AN: As we get deeper into this story, it is going to get progressively darker. The adult themes in this one are rampant, and some might be disturbing for younger readers. Here there be torture, violence, mental illness, drug and narcotic abuse, cult worship and disturbing imagery later on in the story. From here on out, this story will be rated M for these reasons.
First officer Sterling Mayhew is long removed from the horrors of captivity, but when he wakes in his bunk, coated in a light slick of sweat, and his muscles aching in ways they shouldn't, his days as a prisoner seem to return to him in waves. Gasping for air, his hand goes up to his chest, clawing at the invisible force that is pushing the air out of his lungs. The room spins around him, and Sterling coughs roughly into his pillow.
The pulling on his chest lessens, but the breathlessness doesn't leave, and Sterling sucks in air like he had been drowning. Panting, Sterling lays supine on his mattress, his chest rising and falling much faster than it should be.
The dark bunk room that has become his home houses more than just the sleeping crewman in the shadows, and as Sterling's blue eyes take in the scene before him, it shifts. Hammocks disappear into a growing murk that eats up the pristine floor boards and the grated hatch that led into the bowels of the ship. The smell is an abhorrent mix of copper and rotting fish, riding on a strong wind from the floor up.
In the growing stillness, Sterling's heart beats much too fast as it leaps into his throat. Sweat drips down his shaking form as he clamps a hand down on his mouth to quiet the scream that is working it's way up his throat.
-"I don't really want to use this again, please just tell me where the rest of the fleet is hiding." The face of his captor twists in the low light of the cistern chambers.
"I don't know! I'm just a midshipman." Throat raw and strength gone, Sterling goes slack against the iron chains. He feels the prod against the hollow of his side only briefly before a white hot flash races through his gaunt frame and dying muscles.
It lasts only a moment, and his breath is coming in ragged gasps, straining against the metal collar around his neck.
"We can make all of this stop." The voice of his captor is a twisted, low lilt, echoing off of crumbling mortar. A smile peeks through the hooded darkness, illuminated by a spark between the man's fingers.
"Just," The spark dances, spreading across his digits like liquid. "tell us" It's a hot, blue burn now racing up the man's forearm. "where they are."
For the first time, the man's face dances out of the darkness-
Sterling shakes himself out of the remnants of the memory, the all too familiar white hot pain erasing any other memory of the dream he may have had.
The crewman in the bunks beside him sleep soundly, unaware of the horror that unfolds to only him.
Shivering in a sudden frost, Sterling looks over at the scene, ice crystals cling to every avaliable surface and the odd churning tide of the mud beneath his feet stills. Long, green tentacles rise from the entropic chaos in the middle of the room, and just as a pair of ugly red eyes take shape, the room snaps.
Oaken floorboards gleam from their lowly position, the bunks have been restored to their position, and the room shows no sign of the horror that had manifested itself only moments ago.
Going about his normal morning routine now seems to be quite out of reach, and Sterling gets on his knees in front of his bed, pulling out the brass trunk that held the posessions he had been allowed to bring with him.
Hidden away in a sock that he never intended to wear had been his liquid salvation. Phials of silvery, irridescent liquid shone from inside the dingy cotton sock. It had been named very aptly "Liquid Light", and had cost a fortune to find and refine.
With only a week behind him, and his supply already frighteningly low, he shoves the sock back inside the dark confines of his trunk and closes the lid resolutely. He was a sailor, damnit. His military career had gone so much farther than he had thought it would, and just as soon as the needle slipped into the pale skin on his forearm, it would all end.
Standing up, he grabs his uniform and shaving kit before retreating into the small bathroom tucked into the corner.
The crisp uniform and fresh shave would do little to hide the hideous bags under his eyes, but the very least he could do is set a good example for the rest of the men to follow. The shower he shoves himself into is brief, and hot, and does nothing to warm him from the ever-present chill that has draped over him like a fog.
Underthings, pants, followed by jacket and shoes is a routine that he has followed since his time as a cadet what seems like a lifetime ago, and it's the only thing that makes the day seem normal. The coif that his hair had settled in had been deemed acceptable after a quick swipe of hair gel, and he doesn't dally at the mirror long after.
Showered, shaved and dressed, Sterling emerges from the bathroom minutes later, his night things draped over his arm.
"Up already, sir?" One of the crewman addresses him from his bunk as he pulls on his shoes.
Jumping at the sudden sound, Sterling finds a whole room of sailors going about their morning business and queueing up for the facilities, shower bags and uniforms in hand much as he had.
Nodding in the affirmative, Sterling makes quick work of his bunk and shaving kit before exiting onto the main deck.
Sitting in her plush desk chair, Amelia's eyes stray over to the chronograph hanging on the wall. Reading out half past six is late enough, and Amelia stands, stretching her muscles in the early morning and it's only after she drains the rest of her coffee that her door opens and closes quickly.
"I apologize for my tardiness, Captain. I got a late start this morning." Sterling, resplendent as ever in his sharp white uniform seems more or less apologetic and ready to begin the day. But something about the look in his eyes makes Amelia hesitate for a moment, her head tilting. Eyes bloodshot and skin gray as a stone, the first officer looks like has has seen better days.
Shaking her head almost imperceptably, she dismisses her concerns. If something was wrong, he would either confide in her and assuage her fears, or keep it to himself and find a way to deal with it. Either way, Amelia didn't want to involve herself in Sterling's personal life just yet.
"Very well. Be sure that it doesn't happen again." Amelia strides across the room to refill her cup, stifling the concern for her first officer.
The Captain of the HMS Proudfire is the first Captain aboard for the bi-weekly meeting. It's not the first time Amelia has met him, but it isn't until she peeks at the brass tag on his uniform coat that she remembers his name.
"Ah, Cavendish," Smiling, Amelia extends her hand in greeting. "I hope everything on your ship is faring well?"
Cavendish smiles, returning her firm handshake. "As well as it can go, Admiral."
Nodding, Amelia opens the door to the conference room, leading the Captain inside. "Let's get settled, the rest of the group should be here soon."
Amelia didn't know very much about Thomas Cavendish, only that he had served previously on the Proudfire as quartermaster before being offered a comission as the captain. The details on his promotion were vague, but Thomas had a way about him that made Amelia less worried about the nature of his intentions.
Soon, the captains from the other six ships had arrived, and one by one had chosen a spot around the table at random.
"Well," Amelia addressed the room, quieting the chatter that had begun. "In your private briefings, you were all informed of the nature of this mission, you knew what you were signing up for. Preliminary scouting missions have yielded no actionable intel. Gentlemen, we are flying blind here."
Cavendish wrinkles his brow, leafing through the folder in front of him. "We have to have something to go off of. Anything, really."
Hatfield, the captain of the HMS Valiant speaks up from his place at the table. "The few people who have managed to make it out of captivity have gone insane. Three of the four have taken their own lives and the remaining man is in a psychiatric ward under twenty four hour guard."
"Quite right. If the scouts haven't brought anything back, we shall simply have to do our own scouting." The only other female captain in the room smirks from behind her teacup. Captain Wynona Fischer had a knack for being the craziest thing in the room, and it came as no surprise to everyone else that she was the one to suggest such a plan.
"So, are you volunteering to go?" Cavendish raised an eyebrow at the younger and very much female captain who simply nodded, her hand reaching up to tighten the ponytail on top of her head.
"Why not? If the rest of you are just keen on waiting around, I'm going to go have a bit of adventure." Wynona, looking pleased with herself, sits back in her chair, her arms stretching out behind her.
Amelia surveys the small crowd of captains before her before nodding her consent. They needed something to go off of, and they weren't going to get it by playing safe.
Back at the mansion on Montressor, Delbert feels like he is going to go crazy.
Two weeks.
Amelia has been gone for two weeks, and she's only found the time to call once. Knowing full well that it isn't her intention to go so long without a quick note or a message, Delbert puts away his concerns for his new wife. But doing anything else is difficult.
It almost feels like she had never even been there. Her side of the bed is frigid in the morning, and his closet space has freed up seemingly overnight. The slick of bright red lipstick that finds it's way onto half of the china has been scrubbed away in her absence. Without Amelia, Delbert's life feels impossibly incomplete.
But occasionally, his eye will catch a nick in the wood on his bedpost from where Amelia's fingernails had dug in, and for a moment he can hardly breathe. Moments of their previous lovemaking wash before his eyes like the evening tide, and spooned up against her night shirt, Delbert eventually finds sleep.
Waking up to face another day feels mundane without the fiery haired woman that he had rather quickly decided to marry. But he does it anyway.
As soon as the doctor's feet hit the floor, his stomach gives an unplesant roll and he finds himself rushing to the bathroom, leaning over the porcelain sink. What little he had to eat swirled down the drain with the rushing water and his head rushes.
He had been sick for a week now.
If Sarah knew, she would have him into the clinic before he could bark. But Delbert has gotten remarkably good at hiding things from people. A whole week of sickness has left him weak, and when Delbert catches his reflection in the mirror, he can hardly stand it.
He manages to flag down a medical student at the university later on that week, and after explaning his symptoms, he watches the grad student's face split open in a wide grin.
"Doctor Doppler, surely I don't need to tell you what's wrong."
"Do you mean I-?" Delbert can't even finish his thought and the grad student nods, patting his shoulder before going on his way.
Delbert's hand hovers over the call button at home, wondering how he is going to even collect his thoughts before her face opens up before him.
"Delbert, I'm so glad I caught you." Amelia's voice travels through the tinny speaker on the side of the holophone and Delbert revels in it, his eyes traveling over her well remembered features.
"Oh, Amelia." He can't even speak. Amelia isn't usually able to elict such feelings from him, and Amelia begins to feel suspicion in the back of her mind.
"Doctor, is everything okay?" Amelia tilts her head towards the screen, confusion coloring her usually sure features.
"I have some rather interesting news that I-ah I'm not sure how to phrase." Amelia can see him wringing his hands in his lap- it's something big. They haven't spent all that much time together, but Amelia knows her husband well enough.
"Well, out with it dear."
A sheepish smile falls over his features. "We're going to be parents."