Deep beneath the waves, the lone human set himself to work.

In one hand, he clutched the keycard and pod codes, and in the other, his trusted flashlight. If his memory was correct of what exactly they had stashed away, it would be sorely needed.

With a trepid sigh, he disengaged his door's maglocks, taking his first steps back into the fray. The two pods in question were near the back of the hall, which itself was a dead end. Thankfully, that meant he only put more distance between himself and the rest of the abandoned facility.

(His ears were on high alert. If something was going to come reaching out of the dark for him, he would hear it before he saw it. He didn't care how illogical the thought was; there had to be something else in here with him.)

Before long, found himself standing in front of a metal door with a spray painted seventy-four. Now then…

4… 7… 9… 0… 5… 7… 7… 5…

With the final input, the keypad's LEDs flashed a bright green, followed by the hum of the door's maglocks falling silent. Conversely, the bead of tension within his chest constricted further, a prayer slipping from his lips on instinct. If he already found a dead body, who was to say that someone else didn't have the bright idea?

But yet again, he was shown mercy. Several cryostasis safes (all larger than his own) lined the walls, all neatly ordered to the best of their ability. An inventory clipboard hung from the wall; a touch that one of the technicians had absolutely insisted on.

Aside from that, the space was bare. A preliminary glance over the room revealed nothing else out of the ordinary, though a full cryostasis pod in the back remained open, still in a state of waiting for its occupant.

Or… already opened. Great.

Once again, he found himself pondering how this situation kept getting murkier and murkier, and not in the "a handful of quirky teens solving murder-mysteries"kind of way.

He moved to the stasis lockers to check them. Their locks were already disengaged, but they were still sealed. Whether that was a good or bad sign he couldn't say, but it certainly was convenient for him. While the lockers weren't as strong as a traditional safe, they were still difficult to open without their respectives key or passcodes, especially without the proper tools on hand.

It was a moot point, but if worse came to worst, there was only so much he could do. The last thing he needed were the others getting pissy about him dismantling valuable equipment.

He knelt down to the nearest locker, carefully pulling the door open. A low hiss escaped the compartment, the preservative gasses dispersing into the air. Another slice of fresh bread sat on top of the rest of the contents, though, what it had been sitting on was of much more interest..

It was another set of clothing; a HAZMAT suit, to be specific, piled in amongst other smaller pieces of tech. A dark undersuit of sorts was folded up neatly next to a pair of rubber boots and an odd looking mask and helmet, as well as some sort of rubbery gray jumpsuit of sorts. Hands shaking slightly, he withdrew the mask, holding it up to his face. Its lenses stared back at him, artificial and dead. The mask itself was a dark black overall, most of its internals neatly integrated into the covering itself.

He took the rest of the items out, laying them out on the floor. Some of the gear was vaguely familiar - the rubber undersuit and accompanying parts were standard HAZMAT wear company wide. What piqued his interest, however, was the rest of the suit itself.

The gray covering was made of some sort of a thick tarp-like material, with all manner of clips and latches on the inside portion of the jumpsuit that seemed to attach to certain points on the HAZMAT undersuit. Parts of the suit were colored white, a POLARIS decal running down one of the legs. On the shoulders sat some sort of stylized logo, one he didn't exactly recognize or could make any text out from. FLK, perhaps?

Under the rest of the articles was a thin folder of papers. A cursory glance revealed them to be schematics for the suit itself. And unlike the messy ones he found in the book, these were printed and professional, not to mention legible. While he wasn't going to read it at the moment, he did take time to read the small title at the top of the front page.

FLK / ENVIRONMENTAL RECONNAISSANCE ARMOR / VARIANT TWO

Definitely not official, if the FLK branding was any indication. What was going on?

Putting the ERA papers off to the side, he set his eyes on the other lockers. Cracking each open (and getting some more stale bread in his system, side effects be damned), he set to work cataloging the contents.

The first other significant find were several MRX Watatsumi electromagnetic rifles, with several magazines and batteries each. Very much something he'd want to have if he's going to the surface anytime soon, or hell, even exploring the rest of Polaris.

Alongside that, there were enough spare parts to build maybe two or three more of them, sans most of the more precise electronics. Useless without the proper 'meat' of the guns.

A hardened PDA. Dated hardware, but it'd work literally anywhere. Good enough.

Several folded up waterproof backpacks. He'll definitely be taking one, that's for sure.

Lastly, the best find of all - a metric ton of slugs for the MRX rifles, alongside several of their respective batteries and magazines. Multiple plastic bags, loaded with metallic slugs that the rifle would sling at insane velocities towards anything he'd want destroyed.

Great! Ordinarily, such a thought would have given him pause, but then again, the times were far from ordinary. He was becoming too much like his family.

Most of the equipment seemed to be more rated for exploration, but the presence of the rifles and copious amounts of ammunition had him thinking back to what the dead scientist's note had said. Had they been preparing for war? While they were working on some of this technology before everything had gone mad, they certainly hadn't put together any completed prototypes.

Just what had been going on?

But then again, If the surface had truly gone to hell…

Better safe than sorry, he supposed. Answers weren't a luxury he could afford.

Such as, for example, why the stock manifesto was unbalanced; some equipment was missing, most notably two electromagnetic rifles and an ERA suit. Most likely due to the dead scientists, but what could have caused them to lose so much valuable tech?

Great.

Having organized his finds, he moved back out into the hall, heading over to the adjourning room and quickly punching in its respective code. The lock disengaged, allowing him access to room number seventy-three, which, unlike its counterpart in room seventy-four, the cryopod unit inside was actually in use. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation.

It was easy enough to access the pod's diagnostic panel; he'd grabbed his laptop from his own room and hooked up a few cables between it and the stasis pod. Muscle memory guided his hand, quickly bringing up the terminal program.

The diagnostic UI was of fairly simplistic design, represented by a system that had been styled after a command prompt. Various statistics were represented, most of them concerning vital functions of the pod itself, such as power input, pod condition, etc. A scant three statistics were dedicated to the body itself; they themselves had little idea of what exactly they all represented, but equally, cryostasis tech was already black magic to the vast majority of the staff. They could reproduce it, considering their ties with bleeding edge firms like Kamabo, but nothing more.

Thankfully, all the markers were green across the board. The body inside the pod was beginning to break down slightly, but it was still within acceptable limits. That was good, though he hoped that the rest of his colleagues were in a similar condition.

In truth, he was sorely tempted to manually awake the pod's occupant, but… he simply couldn't.

There was something blocking his attempts at probing deeper into the UI. By all accounts, he should have been able to get to a bit of the more esoteric information concealed within, but it was outright refusing the commands he fed the terminal. And if he wasn't able to access anything more than basic vitals, there was no way he would be able to awaken the occupant.

For some reason, whatever was keeping him from accessing the pod's controls was also withholding personal information, like the ID of whoever was in the pod. What the hell?

Subconsciously, one hand found itself running across the pod's surface. His own living flesh was mere inches away from his colleague, separated by both plastic and steel. Physically close, yet whole worlds apart…

With a sigh, he closed his laptop and stood up. Straightening up, he stretched his back a bit while looking over the room. The pod had taken up all his attention, so he hadn't gotten much of a look around.

Everything was in order, save for a computer and desk tucked near the back. Were they really that desperate for space? Or was this a part of some secondary plan? It would not have surprised him in the slightest if the initial plan had been compartmentalized to a ludicrous degree.

Hell, that last section in the book pretty much said it outright. For all he knew, the cursive was purposefully bad so only the author could read it. It wouldn't be the first time.

But to the computer. He pulled up an office chair, the nice spinny kind, from under the desk and took a seat on it. The computer was a standard PC, with the monitor and keyboard on the desk itself, while the tower was tucked neatly in the desk aperture. A standard setup in the company itself, but in their section specifically, it was quite the rarity; most of the personal computing devices used were laptops for their portability, with much of their actual computing software being in the ground campus.

Luckily, the computer was still connected to the site network via a rare ethernet connection. No password guessing for him, and praise the almighty cabled connection, as he was fairly certain their wireless internet had been disabled before going under, and that wasn't mentioning the underground placement of their site network servers. IT needed a raise, that much was certain.

It was a simple matter of muscle memory to log in with his network credentials to access his personal workspace, but it was another to access most of their public data.

At the very least, he could view the time and date from the interface, as well as his own files. It was six in the evening; it didn't feel like mid evening, but that was probably his cryo-lag. That was going to complicate his sleep schedule in the future, but it was such a minor worry, he didn't give it a second thought.

Aside from his own personal files, he was blocked again and again from viewing anything else. In fairness, their internet connection at the current moment was shot, and thus he was unable to access any of their internet based storage, but that problem shouldn't have been present with their local files.

Was the system itself locking him out? Polaris employed several types of AI to keep their facilities and research going, but they had to replace them after several years of service thanks to cognitive decay.

Perhaps that dead scientist was right - the AI that had been left behind to keep the cryostasis facilities working might've gone nuts when they left the place, beginning a hard lockdown of all files to keep whatever was on the surface out.

Lovely.

While the system lockdown was concerning, he had much greater things to worry about. Such as him awakening alone, for one. Finding a dead body and its, in truth, suicide book. The confirmation of at least one still in cryo-stasis.

And most importantly, the fact that somebody had dicked with his files!

(The dead body was far, far more important, but he needed to take his mind off all of this. He could feel his gut twisting itself into pretzels!)

Well, dicking may have been a bit of a strong descriptor, in truth. It wasn't as if someone had randomized the files or deleted them. Not the standard "renaming all your files" prank they sometimes played on each other, or even the infamous "low orbital ion cannon" executable. Such a mess, that was.

Rather, a plain text file had been dropped smack dab in the center of his desktop, and to rub salt into the wound, they had changed his background into nothing but black arrows over a white backdrop pointing to the file in question. It was difficult to focus on anything else but the file as a result. And to top it all off, the filename was 'readme.'

...was this some kind of joke?

Muttering unpleasantries under his breath, he opened the file. It wasn't a batch file, and if this person had gone through such a length to get him to open it, he might as well oblige. Worst case scenario, it told him he was a fool. Neutral case scenario, it was vital information he would need. Best case, it was an invitation to a birthday party, or a notification giving him carpe blanche to awaken the rest of the pods.

It was none of that.

WARDEN INIT LOG /A /RT A:/Warden_5234AR/Data/Logs/2056_

POLARIS TECHNOLOGIES

WARDEN 5234_AR SYSTEM LOG (ABSTRACTED)

NOV 17 2056 0932 JST

[0915] warden init scan surface /q

[0916] surface = negative

[0916] warden ping surfaceFacility /q

[0917] surface facility = null

[0920] warden terminate loop

[0920] loop terminated

[0925] warden adapt /q /s; execute loop

[0926] changes successful; loop resumed

[0932] warden execute log; execute hold /p /a

[0932] log complete; executing hold (passive, awaken on alert)

System logs, from the facility AI. Each one was nicknamed the 'warden,' as the dead scientist's notes put it.

This log was from not long after they went under, he noticed. Seems like the last one to the pods hit the lights on the way out, ordering the 'warden' AI to sit and wait while they slept. Scrolling down to the next log, his eyebrows raised.

WARDEN INIT LOG /A /RT A:/Warden_4685BV/Data/Logs/13978_

POLARIS TECHNOLOGIES

WARDEN 4685_BV SYSTEM LOG (ABSTRACTED)

MAR 24 13978 1251 JST

A twelve-thousand year time jump? Just what the hell? It wasn't the same AI that made the first log, so the systems in place to stop severe cognitive decay were active, at least. The reliability of such a system, however, must've gone downhill since they went under. It was the only explanation he could find for the AI outputting the year 2057 as 13,978.

He read further, albeit with a healthy skepticism.

[1222] alert! override

[1223] alert! system detected x2 cryostasis chambers (12, 51) open before schedule!

[1235] warden login ksatou qCMxkGzzBg

[1235] login accepted, welcome keiji satou

[1235] warden init scan surface /q

[1236] surface = positive

[1247] warden unlock A1 A2

[1247] doors A1, A2 unlocked

[1248] alert! system detected x2 personnel leaving facility before schedule!

[1251] warden init lockdown; execute hold

[1251] executing hold (passive, awaken on alert)

…what?

For some reason, when that Satou guy and the other scientist left the Polaris facility, the AI freaked out and began a lockdown, but on its own? And for that matter, why did it wake them up in the first place? Why wasn't it in the logs? Was the AI withholding that information from him?

Cognitive decay, for sure - machine intelligence like the wardens were renowned for going absolutely bonkers after a long period of operational time, but to this level? That was new.

It… sort of answered the question of why he had been awoken alone, and him specifically. And then why the AI decided to keep him locked out of their systems. More likely than not, the AI was treating this whole situation like it was on a need to know basis, and obviously he wasn't in the know.

But… what was he supposed to do now? He sat back in the chair, both hands taking hold of his head.

Suddenly, a new 'readme2' file appeared on the desktop, the background even changing to point all its arrows at that instead of the first one.

What the actual hell was going on?

Hesitantly, he opened the new file, preparing to see all manner of weird AI-generated crap…

WARDEN INIT LOG /A /RT A:/Warden_4685BV/Data/Logs/14078723_

POLARIS TECHNOLOGIES

WARDEN 4685_BV SYSTEM LOG (ABSTRACTED)

JUL 23 14078 1733 JST

The log was from today. Now, specifically, if the time and date on his taskbar was right.

Oh boy.

[1650] alert! external signal handshake request on 3 MHz frequency

[1650] handshake accepted. Processing…

[1650] warden print tmp_handshake_

[1650] … — … … — … … — … 0x37 0x29 0x39 4445535452554354494f4e

[1652] alert! override

[1656] warden execute wakeywakey_

[1656] executing …

[1657] alert! system detected x1 cryostasis chamber (42) open before schedule!

[1721] warden login jhyde a9Fkd7C03oL

[1721] login accepted, welcome jonathan hyde

Yeah yeah, go on and display his password in a log. In plaintext, nonetheless. Forget giving IT a raise, then. Morons.

Anyway…

[1722] alert! lockdown in progress! file access restricted to administrator users

[1730] warden execute /q

[1731] executing

[1731] ATTN: TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

[1731] CONTACT LOST WITH POLARIS AWAY TEAM [KSATOU, AWALLACE]

[1731] CONTACT LOST WITH BOREALIS WARDEN [7372_FJ]

[1731] ATTN: HOSTILE ACTION MAY BE UNDERWAY [PROB:75]

[1731] OBJECTIVES FOR AWAKENED PERSONNEL ARE AS FOLLOWS

[1732] RECOVER UNACCOUNTED POLARIS PROPERTY [ERA:KSATOU]

[1732] DETERMINE SURFACE HABITABILITY

[1732] DETERMINE BOREALIS STATUS

[1732] IF SURFACE HABITABILITY = SAFE

[1732] IF BOREALIS STATUS = SAFE / RECOVERABLE

[1732] RETURN TO POLARIS AND AWAKEN REMAINING PERSONNEL

[1733] warden designate jhyde scout; permissions scout administrator; execute print C:/Users/JHyde/Desktop

[1733] designated user jhyde as scout; gave administrator permissions to scout; printed to C:/Users/JHyde/Desktop

So, 'Scout,' huh.

Evidently, the dead scientist's ramblings had some truth to them - the Polaris facility's AI had gone totally nuts, after all. But, there had to be some truth in all of this. The logs, the technology and weaponry prepared by some of the scientists, they all painted a grim picture.

Shit.

'Hostile action may be underway,' too. Whatever went down with Satou and the other doctor must've not been good. If something now had it out for Polaris and Borealis, going so far as to cut contact with the other company's facility and mortally wound at least one human…

Looks like you're in the barrel today, Freeman.

With a sigh, he weighed his options.

Realistically, he had no choice but to do what the AI asked - sitting down here sucking up vital oxygen and food supplies until he either croaked or got stabbed to death by whatever got the dead doctor was not his idea of a good next few months.

Best case scenario: the surface is habitable, the heat's died down, Borealis is fine, and he's cleared to start getting Polaris back up and running, awakening the remaining employees from cryo and getting them situated.

Worst case scenario, at least he'd get to feel the sun on his face again before the horrors of the surface got him.

The sun…

How long had it been since he'd last seen the sun?

Too long, he decided, getting up from the chair resolutely. There was a lot of prep work he needed to do.

His first order of business was already out of the way, having just finished raiding pod seventy-four of all the equipment it contained and taking inventory of what he found. He was invested in sorting through every item he could find in the room, as well as their technical documents.

Anything that could be considered weapons or weapon parts, one pile.

Bits and bobs that didn't look like anything useful, another.

The ERA suits and assorted accessories, a third.

So on, and so forth. His work was slow, but accurate. If there was one thing he had learned throughout his life, it was that planning was essential. And if you didn't know what resources you had on hand, you couldn't plan effectively. And if you couldn't plan effectively, you would die…

Well, not pay the rent, at least. His schooling, college especially, had harshly hammered that lesson into him. A wise man wins, and then goes to war, opposed to a fool who goes to war and then seeks to win.

Hopefully that wouldn't be literal.

But that was beside the point. He had locked the door before embarking on this process (his paranoia demanded it), and he was not leaving it until he had processed everything in here. If not for his planning, for the comfort of control it gave him. While he sat in this room, working with his hands, he was directing his future.

He was, for better or worse, on his own now.

Even in this locked room, he felt naked. While he knew that the darkness was desolate, nothing residing within, his mind never let go of the possibility that something could be out there. If he were to poke his head out into the hall, nothing but silence and shadow would greet him. Pod seventy-four was his sanctuary now, for better or worse. And with the equipment inside, he could extend dominion to the facility outside the pod. Logic was a far worse comforter than cold, hard material equipment.

The surface was a total uncertainty, and both the warden's disjointed text file and the dead doctor's notes still had him on edge.

He was a chemist, not a politician or a soldier (although granted, his family had beaten some skills into him, Great Uncle especially.) Whatever was up there, he was never going to be ready to take on. Perhaps, all the sorting he was doing was just stalling for time, giving him as many excuses as possible to ignore his newfound purpose.

More time he could spend in his little cryogenically-preserved sanctuary, many dozens of securely shut mag-locked doors between him and the rest of the crazy, crazy new world.

Before too long, everything had been sorted, as well as their documentation, which he was currently poring over. He was not about to use this technology without knowing what it did, or how to use it, especially in regards to the ERA and those 'Watatsumi' magnetic rifles. Hazmat suits and rifles were nothing new to him, but these prototypes were so different, especially the rifles.

But he would make do. He sat up against one of the walls, documents in hand and at his side. He had a bit of in-depth reading to do…

...One more pull… c'mon!

Almost… and… done!

He had just finished pulling the ERA up around his body. It had been exceedingly hard to wriggle into; despite appearing quite baggy, it possessed a tight, inner suit he had to wear underneath it. Thankfully, it was surprisingly easy to move in, all things considered. He put on the mask and helmet last, sealing himself off from the atmosphere. The hood then went up over it, a nifty little hydrophobic covering as extra insurance for the helmet and mask setup.

He shrugged his shoulders, as well as stretching a tad.

Not bad.

The ERA was the last item on his checklist; he had prepared the rest of his meager supplies beforehand. One of those magnetic rifles, some electronic tools, batteries, some of his personal items, all safely crammed into one of those waterproof backpacks he'd found.

Still no proper food and water, though.

He'd figured Polaris had at least some amount of food and drink stockpile left, somewhere, but the quality of anything he'd find would've been dubious at best given the time he'd spent in stasis, nevermind the preservative gasses used. A bit he could probably tolerate, hence the bread, but he still wanted a working digestive system.

With nothing else left for him to do in pod seventy-four's room, he quietly left, a newly loaded and powered on magnetic rifle at the ready. He didn't care how abandoned the underground may have seemed to be, he wasn't taking any chances. Not after what he's heard.

Thankfully, his worry appeared to be unfounded. A quiet, yet terrifying, sweep through the sector failed to reveal any iota of life, human or otherwise.

Even then, he kept a death grip on his rifle; his mind continually conjured scenarios of shadowy beings breaking through the locked partitions. Despite his best efforts to suppress the thoughts, they continued to manifest.

For all intents and purposes, it's just him up and about down here. Just a lone chemist with bits of highly advanced tech against a terrifying new world.

It was a depressing thought.

His quest for food and water didn't bear fruit. Aside from the few slices of bread that were used to test if a stasis locker had functioned properly, he hadn't come across anything potable or edible. He was fairly sure they had possessed some food near the end, but where had it gone?

In desperation, he had even returned to the atrium to scrounge about. Not that it turned up anything, save for another terrifying encounter with the body.

On a brighter side, he had also found what may have been a way out of the underground. While many of the old entrances and exits to the surface had collapsed long ago and been sealed off with all manner of barricades, he'd had found one that had a working unlocked mag-lock door instead. From what he could tell, it was the only way out.

He cast one last look at the hallway behind him. Despite how much he had wanted to leave earlier, he felt an odd sense of melancholy at the prospect of finally getting topside. At least down here, it was technically safe, not to mention that he was still around with what he knew.

The countless hours, laughs shared, miracles created, his friends…

...

His head snapped up, shaking him from his thoughts. He didn't have a choice.

"Well… I'll be back soon… Hopefully," he mumbled to the hall, as he stepped through the steel door.

Inside was a small and rather cramped space. Aside from the hastily erected barrier and the other reinforced wall opposite, the room otherwise reassembled a section of the hallway. Cautiously, he closed the door behind him. It… almost reminded him of an airlock.

Was the surface still flooded?

The other door opposite of the entrance was similar to the one he had just entered through, save for having no obvious way of opening it. Unless...

There was a small panel near it, welded onto the wall.

What if he-

SWOOSH!

In truth, he wasn't sure what the surface would be like after all this time. A barren wasteland? Nature taking over the above ground building ruins? A lush plain devoid of any signs of civilizations? Everything remaining normal after all?

Suffice to say, the sudden rush of toxic water flooding into the airlock wasn't what he was expecting.

The sheer pressure of the water slammed him back against the wall, knocking the breath out of him. The suit absorbed much of the impact, but it still knocked the air out of him, leaving him to thrash about in panic. Thankfully, the pressure subsided as the airlock filled with nearly opaque water. It obscured his vision entirely, leaving him awkwardly floating in the muck. His mind had gone into overdrive, briefly panicking as he tried to reorient himself.

...He could still breathe.

His mind slowly calmed down as he floated in the airlock. It… was surprisingly tranquil, now that he was used to the strange sensation.

He slowly swam to the door, reveling in the sensation. It took him a moment to find the opening, as he couldn't see his own hands, much less his surroundings. Finding the frame, he pulled himself out of it, kicking into the open water. Instinctually, he began to swim upwards.

Up and up he went. Even if the ERA wasn't built with swimming in mind, it still cut through the water fairly well. Hydrophobic materials had their advantages, he supposed. And a constant internal pressure as well; No nitrogen narcosis for him.

On the other hand, he could hear a dull, roaring din emanating through the water, shaking his very skeleton. Machinery, the cries of the beasts…

At one point, he felt something large brush up against his foot.

Best to keep swimming…

As he grew closer to the surface, the water began to clear up. Distantly, he registered old ruined buildings silhouetted against the sun rays gleaming through the greenish depths, filtering through long blown out windows and eroded slabs of concrete. Nothing of use was in them, anymore.

Though, below, while he couldn't see too far down, he could hear a lot of somethings moving, as well as feeling the current they were kicking up, all in one direction. Vaguely, he thought he saw a long, mechanical tail kick up above the muck briefly, his heart spiking.

Before he could properly register it, he abruptly broke the surface, barely able to stay afloat above the waves.

Above, the sky was filled with wispy bits of clouds, accented by the brilliant oranges and pinks of a sunset. Even while surrounded by the sickly green of the water, it was beautiful and serene.

It had been too long since he had last seen the sky.

While he bobbed on the waves, he looked about, looking for anything he could grab hold onto. He couldn't tread water forever (especially in the ERA,) and he really, really didn't like being in the vast, open water, considering what might've been below him. He hadn't seen much, but it was enough to throw him into a near panic.

Thankfully, he had emerged close to a bit of land jutting out from the sea; the only surface around, wreckage of an unknown variety littered about. Carefully, he began to swim to the protrusion.

Closer observation of the "island" proved it not to be an organic one; rather, one forged of metal and plastic, twisted into the shape of a "tower", of sorts. Interesting.

Ruins? Or, perhaps, newly created?

Eventually, he reached its shore, and heaved himself upon the structure. He laid there for a moment, stomach down, breathing in heavily. The bodily deterioration might've been more severe than he thought, especially after his involuntary swim. Not that he had much of a choice but to endure. To that effect, he forced himself back into a standing position.

Now that he was on it, it obviously wasn't a pile of junk like he thought earlier. Rather, it was entirely industrial, but obviously had gone through several slapdash repairs. In a way, it had distorted whatever this structure had been originally.

Tarps, plastic, and plexiglass adorned the sides of the area, as well as strips of alternating light ropes running along them. The metal making up the ground, at the very least, looked professionally installed and still somewhat clean. It was utterly alien, yet so familiar.

There was a platitude of green and white markings, odd and faded, on the ground, even the occasional "sticker" slapped on.

What.

Today's been a strange day.

Reaching the top of the tower-like structure, he finally was able to get a good look at the area and the debris littering the surrounding waters. For one, the immediately apparent sight of a crashed space shuttle, or at least its main engine off in the distance, not far from where he had emerged. He could clearly see 'ICA' emblazoned on one of the fins. International Conservation Agency, if he remembered his acronyms correctly.

Well, there went that pipe dream. But, why had the ICA's little space-age Noah's Ark crashed right here? Why had it crashed at all? It was one of the few truly neutral crafts, untargetable by the Emplacements, after all.

It was a testament to his shifting priorities that he considered the thought intriguing, rather than maddening.

Some spotlights had been set up near the spacecraft wreckage, not to mention around the little metal island itself. What took the cake though were a few sparse buoys way out from the island. They were otherwise normal bottom wise, but protruding from them were large metal spires, and on those spires were…

Overgrown food items?

They bobbed to the wave's beat, swaying on their pikes while remaining illuminated by the spotlights. From his perch, it was easy enough to see that they were fake. But still, why? What the hell was going on here?

That was going to be the question of the day, wasn't it?

Why?

Why why why?

He turned around to survey the rest of the area, but was caught off guard by the sight that had been behind him.

A… a city?

It was nearly out of sight, close to the horizon, but a cityscape nevertheless - approximately to the northeast, if he remembered his cardinal directions and sun positioning crap correctly. He fell to his knees, eyes focused solely on it. There were lights, skyscrapers… a modern metropolis. And so close, too!

His entire mood flipped on its head.

A city where Tokyo used to be!

They were saved. They were saved!

Civilization was still intact! Undoubtedly, things had changed in their absence, but that's besides the point. they weren't alone! The flood hadn't entirely receded, of course, but still!

A smile crossed his face under the ERA mask. Things were finally looking up!

...

Of course, that was ignoring the fact that the sea had begun to churn…


"So, this is the site, right?" Vista asked, peering at the rapidly approaching structure. She hefted a Splat Roller on her shoulder, psyching herself up for what was to come.

"Yep," Celia said, herself holding up a Splattershot, "Welcome to Ruins of Ark Polaris. Quite the view, eh?"

"Yeah…" Vista replied, taking in the view around her, "...I see what you mean now. Why this will suck, I mean." Her gaze raked over the crashed (supposedly) human ship, though to her, it only reminded her of a few Octarian inventions. So much metal…

Vista paused for a moment, double taking at the site. She peered closely at the top, "...Is it just me, or is there someone up there already?" She pointed a finger, following her eyesight.

Marius leaned against the railing, eyes narrowed intently at where she pointed.

"Um… I think so?" Marius replied. He craned to get a closer look, "Squit, look at that."

Rio and Celia, following his gaze, quickly spotted the figure as well. Sure enough, their shadowed silhouette was clearly visible against the setting sun. A tall individual they were, standing out the absolute top of the worksite, near the egg basket.

"But, why would someone already be there? How would they even get there?" Rio asked, twirling one of her Dualies.

"Someone stranded after a shift?" Celia suggested, "Only real scenario I can think of."

"But," she sighed, "I suppose that doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?" Vista asked, "I think it matters quite a bit. What if we're stranded?"

"We won't be," she replied, confident, "But, think about it this way. An extra person will be on the shift, completely on accident. Mr. Grizz can't fault us for that."

Marius's eyes lit up, "Oh, I see now! It's a kind of perfect storm."

"Precisely."

"I don't know," Rio admitted, "This feels a bit fishy…"

"Oh, relax," Celia replied. What she added certainly didn't help her relax, not in the slightest. Going off of their past luck, they usually couldn't afford to 'relax', especially now.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

She bit her own tongue, mentally cursing herself. Celia glanced at the crew.

Marius, clutching his Bamboozler with grim determination.

Rio, nervously twirling her dualies.

Vista, looking over her roller, knuckles tight on the handle.

This was her team. A ragtag team; misfits really, but her misfits. Win or lose. Success or failure. Regardless of what this shift threw at them, they were ready. They had to be.

Even then, the troops could use a little morale, even if she had unwittingly jinxed them.

"Listen, guys," she began, "We all know what this shift will involve, but I think we can… well, do this."

"You sure?" Vista asked, "Even with that creep perched on the tower?"

"Creep? Do you really have to refer to someone as a creep?" Marius asked.

Vista flinched, "Sorry, sorry. Look, I don't know. They could be a disgruntled employee, or… I really don't know, a Stranger? I don't think they were stranded."

Rio piped up, "Yeah, why would someone be out there anyway. Unless…" her eyes lit up, "Perhaps they're looking at the human ship!"

"Rio, not now!" Celia growled, trying to keep her temper down, "Just remember…"

"No, forget it. Let's do this."

"But… don't we need Mr. Grizz's confirmation?" Vista asked, "I know we're already breaking protocol and all, but still…"

Celia's bad mood vanished.

"Oh, Vista, Vista, Vista…" Celia tutted, shaking her head, "Let's get you in on a little secret Mr. Grizz doesn't want the newbies to know."

"Celia! You can't just tell her!" Rio protested, "You'll ruin the fun!"

"I have to agree with her," Marius said, "There's a proper ritual for this, you know that!"

"Listen," Celia said, "I think we can make an exception for Vista, especially because of the upcoming salt bath we're all about to go through." She took a breath, "Vista, fun fact: Mr. Grizz doesn't actually watch the shifts."

A pause.

"...That's it?" Vista asked, "I was expecting something more… I don't know, world shattering?"

"So you already knew?" Marius asked.

"Well, more of a guess," she admitted, "He kept saying the same stuff over and over again. I caught on. Once you've listened to a PA system enough, you get a feel for what's pre-recorded, y'know what I mean?"

"You really do take the fun out of everything, you know that, right?" Rio pouted, crossing her arms.

A small smirk graced Vista's face, "I try my best."

"Anyways…" Celia drawled, "There's no point in putting this off. Everyone ready?"

Nods from all around. Good.

"Then let's do this. For real this time."


Another chapter down!

In truth, I don't really have much to say. We've had the introduction of four new characters, and in truth, introducing them all at once might prove to be a mistake. I suppose we'll find out soon, eh?

Regardless, thank you for your patience and feedback! I'm glad to see that a lot of you are enjoying the story so far. I hope not to disappoint in the future.

Thanks for reading, and see you next time!