines.

South. I need to go south. I think it's morning, sun in the east, sun to my left.

Set course bearing 180°.

I adjust slightly. I know this is south.

The island is behind me, further away with every moment. I've escaped hell. I'm going home.

 

[Aurora Raven]

I don't know how long I've been running — 17 hours — but I can't stop till I'm safe.

I don't know how far I've run — 520 miles — but I'm flagging now.

My breathing is still steady, but my chest aches. Not quite a stitch, the wrong place, the wrong sensation. A tightness in my chest, like my heart has been beating too hard for too long. It's not though. I can't feel it beating hard. I can't feel my pulse in my neck or hear it in my ears.

I couldn't keep up the frantic pace I had made at the start of my escape, slowing after a couple of hours to my current speed — 30 knots. At some point I stopped moving my legs, but I kept moving over the waves regardless.

Even though I haven't been using them, my legs ache. I'm tired, but I have to keep going.

Fear has kept me driven, kept me occupied, but not to the extent that I've made it all this way without looking down at myself.

This isn't my body.

Long white hair purer white than human, that blows in the wind, kept out of my face by a hairband. Pale bone white skin where it's not covered by a black jacket and dress.

I've deliberately not checked, but I think I'm a woman now. The breasts are rather noticeable.

Bits of a ship attached to me. A miniature flight deck strapped to my left arm. Miniature people walking across it, defying gravity, stuck to the deck no matter which way I hold my arm.

I guess I'm a Shipgirl then?

Shipgirls aren't this colour.

Is this how Shipgirls are made? People in dire straits, granted power to live?

I thought they were actual ships before they were people. That's how the media talks about them, how they talk about themselves. Maybe it can go both ways?

I'm not comfortable with this, I didn't want this, but I'll take it if it means living. I asked for help, and this is the form it came in. I won't be ungrateful for my survival, whatever it is that answered my plea.

You know what answered.

Maybe this is temporary, just a short lived boon to save my life. Even if it's not, maybe they can fix it when I get home. I'm not an expert in magic or whatever.

Surface contact, bearing 100°, range 40 miles.

There's something there, to my left. I can see it. No, I can't see it, but somehow I know it's there. I don't think it's a ship, it's too big. Is it land?

Is it Scotland?

I turn towards it. I'll be safe on land.

It comes into sight, real sight from my eyes. The night is dark but the moon is bright enough for me to see clearly. It's land, beautiful land. Green grass, something alive. This nightmare is almost over. After this I'm never getting on a boat again.

I walk off the water and climb onto the rocks. They're wet and slippery, and the heels on these shoes don't help. At least they're not stilettos, maybe a three inch wedge. Could be worse. I consider taking them off, but it's probably not a good idea to go barefoot on these rocks either, and I don't see a zipper.

Where am I? I don't know the geography of the north coast of Scotland.

South then, I'll just keep heading south and I'll reach civilisation again eventually, even if I have to walk all the way to England to find it.

A mountain is in my way and my tired legs don't thank me, but the further I get from the sea the better. I climb it slowly and carefully. I try to watch my step, but the sky keeps drawing my eyes away.

The stars are so bright and clear. The majesty of the galaxy stretches out above.

I'm not wearing my glasses, but I see it all in perfect clarity. Even with my glasses my eyes were never this good. Can't beat magic eye correction. Heh. I smile. I've been afraid for so long, and now the weight is lifted.

Now that I think about it, I've been in the cold wind this whole time, but I feel fine, good even.

Reinvigorated, I make it over the peak of the mountain.

Light, artificial light. There's a town down there, by an inlet, more of a village really. It's a tiny, ugly thing; a blemish on the beautiful landscape, the glare of their lights polluting the sky.

There's a runway behind it. A small airport?

And behind that… more sea. More fucking sea.

This is an island.

I hold my head in my hands. I'm not even on the same landmass as home.

From this high up I can see other nearby islands too. I try to picture a map of Northern Britain. There are a lot of islands around the coast, this must be one of them. I'm not home yet, but I'm almost there. It can't be that much further.

Maybe I can get a plane there.

I descend the mountain side to the road. It leads into the village, the inlet to my right, the mountain to my right.

As I get nearer to the village, I see a yellow sign.

…

Did I have a stroke?

That's not English. Do they speak English in the Scottish highlands? I don't know, but I don't think this is Gaelic either.

Wait, that letter, 'ø', that's a Nordic letter isn't it.

There's no way I'm in Norway.

Two days from the Shetlands to that place. I shudder at the memory. Then one day south to reach here. We couldn't have reached that far north of Norway in two days.

Where is Sørvágur?

I continue walking, entering the village proper. There's no one walking the streets, no lights on in the buildings.

What time is it?

02:30

I don't have my watch anymore, I don't know. I can tell it's some time in the early hours of the morning. I doubt anything is open at this time in a remote place like this. Maybe I can find a police station or something though, or a 24 hour convenience store if I'm lucky. I haven't eaten in a while and I'm starting to get hungry, especially after that hours long sprint.

I don't have any money though. The void ate it like it did everything else. I'm sure someone will be kind enough to give me a sandwich or something in my circumstance.

Another sign, an advert for a concert? The website is www.country.fo. What domain is .fo? F, F, F, what begins with F and is Nordic?

Finland? No that's .fi, and I'm definitely not in the Baltic sea.

The Faroe Islands! They're north of Britain and they're Danish. Thank god I'm not hopelessly lost. My course was correct, I just forgot about a set of islands on the way.

I laugh nervously. That's one mystery solved and crisis averted. Ok, ok, things are back on track. I know where I am and I can get transport home from here.

Still, hopefully I can find something to eat and somewhere to stay rather than just stand around out here in the dark till morning.

I continue walking.

What was that?! I saw something in the edge of my vision. I think I saw an Abyssal.

I turn a full circle, searching for her, but there's no one here.

I'm just seeing things in the dark. No one followed me here, I'd have seen them on the open sea long before I got here.

I let my breathing settle.

The buildings get larger as I get deeper into the town. I see someone!

A man in a heavy coat, leaning against a wall, smoking a cigarette. His breath misting in the cold and mixing with the smoke. What a filthy habit, and he's clearly so addicted that he can't go one night without giving in to it. Why else would he be out in the cold at this hour, all alone? What a sad sight, disgusting and pitiful in equal measure.

Still, he'll probably know where I can find the authorities around here.

"Hey!" I call out to him. I flinch at my voice, totally different to how I should sound.

He looks up. He startles, drops the cigarette, cries out, and starts running.

Why is he running? He's not being very useful right now.

I chase after him.

His reaction is annoying, making me chase after him, but something else too. Exciting? Part of me is enjoying the chase.

He's shouting something now, screaming even. He's going to wake the whole town up at this rate. That's not very considerate of him. I hate people like this.

He keeps looking back at me, his face looks terrified. What an idiot. Does he think I'm going to hurt him or something? It's good though, he deserves to be scared, the rude wretch.

Something smells really good. I don't recognise it, but it's not helping my hunger. Whatever, I'll find it after I catch this guy. Seems to be coming from the same direction actually.

I feel bouncy, high. Weird, I shouldn't be getting runner's high after only a few seconds of running, that's crazy. Whatever is causing it, it's intoxicating. I let out a laugh.

I'm gaining on him. It's a shame it'll be over so soon. I feel great, alive, happy. All my worries are gone for now. The problems so far away.

Only a metre separation now. I leap at him.

"Got you!" I yell in exhilaration.

He just screams and tries to throw up his arms, but they don't do anything. I bat them aside and spear my arm through his guts.

He's crying and sobbing, as if anyone who cares can hear his dying sounds. Even if someone came there's nothing that can save him now.

His insides are squishy and warm around my arm. It feels funny. I giggle.

Ah, this is good. This is right. Contentedness envelopes me and I relax into it, smiling as I watch the light leave his eyes.

And then it's gone.

I'm kneeling on the ground and a man is dead grievously wounded on my lap. Did I do this?

His lifeless eyes stare at me, accusing me, condemning me.

"No. No I…" I stutter, my smile turning brittle, then breaking into horror.

I need to do first aid. There's so much blood. How do I stop it? Apply pressure on the wound. I move my arms to press on the wound but— Squelch. Oh God, my arm is still in his chest. If I remove it, he'll bleed out even faster. I can't just leave it in there though. I don't… What do I do?

I can't fix this. I can't undo this.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." I plead.

He doesn't hear me. He's dead.

I pull my arm out, covered in viscera and blood.

There's so much blood on him, on me, spreading in a bright red puddle across the ground. Everywhere except where it's supposed to be.

There's a huge hole in his torso. I can see my knees through it. There's no surviving that, and I know that he hasn't.

More than his catastrophic injury, his lack of breathing, his stopped heart, I know that he's dead because I don't hate him anymore.

What was I thinking moments ago? About his smoking, about his running, about his yelling.

The disdain, the excitement, the joy, the intoxicating smell, the high, the peace; it's all gone. All that's left is me, and the corpse of the man I've murdered.

"Oh God."

I look up. There's a shop window in front of me.

The Abyssal I thought I saw earlier is there, covered in blood, kneeling over a corpse. She meets my eyes, the baleful blue glow. She shudders as I do.

It was my reflection that I saw earlier.

Her eyes, my eyes. Her hair, my hair. Her skin, my skin. Her, me.

I knew this earlier, I just refused to see it. The reality I denied crashes down on me. The lie I told myself, the debt to the truth is repaid with interest.

How could I have ever entertained the idea that I was a Shipgirl? I'm the enemy. I'm the monster.

A high pitched scream stirs me from my thoughts. I turn my head to the right and see a woman running.

I should kill her too shouldn't I? It's what Abyssals do. This is my purpose now. She'll alert more people if I let her go.

She keeps screaming. Shrill harpy, can't you see I'm trying to think? I need to silence her.

The not-smell is back, rushing over me, beckoning me to chase again, to kill again.

I stand and turn to go after her.

The corpse slides off my legs and hits the ground.

Splat.

He's still staring at me.

I flinch and turn away.

The woman has turned a corner, out of sight. I can still sense her, sense her fear, but it's getting more distant.

No. I refuse. I'm not going to kill her. Even if it's what I'm supposed to do. Even if it would feel so good. Even if…

I need to get out of here. Before more people come. Before I kill more people. Before I lose myself.

I just wanted to go home.

I start running, not towards the woman, towards the sea.

My feet hit the water and I skim across the surface, fleeing the scene of my crime.

The town lights up behind me. As word spreads, as more people wake up to the horror that I left behind, the not-smell grows stronger. I understand what it is now. It's their fear that I can feel, urging me to turn around, to raze the town to the ground.

I keep my eyes facing out to sea. I don't turn to look.

Surface target, bearing 286°, range 9000 yards. Aft port battery, load HE, ready for ranging shot.

That whisper in the back of my mind again. I can't make out what it's saying. I feel something moving.

I can see the town. I'm looking in the opposite direction, how can I see the town? I close my eyes. I can still see.

I'm thinking like a human. Ships don't have two eyes. I keep my eyes closed, turning my attention inwards, focusing on my senses, old and new.

I can see in all directions, through the lookouts standing on my bridge and across my hull. I can feel the terrain through my surface search radar.

I can see the town through the rangefinder on the fire control director on the aft of my island. Through the gunsight on a turret with a loaded gun.

I can feel the crew in the director with their fingers on the trigger, waiting eagerly for the command. All I need to do is give the command. Just one word.

Shoot.​

I have eight turrets, each manned with crew ready to load more shells, sixteen cannons ready to flatten this town. One word.

Sho—

Lifeless eyes staring back at me.

Did he have a family? How many lives did I destroy in a single moment? How many more will I destroy with a single word?

The tiny monsters inside me can keep waiting. I won't give it to them.

The people behind me aren't safe till I'm out of range. I need to go further away.

North.​

South or east. South is home, east is the open Atlantic. I won't even consider going north, I'm never going back there.

The Atlantic is a contested battleground. Will the Abyssals there kill me? Will the allied navies kill me? I don't want to die. I'm already hungry, I'm not going to find food in the ocean. Will I starve? I don't want to die.

I want to go home, I want to go south, but can I? I'm a danger to everyone. Can I subject people to that because I'm too scared to do otherwise?

I'm more afraid than I am ashamed.

I turn south.

I turned away from that woman.

I turned away from the town.

I can control myself.

For how long?

I'm going south.

I think my hunger is because of how much fuel I burnt sprinting here. How much fuel do I have? How far can I go? I don't even know what I am beyond some kind of carrier going by the flight deck on my arm. I'd better pace myself. More speed, more resistance, so going slower will get me further on less fuel, right?

Half ahead, all engines, 100 revolutions.

This feels so slow compared to my earlier speed, but my legs and chest don't ache. I can keep this up for as long as I need to.

Over the course of nearly an hour the town leaves my artillery range. I can stop keeping such a tight hold on myself. There's no one to hurt out here, and there won't be for many hours. I can relax.

Surface contact, bearing 75°, range 8 miles.

What? A ship? Two ships! I can see them through my lookouts' binoculars. Warships! They're small, old looking. WW1 maybe?

I see more than ships though. The image of a ship is overlaid over a person. Both real, simultaneously both. It's trippy. These are Shipgirls.

This is the first land I've come across after running out of an Abyssal base, of course it has defences. They must have heard about what happened in Sørvágur, what I did there.

They're coming to kill me.

Action stations, action stations. Assume damage control state one, condition Zebra.

I can hear the klaxon this time. I can feel the shift inside me as my crew prepares for battle.

Different parts of me whispering to each other. I can't make out the words, but I know what they communicate.

Half ahead, all engines, 200 revolutions.

I accelerate.

Surface target, bearing 75°, range 16,000 yards. All batteries, load HE.

Fire directors and range finders pinpointing the target. Crew loading shells into sixteen guns.

All batteries ready for low angle engagement.

My turrets swivelling to face the foe.

The Shipgirls are just doing their duty. They're just protecting people. They're just hunting a murderer, but…

Fight.​

I'm not dying here. I won't let them kill me.

Kill.​

I'll kill them first.

Shoot!

Eight cannons roar and flash. The shells fly out, and fall short. Columns of water obscuring my sight of the enemy.

Load, adjust, shoot.

Ten seconds later my guns fire again, and again.

Miss after miss, but my directors refine their ranging with every splash.

Finally, they return fire. Their guns are bigger than mine, but they look archaic. Obsolete and slow.

Their shots fall short by at least a mile, in the dark I can barely see the splashes they're so far off. Mine are missing by only a few hundred yards, and getting closer with every salvo.

I've sped up, but the enemy is still crawling. How slow are they?

14 knots.

Can they not go any faster? They do look old.

At this rate I'm going to run out of range.

Wait, I can just leave. They can't catch me.

Fight. Kill.​

I could win though. I'm bigger, more advanced. My shots are straddling them now, it's only a matter of time before I hit them, before I sink them.

But I'm just protecting myself, I don't need to sink them if I just leave.

They're missing now, but their guns are big, and there's always the chance they'll get lucky. The sky is lightening, it's almost dawn. Their aim will be better with the light.

Why am I risking myself like this?

Full speed ahead, all engines. Set course 240°.

I make a right turn, heading directly away from them, and accelerate to my max speed.

I'm leaving.

I continue firing as I break away though. Six minutes. 55 more shots from each of my aft guns. Just as the distance reaches 20,000 yards and I'm nearly out of range, I see a single small explosion on the larger enemy.

A small smile of satisfaction.

I'm quitting the battle, but in my first action, I came out on top.

Cease fire.

Secure batteries.

Their bigger guns should give them more range, but they stop firing too.

I sail away as the sun starts to rise.

 

[Lonel]

Interesting, should be fun to see where this goes.

 

[doomlord9]

Nifty.

For inspiration, have an amusing AI trend I recently discovered on YouTube.

True size Shipgirls.


View: https://youtube.com/watch?v=ReugFrZDk3A


View: https://youtube.com/watch?v=hmOKzpofy-Q

Absolutely someone's ALOT of people's fetish, but still neat.

 

[Aurora Raven]

Interesting, should be fun to see where this goes.

Click to shrink...

Nowhere happy. There are chapters from later arcs in my snippet thread. Spoilers obviously.

Absolutely someone's ALOT of people's fetish, but still neat.

Click to shrink...

I'm sorry to disappoint those people, but our MC is 5ft 7.

 

[Aurora Raven]

It's been several hours since the battle, just sailing south at a slow and steady speed. Going by the sun, it's already late afternoon. I let my body relax, and my thoughts slow, even so, I have nothing to do but think.

I've sailed two hundred miles. I'll reach land again soon. What will I do when I reach it?

I think back to the Faroe islands. The excitement of battle has faded, as has the satisfaction.

I murdered a man.

No, it wasn't murder. I didn't mean to kill him. It was an accident, or temporary psychosis

Temporary?​

or some other form of diminished responsibility. It wasn't my fault.

He's still dead.

For all my excuses, he's still dead.

If I had never set foot on that island, he would still be alive.

I didn't mean to kill him, but my actions led directly to his death. I am responsible for it.

I'm taking the same actions. Heading towards land, towards people.

It won't happen again. I didn't expect to feel that way, to lose control. I couldn't prepare for it. I didn't even know that I'm…

That I'm an Abyssal.

It was a one off. I didn't kill that woman, or that town. I stopped myself twice. I can stop myself again. I will. I'll do better next time. I'm not… I'm not a monster.

Not human.​

I'm scared. I'm alone. I… I want to go home.

Come home.​

The whispers come and go, and I still can't make out what they're saying. If they're my crew, shouldn't I know what they're saying?

Surface contact, bearing 124°, range 33 miles.

I heard that one. Understood it. I'm getting better at feeling what my radar is detecting.

The return expands quickly, filling the whole space from 124° to 177°. That's definitely land.

That's got to be Scotland this time. I haven't sailed long enough to reach Ireland. Please don't be another random island that I forgot existed.

I turn towards it and it soon comes into view.

That's a cliff. I can't climb up that.

I follow the coastline south until I find a spot that isn't a tall wall of stone. It's only a little over a mile before the cliff gives way to a rocky shore that looks dangerous, and beyond that, an actual beach.

Scotland has beaches?

I mean, it's not a fantastic beach, barren and windswept, but it's a lot more than I expected to find.

I walk up the sand, golden in the afternoon sun. It's deserted, thankfully. I can postpone putting myself to the test a little longer.

As I stride from sea to land, my senses dull. I can't feel the terrain with my radar. I no longer see in every direction from dozens of eyes. I feel… lesser. Less like a ship, more like a person.

Shaking it off, I walk past the sand and up the slope onto grass. I still don't see anyone, but I do see a few buildings to my left.

I turn right.

I had thought to find authorities, get a ride home, but that was when I had believed myself… had deluded myself into thinking that I was a Shipgirl.

I'll need to get home some other way.

I come across a single building in a fenced off area. There are headstones inside.

A cemetery this close to the sea?

A sign on the gate: No Dogs.

Well, the language is right.

The sign next to it: Commonwealth War Graves.

There's someone standing in the graveyard.

He's alone.

Vulnerable. So vulnerable.

No, these aren't my thoughts.

I'm not thinking about killing a man in a cemetery.

I'm not.

The sea is right there. I could dump the body. Even if it washed up ashore, I'll be long gone by the time it's discovered.

As long as I don't tear his chest open, who's to say an Abyssal did it? They'll be looking for a murderer, not me.

I could kill him and get away with it.

No one is around, I could take my time.

Approach behind him, grab him, let him see what I am, let him fear, feast on it.

The look on his face…

Lifeless eyes staring back at me.

Remember this. Remember how the joy is fleeting. Remember how the horror remains. Let the guilt echo in my mind. Let the first man I killed be the last. Let his death save others from me.

I don't approach the man.

I turn away.

I walk away.

A gasp from behind me.

The feel of terror.

I stop walking.

I turn around.

I can't take my eyes off him.

He sees me. He recognises what I am. He fears me. He starts running.

Gravel shifts under my foot as I prepare to kick off.

I…

I…

I slam my fist into my thigh.

Pain!

Damage control teams and medics to starboard batteries.

There's a small dent in my leg. The bottom of my hand is bent and crumpled.

Aft starboard battery, turret rotation jammed.

I can't move my fourth and fifth digits.

There's no blood. Why isn't there any blood? Where is my blood?

If I peel open my hand, what will I find inside? Flesh, or machinery?

I squeeze my eyes shut rather than look at my hand.

I can hear the man running.

Keep running.

Run for your life.

Run for my soul.

Already ours.​

I don't look up. I don't tempt myself with the knowledge of how close he is. How slow he is. How easily I could catch up.

I stay kneeling, staring at the ground, till I can no longer hear him, till I can no longer sense his fear.

He's going to tell somebody.

You should have killed him.​

I stand. I need to get moving.

He ran towards the houses to the north. I'll follow the road inland, east.

If I'm lucky they'll just think he's seeing things. Only one witness, no evidence. Really, the fact that he's untouched is evidence that there wasn't an Abyssal here.

I had it under control, I turned away, until I tasted fear. Until he identified me as an Abyssal.

If I can hide it, people won't be scared, and I won't be tempted.

I look down at myself.

Bright white hair falls into my view, flowing over a black jacket. Underneath that, a black dress ending mid thigh. Black stockings. Black boots. All contrasting with the bone white of my skin.

There's no mistaking me as anything but an Abyssal. Maybe I could pretend it's a Nier Automata cosplay, at least a blindfold would cover up my eyes. That might fly at a convention, but certainly not right next to the ocean, nevermind all the ship parts covering me. Maybe I could hide the little radars and AA guns under a heavy coat, but there's no hiding the near metre long flight deck covering my entire left arm.

I need to get out of these clothes and find something less distinctive to cover myself with.

Where am I going to find human clothes?

A raincoat appears in my hands.

What?

This is my raincoat. Grey, the inner lining falling apart. The coat I wore to the Shetlands. The coat I was wearing when I…

How do I have this?

What else do I have?

Another coat appears in my hands. Bright yellow.

I've never had a yellow raincoat.

Where did this come fr—

One of the other men in the lifeboat was wearing a yellow raincoat.

We were all thrown into that pool. We all melted in it.

I close my eyes and focus on my insides. In a cargo hold somewhere in my hull, three sets of clothing.

I'm hyperventilating.

Are they part of me? Am I me or am I some conglomerate of the dead? A ghost ship.

I run through my memories. Every memory I can find is my own, only my own.

My memories. Do I have them because I am me, or are they just what's left from the man thrown into that pool? Am I just a confused Abyssal wearing the memories of a human?

No. I won't let myself think that way. It's a pointless thought. Like wondering if you die and are created anew each time you sleep.

I have my memories, I have my mind, I am me, in all the ways that matter.

I don't need this coat, take it back, wherever it goes.

The yellow raincoat disappears, returning to the hold inside me.

Ok, I've got a full set of clothes I can summon, my clothes.

I take off my jacket, or at least, I try to. It gets caught in the bits of ship stuck to me. They're not strapped to me, they're sticking out of me. Out of my arms, out of my back, out of my head even.

Shipgirls don't walk around like this all the time, they can make it go away.

I close my eyes, focusing on feeling them. All the parts of me that are a warship. On the sea, they were close, as a part of me as my fingers. Now, on the land, they're distant. I could pull them closer, manifest the warship that I am, and I can push them further away.

Push the ship down, make myself be more of a person.

I open my eyes, the ship parts are gone.

I take the jacket off, but I can't find any zipper or other closure on the dress.

I made the yellow raincoat disappear. I try to do the same with my Abyssal jacket. It disappears from my hands just like the raincoat did.

Can I just make the dress disappear too?

No. Maybe if I'm holding it in my hands?

Apparently I was wearing a white one piece underneath it, and that is now all that I'm wearing. Well, that and the stockings.

I'll keep the swimsuit/leotard on. I don't have any underwear that will fit my new body, and I don't want to see underneath it.

Touching and dismissing the stockings and boots too, I summon my old clothes and put them on.

The trousers are a little tight around my hips and very loose around my waist, but the belt keeps them up, even if the tail of the belt is a foot long and I have to wrap it half way around my body to the loops on the back of my trousers. I roll the bottom hem up a couple of times. How many inches have I lost?

I'm swimming in the t-shirt and my jacket, but at least they have room for my chest. My hip length raincoat is now mid-thigh.

The shoes are a lost cause, way too big for me now. I summon back the Abyssal boots and pull my now overly long trousers down over as much of them as I can. Looks like I'll be wearing high heels for the foreseeable future.

I tuck my hair into my collar and pull the hood up.

Aside from my hands and my face, I'm covered up.

Pity I wasn't wearing my gloves when I was captured. They were with my luggage when it, presumably, went down with the rest of the ferry, so I don't have them with me now.

The face is a problem, or rather, the eyes are a problem. This is Scotland, people pale as corpses probably aren't that uncommon, but glowing blue eyes are a little rarer.

None of us had sunglasses or a facemask. I have my glasses, but I don't think transition lenses are going to be dark enough to block the glow.

I'll just need to try and turn away from anyone, close my eyes if I can't do that. It'll have to be enough.

I've already spent too long here, that guy could have already called the police, who could have called the navy, who could be on their way here to kill me. I hurry down the road at a fast, but human, pace.

My nervousness gets the better of me and after taking a quick look around to make sure no one can see me, I break out into a faster than human sprint.

Running in heels isn't as hard as people say, or maybe the Abyss just makes good shoes.

I feel something bouncing along my leg as I run.

Unzipping my pocket, I reach into it and find my phone. It's been in my trouser pocket this whole time. Through my capture, my transformation, my whole journey.

I check my jacket breast pocket too, and find my passport, wallet, and keys.

I don't look anything like my passport or driving license photo anymore, so those aren't too useful, but at least I'll be able to open the door if I get home.

When I get home.

I hold down the power button on my phone. Come on, have charge. It powers on and presents the lock screen. 17:40 Fri 30th August. It was the 27th when they attacked the ferry. Three days of hell.

I press my thumb down on the fingerprint sensor.

Fingerprint not recognised.

I should have expected that.

I look at my thumb. I don't see any grooves at all. I don't think I even have fingerprints.

I'm glad the touchscreen still registers my fingers at least.

Entering the code I unlock the phone and go straight to google maps.

Wait, do I have a signal? One bar. Please work.

The map takes an age to load.

Where is Habost? Zooming out, I find myself… on another goddamn island.

I'm in the Outer Hebrides. That's still Scotland. It's fine, it's only 34 miles of sea to the mainland, only two hours even if I take it slow. Five miles over land through what looks like uninhabited shrubland to get to the sea. First, getting through the village, well, single road, of Halbost without killing anyone.

Actually, just south of me, in Swainbost, there's a petrol station, with what looks like a convenience store attached. They're bound to have some cheap sunglasses right?

I'll go there, grab some sunglasses, then head east to the sea, sail to the mainland, then make more plans from there.

Leaving the road, I run across the fields.

Why does anyone live here? This is desolate and depressing. Even the sheep look depressed. At least the sheep aren't scared of me, nor do I feel any desire to hurt them.

I take a running leap over a wire fence. I clear it easily. I should advertise my one step program to becoming a peak athlete.

Setting aside everything else, it does feel good to be able to run faster and jump higher than ever before.

I get to the petrol station, and it's nothing like the image on google maps. Three pumps in front of a small building, Swainbost Licensed Grocer.

Sure, whatever, the mission remains unchanged.

There's going to be at least one person in there.

In and out, find and steal an item, don't kill anyone. I can do this.

Should I keep my hood up? Looking like a shiplifter would attract more attention, and white hair isn't solely an Abyssal trait. The hood might be able to hide my eyes a bit, from the side at least, though. I'll keep the hood up. Better a shoplifter than an Abyssal.

I walk through the open door, looking down, eyes mostly closed, head tilted away from the counter. I must look so suspicious right now.

Magazines, crisps, other snacks, there! A few cheap looking sunglasses on a rack, and by the counter, some face masks. Thank you covid.

I grab both then sprint out the door. I hear a yell behind me. No fear though. My disguise worked!

Out the door, across the road, over the fence, through the fields. I don't think anyone's chasing me, but the sooner I'm off this island and away from the guy who saw me at the graveyard, the better.

It takes me less than 15 minutes to cross the island, even on uneven terrain, and soon I'm stepping back on to water.

Next stop, actually Scotland, for real this time.

 

[Aurora Raven]

Two hours later, I'm nearing land again.

The setting sun behind me casts my shadow far eastward, as if even that is desperately reaching towards land.

Said land is mostly cliffs, but it doesn't take long to find a beach, several actually. I can see structures and cars near some of them, so disregard those ones. The mainland is more populated than the Hebrides.

Infested.​

Humans really get everywhere don't they?

I try to check maps again to find a path avoiding populated areas, but I don't have a signal out here. All I have is my position, 58.184°N, 5.417°W, and a map that is pretty much just the shape of the land. London has some detail, the data must be stored in cache, but I've never had cause to look at Scotland, so I've got nothing saved there.

There's still some information, a handful of cities and main roads, but none of the small towns and campsites that I'm trying to avoid. All it can tell me is that I'm 65 miles from Inverness and 510 miles from home, land miles, not nautical miles, which I realise is the unit I've been thinking in all this time.

Ok, that's fine, I'll be able to get more information once I get back into mobile data range, but I need to get on land for that, and to do that I need to pick a beach.

The furthest south and the furthest from what looks like a campsite then. At least most people aren't going to be out on a beach at nearly 20:00. There's a good chance I won't run into anyone.

The sun is finishing setting as I step onto the shore. Good, I'm safer, everyone else is safer, under cover of night.

There's a road, barely, at the top of the beach. South or east? East would take me further inland, probably a better chance of finding that data I seek,

Stay by the sea.​

but my objective is south, and if I run into trouble I need to be by the sea.

I'm not sure how long I've walked, in the dark, without buildings, without people, without anything, just following the gravel road, but I eventually come across a sign marking the beginning of a village, Achiltibuie.

No one is awake, no one is going to appear. I'm just going to run through it. Follow the road, don't look up, keep moving.

The village passes quickly and soon I'm out of it, past it.

The road turns from gravel to dirt, turning into a path, then into nothing. Where is the road?

I look up and am greeted by the sea.

Of course I picked the wrong road.

All roads lead back to us.​

I'm not backtracking. If I follow the coast I'll find another village or road eventually. The coast to my left does not look easy to walk though, a tall and rocky mountain.

The sea in front of me is flat, its waves no obstacle to me.

Back to the sea.​

An inlet is barely even the sea. It's fine, I'm just going back for a little bit, just to get around the mountain. I'll be by the coast the whole time. I step onto the water.

The sea welcomes me back. All the parts of me that I suppress on land return and embrace me. I feel complete, like

Where you belong.​

this is where I belong.

It's a short trip across the inlet, and I find what I was looking for on the land to my left. Structures, a road, I could walk ashore again, but

Stay.​

I don't want to. I can stay out here a little longer. Just a little longer.

I don't think the land to my right is an island, it's the mainland too, this inlet will either become a river or be a dead end, I can walk onto land then.

I'm conscious of the rocks on either side of me, there's even a lighthouse on my left. I don't want to dash myself upon the rocks, break my keel in shallow water. My keel?

There are boats here, fishing boats. They're so small compared to me, built of fragile wood. I pity them, trapped here, unable to brave the ocean. They're either too small to have spirits or they're still sleeping. For the best maybe, they don't have to be aware of their slavery.

I see where the boats' masters are now, an actual settlement rather than a handful of huts. All dark, all sleeping, all defenceless.

Defenceless?

These aren't my thoughts. I recognise these feelings, they're not mine. I need to get off the water, get away from that part of me.

I run up the beach, a carpark full of caravans meeting me at the top. I catch my reflection in a windscreen, Abyssal. My clothes are gone and I'm wearing the dress again. When did that happen? It must have been when I sailed.

I check over myself: All the clothes, all the ship parts, it's all there again, and my right hand isn't crumpled anymore. It's healed… Repaired. I didn't notice it.

It's good that it doesn't hurt anymore, that I can move all my fingers again, but I don't like that my body just does things without me knowing. I suppose it's always been like that, I never instructed my heart to beat, nor for my body to heal, but this new body is capable of much less innocent acts. It's not safe for me to ignore it.

I can't walk around a town like this, I need to get changed again. I can take the clothes off just by touching them, can I put clothes on the same way?

Grabbing the dress and disappearing it, I hold my hand to my legs and try to reach for my trousers. That worked. Quick change wardrobe, convenient. I quickly put all my human clothes on and make my way out of the caravan park. Even if everyone should be asleep at this hour there's no reason to risk discovery by a night owl.

This is a sizable settlement and a tourist spot, surely they have modern infrastructure. I turn my phone on, and sure enough, I find a signal.

Where am I? Ullapool. How far from home am I?

Almost five hundred miles from home, and that's in a straight line. I can't just set a bearing and walk. Can I? No, even if I can just walk through the elements and across rivers, my new strength doesn't mean I can just walk up a cliff, nor can I walk across a motorway or through a town during the day.

The distance is daunting, it seems insurmountable. It would be a hell of a journey by car, even worse by public transport, and neither of those options are available to me. Even if I walk without stopping, which seems possible given I haven't slept in days but still feel fine, it'll be at least a week, probably longer. Add time for any detours around towns I have to take. Add more time if I need to travel by night only.

I'm nowhere near as fast on foot as I am on the water.

Come back to the sea.​

I'm almost tempted to go back out and sail down via the Irish sea, but that's just asking to be spotted and sunk.

God, this is so hard, part of me wants to just contact the authorities

They'll kill you.​

but they'll kill me, so that's not an option.

I'm already peckish. I suppose I've already shoplifted once, I could break into a store along the way and steal food. Is that really sustainable though? If it's during the night time, I'll have to break in. There will be alarms, there will be CCTV, I'll be leaving a trail of evidence. If it's during opening hours, there will be people, both customers and staff. It might be against store policy, but it only takes one enterprising employee to try and stop me, and then there will be another corpse, the whole country will be on alert, and I'll be screwed.

Food can wait, home comes first. Always first.

I turn back to maps, how does it recommend I make my way home?

Eleven hours by car, great, my car is at home. Could I steal a car? I don't have the faintest idea on how to start a car without the key. People tend to leave their keys somewhat near to their front doors right? I could break down a front door, search for a key, then take a car.

Even if I manage that, the car will be flagged as stolen and the number plate will light a trail across a hundred road cameras leading straight to me. I can't drive it all the way home.

Steal a car, drive for one night, ditch it far from home, then walk the last hundred miles or so? Maybe, but can I steal the car in the first place?

What if the residents wake up? The door can't stop me from entering, but it can stop me from entering quietly. The people inside will wake up, they'll be terrified, and then I'll kill them.

I can't do it. It'll lead directly to my death. The police might not rush to investigate a stolen car, but a home invasion and a bloody murder, or two, plus a stolen car they can track, it will be a national manhunt.

For all that I want to be home within twelve hours, I must discount stealing a car.

Next option: Eleven and a half hours by public transport. Bus to Inverness, train to Edinburgh, train to London, train in London, train home.

I've been around people. They won't be scared if I don't do anything scary. I can board a bus without hurting anyone. Where the bus is going though, a city…

My hands itch.

I don't know Inverness, I don't know Edinburgh, but I know London. I can see King's Cross station, I can see the crowd of people.

My hands twitch.

I can see what I'll do to them.

I clench my fists, focusing on the pain of my nails pressing into my palms. They'd be drawing blood if I had any.

I can't go there, not to a city, not to a busy train station.

Next option: Two hundred and nineteen hours on foot. The path goes through Edinburgh and Manchester, I'll need to avoid those. Still, at least ten days of continuous walking. A glance to the top right of my screen shows that I have 64% battery, even if I only check intermittently my navigation will run out before that. I'll find some paper somewhere— a blank piece of paper appears in my left hand. Ok… And a pen? A fountain pen appears as well. I haven't used one of these since primary school. I'll write down the steps and landmarks whilst I have the map available. Between that and my built-in compass, I should be able to make it. I can probably obtain a paper map from a motorway service station too if I need one.

Scanning through the instructions, steps 45 to 49, stay on the A9 for sixty miles… There are 489 steps.

It's so far, and it's going to take so long. Is there really no other way?

The map does offer a fourth option: Fifty eight hours by bicycle. I'm strong, I'm fast, I bet I can cut a few hours off that, even if I have to detour around cities. Six hundred and seventy miles, it goes through Inverness too, but after that, it even looks like it dodges major cities.

The more I look at it, the more this seems plausible, more than plausible, the best possible option.

Ok, I'm going to cycle down the length of this country. My phone might last three days if I ration it, but I note down the instructions, far fewer than the walking route, anyway.

Now, I need to find a bicycle.

More accurately, I need to steal a bicycle.

I had never stolen anything, then I stole sunglasses yesterday, and now I'm stealing a whole bicycle today. Who knew the slippery slope of criminality was this steep?

And the man I murdered.

I'm at the bottom of the cliff already. What is theft compared to that?

Why stop at one?​

Would killing more really damn me further? I don't know. I won't think like that. It's not about me, it's about not hurting anyone else. I'm doing this to avoid killing anyone. I'm doing the right thing now.

Moralising later, preferably never, bike first. I've got to stay mission focused.

I exit the caravan park and enter the town proper. The sky is lightening, though it's not really dawn yet, even if there's some early bird walking the streets, my disguise will hold, especially in poor light, and I'll be out of here before daybreak.

House, house, house, playground, leisure centre, church. No bikes, no bikes, no bikes, no bikes, bike!

In front of a house on my right, leaning against a side gate, a bicycle. I move closer to inspect it. It looks to be in working order, a quick spin of the pedals moves without resistance. It's not an off roader and I'm not sure if it'll last six hundred miles of being ridden hard, but I'm not spoiled for choice. I'll make it work.

The bicycle is secured to the gate by a chain but that's not going to stop me. I take it in both hands and with nary any exertion pull the metal links apart easily. I whisper an apology to the homeowner. I hope you don't dearly love this bike or anything, but this is better for both of us.

Bicycle obtained, instructions noted, I'm ready to resume my journey. I don't have a helmet, but I'm pretty sure my skull is stronger than any bike helmet.

I haven't ridden a bike in at least a decade, but it's literally riding a bike, the saying can't be wrong.

I step onto the bike and place a foot onto its pedal. It's a tad awkward with my heeled shoe, maybe I should try and steal some shoes next, but you're supposed to cycle with the ball of your foot anyway.

I check the map one last time. I don't want to actually go to Inverness, but that is one of the few places to cross the river Ness. Instead of going east of Loch Ness I'll go west, then turn east afterwards to rejoin the route.

A835 for forty miles till Wester Moy, then I'll turn south and cross the river to take my detour. I note down all the road numbers I'll need: A832, A862, A833, A831, A82 till the A86, A889, then finally rejoin the route on the A9, having bypassed Inverness entirely.

The route after that takes me awfully close to Edinburgh, and Glasgow is just to the west of that, but I'm sure I can thread the needle between the two cities. In any case, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I push off and start cycling, slowly at first, but soon gaining in confidence and speed. Yeah, I remember how to ride a bike.

---

A/N: I've been plotting out our MC's journey step by step via Google streetview. I have learnt more about making my way down the west coast of Scotland than I ever intended. All the street signs and structures that our protagonist sees are real, and yes, there is a bicycle leaning on a side gate outside a house on Quay street in Ullapool.

 

[Aurora Raven]

Asphalt, road markings, trees, fields, hills. I can almost pretend that everything is normal. With no one in sight, all alone, I feel normal. Even the villages, small and quiet as they are, I pass through each in under a minute without seeing anyone.

So unlike the sea, beaches, cliffs, and mountains, the environment here could be home.

I was never that fit, exercise was always quickly straining. Hours of cycling would have left me exhausted, but now it's so easy I can almost forget I'm doing it. No muscle aches, no heaving breaths, just smooth repeated motions carrying me steadily to where I want to go.

I don't think I'm that fast, not by automobile standards, but without the chassis of a car around me, it feels recklessly fast, white dashes blurring beneath me. My coat hood is blown back and my hair half untucked from my collar by the air rushing by me. It's fine, people have white hair, it's not any one feature that will expose me, but a combination, well, apart from my eyes. There's no point stopping to fix my hair anyway, it'll just get blown out again.

I'd expect my eyes to water from the speed too, but they're fine, not watering or anything. I don't think that's just because of the sunglasses shielding them.

My nose is fine too actually, despite all the plantlife surrounding me. I have, or had I suppose, hay fever. I won't miss losing that part of me at least.

The road I'm on is heading south west, I think the body of water to my left is Loch Ness, no monsters around though. Apart from me.

A road sign indicates the speed limit has decreased to twenty miles per hour.

I wasn't keeping a close watch on speed limits, but I think it was a national speed limit road before this, sixty miles per hour. That's a pretty steep drop, sure to catch motorists off guard, that might be the point of it, getting some extra revenue from speeding tickets.

Do speed limits apply to cyclists? I'm not sure, maybe they never legislated for it since it would be pretty hard to break the speed limit on an unpowered bike. Even if they do apply, there's no number plate for an ANPR speed camera to catch.

More relevant to me, the speed limit dropping means I'm probably about to enter a town, where I might encounter pedestrians.

Counterintuitively, it's likely safer for me and for them if I speed up rather than slow down. The sooner I'm through here, the better.

Whoosh!

I flinch and nearly fall off the bike, my left foot leaving a furrow in the gravel on the shoulder of the road as I barely catch myself from the shock of a van passing on my right by less than a foot.

"Son of a bitch!" I shout-hiss.

You're supposed to leave at least a metre and a half of space when overtaking a cyclist, especially on a windy road like this! Fucker is probably speeding too by the looks of it.

At the speed the gap between us is widening I'll only have a couple of seconds to make the shot. That's all I need. My arm is already up, the gun is already in my hand, the sights are already lined up, my finger is already pulling back the trigger, the hammer is already cocking…

What am I doing?

The van goes round the bend and out of sight.

I shudder and exhale, taking my finger off the trigger. The hammer snaps back to its uncocked position.

Where did the gun come from? This is a human revolver, not a naval gun turret, and I'm not on the water. How did a gun appear in my hand?

I wasn't carrying a gun when I died changed, was one of the other men? No, I know some people have guns, legally or otherwise, but would they have carried a hand cannon like this on to a ferry? It wouldn't be easy to conceal a gun this size, it's damn near a foot long. Then again, it was cold and wet, and under a heavy rain coat, it would be possible. If they had something like this they probably would have used it, either on an Abyssal, or on themselves.

The gun looks too old to be something one of them would have; no plastics, all dark gun metal. I take a closer look, engraved over the cylinder is 'Mark VI', and under it is 'Webley Mark VI Patents 1919'. This gun predates the second world war even.

Unless one of the other men was carrying around antiques, and ammunition for them, this must have come from the ship part of me.

Focusing on that part of me, feeling what it's inside, I find them. Dozens of revolvers just like this one, racks of rifles and machine guns, an armory inside me.

I must have called this gun into my hand, like I've done with my clothes.

I try to disappear the gun, but it stays. They don't want to take it back. They want me to use it.

"Take it back. I don't want it." I insist out loud, pointing the gun into the water.

Reluctantly, it returns to its position on a gun rack.

I let my arm fall to my side. I can still feel the gun, every weapon in me, just waiting for a chance to leap into my hands, to kill.

And I thought I would be safe as long as I didn't touch anyone.

With every new discovery about myself, I find new dangers.

Too dangerous to go home.

I shake it off, I've come this far, I've done fine. Once again, I didn't pull the trigger. I'm stronger than whatever fucked up thoughts the Abyss tries to put in my head.

I'm already off the bike, I might as well take the chance to see where I am, how much progress I've made on my journey.

I'm just outside Fort Augustus, eighty miles into my journey. It's only six in the morning, I've only been cycling for two and a half hours at most. That's an average of, what, thirty something miles per hour? That's a good speed, that's a great speed. Five hundred and eighty miles left, that's less than twenty hours if I can keep up that speed. I can go faster than that, I wasn't exerting myself at all. I could be home today!

The thought buoys me, spurs me onwards.

--------

I don't encounter any pedestrians in Fort Augustus, and only a few motor vehicles, fortunately none as rage inducing as the van earlier.

I have to avoid my own anger as much as I do their fear to keep things under control. I wonder if sertraline will still work on me, I think I've got a couple of boxes of the stuff back home, though they may be expired by now.

I maintain a rapid speed, even after the town when I turn off the asphalt road to a dirt path, even when riding up the side of the mountain the path cuts across. I don't think the bike appreciates it, especially not when I'm going down the other side of the mountain at even greater speeds. My nerves don't appreciate it either, going that fast down a dirt road on a bike is terrifying, but my ability to feel and endure fear has been exercised, and I can take it. I can take a lot if it means getting home faster.

I'm rewarded for my efforts though, I've travelled another hundred and thirty miles in under three hours. Unfortunately, it's now rush hour and I'm about to cross the Forth river into the outskirts of Edinburgh.

There are even other cyclists on the cycle lane crossing the bridge.

Yearning. Images of possibilities. Bloody images. Beautiful images. Images that I could make real.

I didn't think it would be this strong without their fear calling to me.

My eyes keep wandering onto targets… people.

I thought I was better than this.

Each individual person doesn't call to me too strongly, but the number of them. It's… something. I don't want to say overwhelming, I don't want to admit that.

I let my fear bolster my self control where morality and righteousness aren't enough. If I lose control here, I will be hunted, and I will die.

Push aside the visions of murder and focus on the visions of death, my death if I fail this test.

I won't fail. I can't fail.

Sunglasses on fully, hair tucked in, hands clenched firmly around the handlebars, where they can't summon a gun, or reach out and tear.

If my teeth were any weaker they'd crack.

--------

Another three hours, another hundred and twenty miles. I'm out of Scotland and into England now, the Lake district to my right, the North Pennines to my left. England's green and pleasant lands surround me, but my sword can, must, stay sleeping and out of my hand. I do actually have a sword, several swords. Hell if I know why, my hull is from the nineteen forties, not the eighteen forties, maybe for ceremonial reasons. The numerous bayonets in my armory are likely meant for a more practical purpose.

--------

Another two and a half hours, another hundred miles. I had to make an adjustment to the route, like hell I'm going through the centre of Manchester. I go through the less dense gap between Liverpool and Manchester instead.

The motorway is a scar upon the landscape. I miss how pristine the highlands were. How uncontaminated. The number of people keeps growing, even when it's not rush hour they scramble along in their thousands.

I'm not sure how much more I can take.

It's only going to get worse.

I'll get used to it, I'll have to. Every time I resist is a victory, every time I say no is another step closer to beating this.

--------

Another five hours, another hundred and ninety miles. I'm out of the north, out of the midlands, in the south now. I've never been to Milton Keynes and I see no reason to change that, especially now. With a little route alteration I can dodge every city and town now, sticking to smaller roads through the Chilterns. Compared to scraping around the outside of Manchester and Birmingham, this is easy. It helps that it's evening too, far less people out and about compared to the early afternoon.

I'm so close now.

--------

Another half an hour, another twenty five miles. I recognise this place, Windsor. Even steering around Staines and every other town, I'm less than twenty miles from home. I'm giddy.

--------

The reservoir to my right, the river to my left, a road I've travelled countless times.

The park, the church, the trees, sights I've seen countless times.

One more turn, I see my house. Windows dark, gate closed, locked up tight, but welcoming me all the same.

I climb off the bike, the gravel crunches under my feet with every step I take.

Nine o'clock in the evening on the thirty first of August, the sun has just set, I'm standing outside my house gates. It's surreal. It feels unreal. Some part of me didn't think I'd make it.

I did make it, despite everything, I did make it. Everything will be fine now.

I unzip my coat. I reach into my jacket breast pocket and retrieve my keys. The keys smell of oil and metal, like they always do.

Two keys for the door, one key for the gate, two keys so similar I get mixed up every time. I feel for the shape of the lock brand on the gate key, like I always do.

Unlocking the gate, walking through, locking it behind me. I run my hand over the car sitting in the courtyard. Wish you were with me earlier, it would have saved me a lot of trouble.

The front door is heavy and double locked, two keys, a ritual I've performed countless times, it feels more sacred now. I open the lower lock, then the upper one, like I always do.

I open the door and just stare inside for a moment. One more step.

I take that step, my heels clicking against the wooden floor.

A step to the right, avoiding the alarm sensor's line of sight as I reach the control box and key in the code, like I always do.

I take off my raincoat and hang it on the rack, like I always do.

I'm home.

I've done this so many times, felt this so many times.

I'm home. I'm safe now. I don't need to fear, to struggle. Why am I breathing hard?

I see myself in the mirror to my left. The familiarity of home makes the unfamiliarity of myself all the stronger. It doesn't matter, I'm still me, I'm home.

I'm home. Why am I crying?

 

[GreekPerseus]

Excellent start to a story! Can't wait for me. I hope they figure out how to avoid the whole murder boat thing before they do something tragic

 

[Kojivsleo]

Wonder how long its been since she died and came back, couldn't have been too long since her house still has her stuff inside.

 

[Aurora Raven]

Wonder how long its been since she died and came back, couldn't have been too long since her house still has her stuff inside.

Click to shrink...

Abduction from the Shetlands ferry was on the 27th August 2024, return home was on the 31st August 2024.