A/N: Okay! So the whole 'YouTuber is sent to a video game and doesn't know the world they're in is a game' concept is one I've had for a long while. It originally came about as a 'Dan and Phil trek through the Undertale universe' which I will write at least the Ruins arc for at some point.
But I had watched most of Jack's Subnautica Full Release play through, and recently started to watch his original playthrough, hence this little Drabble concept.
This does not completely follow the plot or set up of Subnautica, just mostly does. There will be differences and inconsistencies, whether deliberate or not.
Based on mannerisms and such, this is late 2016-2018 Jack, which those are most of his videos I've seen. I've only recently watched his much earlier stuff (and it's fascinating to see how much a person has changed.)
It's part of the Dissassociation series because I am putting YTer stuff there, and in this he'll be torn between memories.
Hope you enjoy!
(Also, Jack, if you ever come across this, apologies - I know it's strange to have Real Person fiction made.)
EDIT: This is not dialogue heavy, just heavy handed in general. Sorry.
Word count: 2,833
It's quiet down in the deep down dark deep down
The sun bleeds out across the horizon in fiery hues, flaring before it drops off, suddenly, into cascading night.
He sits on the edge of the lifepod and watches, teetering between anxious worry and star-y wonder. A nutrition bar hangs limply in his grasp. The cooling night breezes whip at the sloshing sea, lilting enough to tussle his sea-washed hair.
The blue eyes that had been turned heaven-ward recently, close, and he heaves a sigh.
How the hell did he even get here?
Bwee-eep! Bwee-eep! Bwee-eep!
His mind is roughly jolted awake from the dark confines of sleep; slamming him into a tumbling confine of flashing dark and umber-carmine.
He's slammed into a hard surface, and into the pressing dark, once more.
Jack wakes up with a splitting headache.
And this isn't any old headache; it's not even a hangover. Instead it is a slicing, jagged mess of lightning, careening through his gray-matter and leaving him blinking roughly against light distortions.
That was . . . bad, wasn't it? He's pretty sure that's bad. But, how did. . .?
He regains his senses; it takes him awhile to realize that the rocking motion is not due to his surely splintered skull, nor the abysmal vision. He's in some sort of pod awash in dim lighting, rocking back and forth roughly.
Another moment leaves him to collect and infer that the pod he was in was sparking and on fire.
He hurried to get himself out of his seat, fingers more sluggish than his distorted thoughts. The ringing in his ears is persistent, and the blood caking his hair is beginning to itch, but he still manages to get up and grab the g-dang Fire extinguisher.
He leans against the wall, panting, as the fire begins to sputter out. He can't help thinking, wondering, letting his mind drift-
Did he do a bad?
Because,
He glances around, memories jumbling, tumbling together.
this all seemed pretty bad.
It takes Jack a few good hours to locate the medpack, after stopping the fire, leaning against the wall while breathing raggedly, and fighting off nausea. When he does, he's surprised to find simple, white cloths that instantly bring down the pain, rather than gauze and ointments. It seems rather. . . advanced, for some reason.
After that he tries to recall what happened. He must have been in a, uh, ship, right? A spaceship. Because an airplane didn't have a pod like this, and a boat wouldn't have sent him flying through the air.
The recesses of Jack's memory are dark, liquid warmth, with flashes of elusive color. He remembers laughter, a pretty girl's smile (his girl), a boisterous man (his friend), and other people, shaded in various hues of emotion and personality. Green is very prominent in his mind, even to the point of remembering a green and black chair, though he couldn't fathom why it was so important.
But these parts of his mind, while out of focus, are just wisps. They feel important.
The ship crash also comes back, though, slamming in unsettling clarity. Flashing lights, people (who he can't recall the name of), screaming, Susie-or-Cindy's automated voice dead panning, 'Gravitational pull- thrusters irreprepably damaged- all to lifepods- Warning, warning, warning.'
Jack dismisses the thoughts with a gentle shake of his head (the movement making him dizzy). "Positive Mental Attitude, Jack-a-boy," he mutters to himself. He quirks a small smile; the words felt like home.
He decides to keep talking aloud - it feels good, it feels right. And honestly, it calms his erratically beating heart a bit.
"Okay," he breathes, sitting up a bit more. "I know who I am, my age, my home. But I don't know what I do or why I'm here. I was. . . on a spaceship I guess? No, that doesn't sound right - but how else could I be here? I remember the crash. . .but not, working on a ship, or, or-"
He hisses and squeezes his blue eyes tightly as pain wracks through his head and down his spine. His limbs spasm, and he's wheezing by time the pain subsides.
"okay, okay," he says hoarsely. "No - no thinking about, about before I guess. I'll just, uh, rest a bit."
After some quiet contemplation (his head is already feeling better) he gets up, albeit shakily, and goes to the little hatch thing on the wall.
('Fabricator', his mind supplies.)
"Well le'see what we got here," he mutters, tinkering with the panel awkwardly. He gives an involuntary yelp as it pops open, a display interface materializing to the right.
Blue eyes widen in wonderment as he pokes at it, and further options open. He finds that if he hovers over an option, a 'required materials' list appears below it.
"This. . ." he starts off quietly, eyes sparking, "is SO EFFING COOL!"
Jack is momentarily distracted from his predicament as he lights up like a joyful child, fawning over the technology with fascinated glee.
"So, looks like I have means to make food an' stuff - I guess the pod must have an automatic scanning system? Oooh! That's genius!" He keeps blathering to himself, relaxing further.
He managed to turn his attention to the sparking systems, and the storage compartment on the wall. It looks like he already has a welder, and manages to further fix the pod.
The oxygen begins to cycle, feeling cleaner, and the lights stabilize on.
"Now to just make a . . . diving . . suit. . ." Jack looks down, trailing off. "Oh. I'm already wearing one. Well, alrighty! Time to explore the great deep around me!"
And with that he plunged through the bottom hatch with an eager yelp.
It's -
its gorgeous.
Sunlight filters through, cascading the water in shimmering tones, even below the surface. The aquatic plant-life, so similar to that on Earth, is vastly alien at the same time. A few strange fish dart here and there; a bulbous eyed black fish, a green curved boomerang-like one, something that looks like an inflated pool toy. Jack stays there, motions light, and blue eyes wide behind the mask.
Holy hell, he thinks.
He shakes his head, refocusing; his pack can only hold so much Inventory, and his belt only so many tools. He should get as much building material as he can, and some food while he's at it.
He brings himself to the reef floor, grabbing a few of the brightly colored mushrooms. There's an interface on his pack, displaying 'Inventory'; hovering over the contents gives him information.
ACID MUSHROOM
-pure acid
-inedible
-uses: electronics and batteries
Okie dokie, this'll be useful.
Jack continues gathering supplies, even grabbing a few of the fish (Peepers - jeepers, creepers; where'd you get those peepers? He mentally sings.) He's startled as a female voice chirps near his ears, 'Warning: Thirty seconds of Oxygen remaining'.
He quickly obeys the voice from his mask, propelling towards the surface. He bursts from the ocean, quickly removing his mask and taking in gulps of air.
"Ugh, didn't even notice how low it was getting. How am I gonna get back to Henry?"
While thinking of how to get back to his base, his eyes focus on the sight before him.
"Holy eff. . ." He whispers hoarsely.
Because-
because this-
it can't be-
There, before him, is the Aurora, blazing and caught on a sandbar.
The voice chirps again, 'Oxygen tank restored to full capacity.'
But it goes unnoticed, as the sight leaves him struggling to breathe.
The days begin to go by slowly, at first. It's like starting the new school year, at a new school; the tentative, wary beginning as one acclimates and learns about their environment.
Jack begins his survival, not when he crash lands, but when he takes the first of the three main steps: Water, Food, Shelter.
The fabricated water is clear and cool, but carries an obvious and distinct metallic taste that filtered water usually has.
Nothing has ever tasted better.
But, there's a bit of a snag when he starts on the second.
"Sorry little guy," Jack winces, keeping his grip on the wriggling Peeper. He's not squeamish, by any means, but that doesn't make it any easier. Killing in video games (?) is easy-peasy, almost no remorse, and even though the concept of killing for food doesn't bother him, when faced with the actuality, it's a little harder to swallow.
Susie-Cindy, the automated AI, was happy to inform him that the fish was edible (and it listed various other fish okay for consumption). But it also informed him that he needed to kill it for the fabricator to properly cook and remove blood and any remaining excrement in the body.
. . . He hadn't made a knife yet, either.
"Well," Jack scrunched his eyes as its desperate wriggling intensified, "guess I'll just. . . hafta wack ya."
He gripped it by the tail, muttered some Gaelic prayer through a grimace, and whacked it on the edge of the fabricator, once, twice, thrice.
"Ewwww," he said in exaggerated disgust.
The Fabricator made quick work of the fish, and Jack picked it up tentatively. "Need to eat," he muttered. Then he dug in.
It honestly wasn't that bad; the flavor wasn't like any sort of Earth fish, and yet. . . it held that same, reminiscent taste - delicate and vaguely fishy. The meat fell the same way beneath his teeth, though it was colored a strange darker gray. It would probably even be good if he had some spices to cook it with.
Luckily it was very high in protein and nutrients. According to the automated scanner, most of the planet was composed in this way - he could literally live off of fish and fresh water.
He still couldn't suppress the feeling that there was something not right; something in the water and the organisms. Something dangerous.
But for now, he decided, he would just enjoy his fish.
(Well, not enjoy, per se, but at least not feel hungry.)
Jack was doing well, actually enjoying the planet to a degree. He was able to gather enough materials to build the little Seamoth - which he named Sally, and was on his way to building the Cyclops (which he planned to christen as Maria). He had a small base going; just one main room and some tubes, but homey enough with a bed.
He avoided the Aurora for the time being - the radiation suit wasn't his top priority at the time - and mostly stayed near Henry and his base.
Despite the isolation though, he was okay.
He really was.
It took about three weeks.
Maybe two days after the Ship's final explosion.
It could have been the signals he had received - gut-wrenchingly horrible things, messages that he knew deep down were left by the dying or dead.
It could have been the Island, with its alien technology, and hidden mysteries.
(Because, where did they go? Why did they leave? Did they all die off?)
It wasn't a stretch to say that the Leviathian Reaper had taken its toll (he had made the radiation suit mere hours after that final explosion; desperate for answers and body aflame with curiosity at what had happened.)
(The run-in with the monster had been terrifying enough.)
(The implications of the PDAs maybe even more so.)
(He had almost lost Sally on that trip.)
But, truthfully.
If he was being honest.
It was the loneliness.
Jack had ended up leaving the room a wreck; deep gouges in the wall where he had dug with the knife, slashing, hacking, screaming terribly, bloodily, that he couldn't do this, it was too much, until he collapsed to the floor in a heap, sobbing, grief echoing off the walls painfully.
He couldn't bring himself to deconstruct it, but he couldn't bring himself to enter it again, either.
He built away from it.
Signe, Mark, Robin, Sam, Felix. . .
He listed his friends' names in his head, as he sought out more titanium, as well as the entrance to the Blood Kelp Zone.
It helped Jack focus; to remember without remembering. His memories of the Aurora remained clear, consistent.
He trusted them less.
It was the fuzzy, distorted ones that he felt a sense of reality from; feelings and emotions, touch and taste - summer strawberries, rough-edged smiles; bubbling laughter, and faux exasperation. Friendship, family, partner, love; it wasn't the clarity of the image but how they made him feel that he trusted.
Had he ever been on the Aurora to begin with?
But then how did he get here?
Jack quickly shook that particular train of thought away; it tended to bring a bastard of a headache with it, and he would really rather not.
He had just noticed the bleep indicating low power in his Seaglide (and he had forgotten to bring an extra battery, dammit - what was wrong with him today?)
(Oh yeah, the Sickness - that was a thing that had gotten worse. Most days it was manageable - didn't cause a problem. But others. . .
He glanced at his hands; minuscule, glowing green lesions developing-
Well, foggy brain was definitely one of the symptoms.)
He was pulled from his musings again as Cindy-Susie(-whatever) cheeped cheerily, 'Thirty seconds of Oxygen remaining.'
Jack began his swim to the surface, Seaglide useless, and peeved at his idiocy. The water grew darker and he grimaced further.
Seriously, it's effing night already?!
'Ten seconds of Oxygen remaining.'
Shut the eff up Susie!
His anger weighed at him, dragging him down. The night engulfed the waters and the surface never seemed so far away.
C'mon Jackaboy; it's right there.
It wasn't until the night began to encompass him fully, that he realized it wasn't night at all.
'Warning: Imminent danger of Oxygen deprivation. Please refi. . .'
Hmm, you don't belong here, do you?
Ahh, but you are here.
Come to me, little traveller.
And let us speak.
Blue eyes cracked open to view an azure sky, empty of clouds.
Jack lay on his back, breathing raggedly; the mask and tank were ripped out from his mouth, and he lay on a gently rocking surface.
He squinted, trying to recall what had happened.
There was . . . a voice? Motherly, softly shadow-brushed, and from the dark quiet.
A dark he had violently been pulled into.
"Oh F-!" Jack sat up suddenly, hand on his forehead and hair brushed over it as he looked down to his lap in horror.
"Did I . . ." he licks his dry lips, hesitant to say it. ". . .die?"
He sits, muttering to himself and trying to calm his racing heart. "No, I couldn't have; my heart's still pumpin', and surely I'd be in the blazing bowels of hell if that were the case." He laughs weakly at his joke.
His eyes, filled with lackluster, close for a moment, and he takes a deep shuddering breath to reoriente himself.
They snap open as he hears a familiar, deep-thrumming noise, and is astounded to see that a Reefback is what's keeping him afloat.
Come to me.
Reasonably spooked, he jolts up, and almost collapses from unsteady legs. The Reefback beneath his feet seems content to stay there, treading water, so that Jack is in the sun-warmed air.
He sits, giving the shell a pat. "Uh, thanks Reefy. And . . . mysterious voice from the abyss?"
Nothing responds, save a seabird of some sort, and the hush of the ocean surface.
Jack slaps his forehead, muttering to himself. "I'm effing losing it, aren't I?"
He sighs, then stands. He straps on the Oxygen tank and rebreather.
"Actually, I probably lost it long ago."
Much doesn't change after that.
Honestly, he does change his view of Survival, to that of Comfort. It's easier that way.
But he knows - he knows - that he can't stay this way forever.
Jack's not getting any better, and he can't get off this planet with the Karaar disease infecting him. His building is limited by what he can reach, unless he's willing to brave the depths.
He's scared.
But he's also tired; and so, so alone.
(He just wants to go home to his girlfriend, and his friends; play stupid games and drink Starbucks and eat pizza-)
Jack opens his eyes to find that the sunset has fully faded, and the moon's had risen fully. He grips the nutrition block tightly, determination suddenly coursing through him. He knows what he needs to do.
He needs to make contact.
He needs to go deeper.
And he needs to find the voice.