Chapter Text
It was a last-minute decision, moving this far away from home.
It wasn't that long ago that your world crumbled around you, leading you to call your aunt, who you hadn't seen in years, at a payphone. One down the street from the hospital you have come to know and dread. Somewhere in your sobbing and her quiet comfort, she offered you a place to stay. You accepted.
Many miles, emotions, and one flat tire later, you pull up to the dock that marks the final leg of your journey, a tiny, cheap, rented trailer holding your entire life towed behind you. You park – the engine purring as the truck idles – and lean back, breathing deeply as you wait for the ferry to arrive.
You wait.
And wait.
Listening to the radio host interrupt the end of the latest song, boredom starts to creep in. You check the time displayed on your console. It’s been six minutes since you threw your car in park. The ferry wouldn't arrive for another half hour.
Fuck.
Shutting off the engine, you slide out of the driver seat with a sigh, mismatched Converse hitting the ground with a small splash. A small yawn escapes before you cover your mouth with the back of your hand. You look up and squint. The morning sun beams down, and you follow the light to where it reflects off the water, glittering like a thousand crystals. In the distance, you see dark clouds peeking over the horizon. You can't help the sharp breath inward. A surreal feeling fills your chest as it dawns on you–you’ve finally made it back to the Pacific Ocean. A dream you used to share with– you roll the bracelet on your left wrist between your right hand's fingers, the soft red threads frayed. You turn away from the gleaming coast, blinking away the emotion that threatens to spill over.
A breeze cuts across the large waiting area as you shut the driver-side door. You shiver in spite of the bright sun above and open the small rear door to rummage around for your scarf as you contemplate how to fill the next twenty-seven minutes. Looking around as you wrap the scarf around your neck, you find that there is only one other vehicle in the parking lot, its engine idling as whoever sits inside the comfortable heat of their truck.
You walk away from the coastline and towards the squat white building you passed as you parked. The cinderblock structure is the only building around, save for a small shack near the dock. You can spot a bored-looking teenager sitting with his feet kicked up on the open windowsill of the shack, thumbing through a magazine. You sympathize with the struggle to entertain oneself. Turning back towards the building in front of you, you read the red and white hand-painted sign that sits near the door. "Tom's Tackle" advertises the "best bait this side of the Pacific!" You regard the message with a roll of your eyes before pushing the glass door in front of you. A ding! announces your arrival to a large, burly man behind a laminate counter to your left. You assume he's the "Tom" of "Tom's Tackle." A quick glance at his nametag, clipped to one of the suspenders crossing in front of his blue flannel shirt, confirms it.
"Welcome in!" you jump at the volume. He beams at you with a smile that’s missing one of his top teeth. "How can I help ya today? Looking for somethin’ specific?" You give him a polite smile.
"Ah, no, thank you," you say, "I'm just waiting for the ferry." You feel a tiny bit guilty as the seemingly cheerful giant deflates a little. His grin quickly brightens, though, as he thoughtfully strokes his salt-and-pepper beard.
"Headin’ over to Lumin Harbor, eh?" You glance around the store, taking in the packed shelves. "Beautiful place. Excellent fishing too!" He exclaims with a wink. "Not many visitors though. Got any family out there?"
Having started wandering the aisles while he spoke, your heart begins to race.. You heavily regard a fishing lure, avoiding eye contact with Tom as that all-too-familiar panic that comes with every conversation starts to flare up. "No– I mean, yeah, I've got an aunt," you rub at your bracelet. "I'm gonna be staying with her for a bit." It's just small talk, you remind yourself.
"She owns the cafe over there. I think it’s still there, at least."
"No kidding!" Tom seems to light up even further (if that were possible) at the mention of your aunt. "Ol' Sylvie's your aunt, eh? What a darling woman, that one! Not to mention her biscuits n' gravy are to die for." He leans against the counter and sighs, looking out the window.
You perk up at Tom's glowing review of your aunt. "What-" Before you can ask any further questions, a loud horn blares out, announcing the early arrival of the ferry. Looking out the front window, you see the large boat approaching the dock. A few more cars have filled in the parking lot. You gasp and pull the front door open, shouting a quick "Nice to meet you!" to Tom as you make your way back to your truck. You hop in as vehicles start lining up at the dock, the ferry's horn blasting again.
You start up your truck, turning up the volume as "Linger" by The Cranberries begins playing on your radio. Pulling up behind the last car in line, you nod to the teen in the shack as you all begin filing onto the ferry. He does not acknowledge you.
You shut your truck off again as the back of the ferry is lifted, and the boat begins its journey to Lumin Harbor. Man, how long had it been since you've been out here? You slide off the driver's side seat as you reminisce on the first time you met your aunt. It was a family reunion (a long time ago, when your family still did those sorts of things), and you remember you didn't make a great first impression, crashing someone's ATV into a ditch and scratching up your arm on the dry reeds pretty well. Your mom had been pissed, and you expected the same from Sylvie when you found out that it was her ATV, especially since you really weren't old enough to be driving it anyway. But she took one look at your sniffling face and bloody arm, sighed, and ushered you into her house that doubled as a cafe.
"Chickadee," she had cooed softly, "I'm more worried about you than I am about some piece of machinery." She was dabbing hydrogen peroxide on your many tiny cuts. You wince at the memory. "I want you to be more careful with driving from now on, alright?"
You remember nodding your head vigorously because you couldn't get words out through your tiny sobs. You weren't going to ever drive that ATV again anyway. She had chuckled before grabbing a box of bandaids to get you patched up, her grey eyes twinkling in the cool light of the bathroom.
"Good. Machines are dangerous."
Shivering as the ocean breeze pulls you from your thoughts, you look around to see that all the cars have been abandoned on the deck, the drivers preferring the warmth of the cabin instead. You glance towards the painted text, directing you to the promising heat of the ferry. You debate going in, but the spike of anxiety of being near so many people stops you from moving forward.
The wind rustles the wayward hair sticking out of your beanie. You pull your scarf upwards to cover your ears again. You scuff your shoe on the boat below before making your way toward the back of the ferry.
Taking a deep breath, you watch as the coastline slowly shrinks.
------
You pull up to your aunt's house, marveling at the building. It definitely wasn't as big as you remember it being when you were little, but it was still impressive. White shutters clatter against the blue siding as the wind picks up. A white and blue sign advertises "The Bluejay Café," which occupies almost the entire bottom floor, save for one room in the back where the stairs lead up to your aunt’s place, at least you think so. It's been so long you're not entirely sure. You spot a worn path for your truck that loops around the house, and recall that when your aunt gave you directions, she had requested you park around back. You drive your truck and trailer around the building, parking and shutting the engine off before you hop out and start towards the white back door, the diamond-shaped windows dark.
"Hello dearie!"
You whip your head around to see an older woman (70s, maybe?) waving to you with both gloved hands. That definitely wasn't your aunt. You put on a polite smile and wave back. She waddles towards you before reaching out her right hand, her left pulling her flowery coat closer around her, short grey hair whipping around in the wind.
"I'm Mrs. Johnson! It's lovely to meet you dearie." You shake her hand. "Sylvie's told me so much about you." You politely give your name in return.
"Lovely, lovely indeed! Our dear Sylvie's on the mainland today doing some shopping. She ask me to keep an eye out for you." She reaches into her puffy coat and produces a key that looks about as old as her. "I'm supposed to let you in so you can get started unpacking." She presses her lips together as she shuffles past you toward the back door, pressing the key into the brass lock and turning it with a click.
"Unfortunately, I can't show you to your apartment," Apartment? "my knees aren't what they used to be. But your place is up the stairs and to the right." She produces another key, this one much newer than the last, and hands it to you. "If you need me, I'm next door. Brown house." With that, Mrs. Johnson shuts the door behind her, leaving you alone in the darkened home, your only light coming from the back door windows. You palm the key and take a moment to look around the entryway.
Not much has changed in the years since you were last here. The wallpaper is still swirly and striped, cream and cornflower blue in color, though you can spot a corner peeling away from the wall. The wood ceiling, paneling, and flooring still smell of pine after all these years. The floor sports some more scuffs. Your aunts boots sit on a blue mat near the door, and her jackets hang from a coat rack mounted to the wall. You breathe in deeply. Beneath the pine, the sweet, buttery smell of baked goods permeates the home.
Home.
You breathe out, hands quaking with an emotion you dare not acknowledge. You move towards the stairs leading up to the second floor, shaky hand resting on the polished banister, blue filigree hand painted onto the otherwise blank wood. Your steps are muffled on the dusty-colored carpet covering the stairs. Reaching the top, the floor opens up, more blue wallpaper (this one with flowers and splashes of green) lines the walls.
To think, you once asked her what her favorite color was.
Looking to the right, you see that the white door leading to the guest wing has had a shiny new lock installed. You move towards it and insert the key, turning it and pushing through the doorway. To your surprise, you are greeted with a kitchen. An actual kitchen. Fridge, stove, microwave, everything. Your second surprise is the notable lack of blue. This definitely wasn't like this last time. You'd have to make sure to ask your aunt about the changes in the layout when she got back.
Going further into the space and past the kitchen island and a dining table fit for two, you turn to your right through a mini hallway to see a cozy living room is set up with a coffee table and a couch. An A/C unit is hooked up to a window to your left, and a couple of paintings of flowers you can't name line the beige walls. A heavy-looking CRT TV sits on the floor in front of the couch, a VHS player hooked up and sitting besides it. Nice. One more right turn takes you past what looks at a glance to be the bathroom and into the bedroom. A bed - with a bare mattress you note - is pushed up against the back wall, pressed against the wood paneling. In the corner across from the bed sits a shelf, with a pole spanning the length of the shelf sitting underneath it. Your closet you assume.
You sit down on the mattress with a heavy sigh and look out the window.
The cool breeze flows through the open window, fluttering the plaid curtains as it passes by. You close your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the fresh air off of the salty ocean and catch the slight scent of lemon cleaning products. You hear the call of gulls in the distance.
Opening your eyes, you take a look around the barren room.
Well, you sigh internally. Better start unpacking.
-----
Your first order of business was to get the bedding unpacked for whenever you ran out of steam. This required digging around your moving trailer until you located the laundry hamper you had thrown your sheets and blankets in. Hauling them up and getting the bed made didn't take long, so you dug out your portable radio next to set up on the wooden dresser that also sat in your bedroom, next to your closet corner. You scan through the channels until you find a decent station, and start to haul up boxes.
A good few hours pass before you've got all the boxes moved, and you are utterly exhausted, so you lock the trailer up and head upstairs to your apartment. As the end of "Basket Case" by Green Day fades into another song on the radio, you start unpacking the boxes in your bedroom. It's mostly clothes - colorful sweaters, band tees, ripped jeans, sweats, shorts, underwear, socks - all of which get put in the dresser drawers in a somewhat organized manner. Jackets get hung up onto the pole (thank goodness you packed hangers), and your only other pair of shoes (black Converse with white stars painted on them. They were a gift.) get put on the shelf above.
You kick your laundry hamper into the far corner to get it out of the way as you pull one more box towards the bed to unpack. As you pull out the posters and reach for the last items in this box, your throat tightens.
There, so innocently next to your camera, sits your keepsake box. You know what pictures and gifts reside inside like the back of your hand. Things you kept from going on all your adventures in abandoned buildings with- With trembling fingers, you pick it up. Tears prick your eyes. Then, like lighting, you shove the box far under the bed where you can't see it.
You stand up and quickly walk out of the room, breathing shakily. I should check out the island, you tell yourself as you are already down the stairs and out the door.
The town is small, that's for sure. It takes you all of five minutes to pass by every house and business, as well as an auto shop - which strikes you as odd at first, but you suppose makes sense. You debated checking out a touristy-looking store, but the 'closed' sign quickly ends that train of thought. Wandering past the last house (a yellow one-story with broken-out windows and a 'No Trespassing' sign), you start to follow a lightly-worn trail that leads towards the less inhabited section of the island that ends in a sheer cliff facing away from the mainland. You don’t plan to go very far, though you're not super worried about getting lost - the island is only so big, after all - but the afternoon sun lowering in the sky and the distant rumble in the sky promises a short hike.
Your footsteps crunch underneath you as you weave through the trees, placing your hand on the rough bark of the pines for balance, the calls of red-winged blackbirds and chirping crickets joining the chorus. After several minutes and a rather sharp incline, you break through the treeline into a small clearing with grass and yarrow dotting the landscape. Breathing heavily, you spot a fallen log near the opposite end of the clearing and begin making your way over. You check for bugs before sitting down. You don't see any, though there are plenty of mushrooms.
You rest, watching flying insects glow in the sunlight filtering through the trees.
Standing up, you brush off the back of your pants as you go to continue your hike. But something catches your eye through the trees. Something grey, which stands out against the lush green of everything else. You glance around before stepping off the path towards the something. As you approach it more details become clear. It's concrete. It's a building? In the woods? There's dark square holes lining the side. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognize this building from an old photo your grandfather had reluctantly shown you for a school project in 2nd grade.
It's a bunker.
From World War II if you remember correctly. The bunker is much worse off than when you saw it in the photo. Nature has taken over, tree roots splitting the concrete in some spots, lichen eating away at it in others. You feel a rush seeing the cool abandoned structure. I'll just take a quick look, you think to yourself as you scoot over another fallen trunk blocking the way to the yawning dark void you assume is the entrance. You climb through the doorway, and can’t help the slight disappointment. Its not very big, the back wall probably only a few feet from the front, and it stretches a good 20ft to the left and right. You look up, and are surprised to see there is no ceiling. Looking back left, a tree blocks the way, so you turn and walk right.
It's...surprisingly underwhelming. It's pretty much just tall concrete with some really tiny window holes facing out. The forest has completely claimed the floor. You do your best to not step on any plants. Your eye catches on some...rather obscene graffiti, and you scoff as you look at it and keep walking, not noticing the protrusion sticking out of the ground. The toe of your shoe catches and you trip, scraping your palms on the gravelly ground and flinging your beanie off your head.
You grunt in frustration and pick yourself and your beanie up, turning around to glare at the offending root. Except, it's not a root.
Well now, that's interesting.
A metal hatch sticks out of the ground, covered by leaves and mud, a skid mark revealing the rusting steel where you tripped. You kneel in the dirt as you adjust your hat, worrying about the stains that will leave later. Brushing off the various leaves littering the metal, you find a latch, and are delighted to see no padlock. It's probably just ... I don't know, old plumbing or something, you think as you yank on the latch, the metal finally giving with a screech. You heave open the hatch, and your breath catches in your throat as you look down.
Down.
Down.
A metal ladder bolted into a concrete shaft leads into the dark belly of the earth. A slight glow towards the bottom has you reaching for the ladder before you can question your decision. It looks like... light ?
You're halfway down the ladder before it occurs to you; this is a really bad idea . A creak of metal solidifies that as the hatch slams shut above you. You gasp and lose your grip on one of the rungs before regaining your balance. The shaft is now really REALLY dark as the light from the afternoon sun was taken from you. You shakily feel along for the ladder, moving much slower than before. It's probably fine; I just forgot to prop up the hatch, you assure yourself. Besides, light probably means it's open down there, right? Maybe there's a path or something.
It did not lead outside. Hopping down from the last rung, a small fear takes root along with curiosity as you look around. It's...it's lights are on. How is there power down here?
What is this place?
Your body starts to move down a hallway before your brain has even caught up. You're in some kind of windowless facility, polished laminate floor beneath your feet. Everything is stark white or gleaming steel...and clean. You pause at that before continuing forward.
The hallway opens up into a room that takes your breath away. The first thing that catches your eye is the window.
A large window with rounded corners looks straight out into the ocean. Your knees turn to jelly as you look out at the swaying kelp and the rocky ocean floor as you realize just how deep you are. A school of fish swims by as you collapse onto your knees.
You finally tear your eyes away from the ocean (the giant, terrifying ocean) and take in the rest of the room. There's a lot of equipment that you don't recognize with blinking lights and colorful buttons and switches. You manage to pull yourself back onto your feet, taking in the room as you start to walk around. Water fills a dip in the center of the room, and as you get closer, you see that it, in fact, is an opening that leads straight into the ocean.
A moon pool.
You take a few steps away as you circle it, your back to the large window.
You flinch at a loud beep deep within the building and back up against the glass looking out into the darkening water. You hold your breath, straining to hear any other noise above the droning of the waves above you. After a few moments of silence, you breathe out a sigh.
Tap tap tap.
The relief is short-lived as you hear noises on the glass behind you.
Tap tap .
Craning your neck, you meet white eyes. They stare right at you.
You breathe in sharply and stumble backwards, but before a scream can rip from your throat, your ankle catches on the lip of the moon pool, and you plummet into the icy water below.
A shock courses through your system, and you find yourself unable to move for a second as you sink further towards the rocky bottom. A brush of stone against the toe of your shoe starts you into action and you start kicking violently towards the blurry opening above you. Before you make it very far you feel your left ankle catch between something. Your lungs burn as you panic, swinging around to grab your leg, pulling and kicking as hard as possible. The pain of scratching barely registered against your lower leg and hands as you finally managed to wrench free of whatever you caught yourself on and break through the surface of the water with a gasp.
You haul yourself out of the water, crawling away from the edge on your hands and knees before flipping onto your back. Your chest heaves, taking in as much air as you can, the staleness of the facility permeating your lungs. A beat passes, then two, before you prop yourself onto your elbows to look at the moon pool behind you. The water is still, showing no evidence of your struggle save for the wet trail you left behind. You push yourself off the ground, the cold heat of anger at yourself creeping up your neck.
A fucking fish, you grumble to yourself internally. You look back out the window to a dark sea. Whatever was there decided not to linger. A fucking fish scared me. Goddammit. You take a step towards the exit and wince as you put pressure on your left leg, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off.
"I just had to pick a fight with the ocean, huh?" you mutter to yourself, chuckling before wincing again as you make your way down the corridor and towards the ladder. Hanging your hand on a rung, you take a deep breath. Then, slowly, you climb, your socks squelching horribly inside your shoes.
"Goodbye creepy underground building! May we never meet again," You call out as you push open the hatch above you and climb out. Brushing yourself off, you find your way out of the concrete walls and begin to quickly make your way back to your apartment with what little light you have left, the clouds thundering angrily. You bring your hand up to rub your wrist, that old habit, and your fingers brush up against-
Nothing.
With a start, you look down to see the reddening scratched flesh of your wrist–But no bracelet. A cold dread runs through your veins and tears prick your eyes at your bracelet's absence. Your mind pulls you back towards the bunker to search for the missing accessory, but the sky continues to fade into night, and you were without a flashlight. A sob escapes your throat.
You push yourself back toward your apartment while you can still see the trail.
---------
Your apartment door opens with a groan, echoing your own feelings. Right about when you had made it into town it had started raining. Now, you were extra soaked and cold, on top of being tired, irritated, and in pain. A warm shower calls to you like a siren. You lock your door behind you with a click, kick off your shoes, and start taking off your sweater before you've even made it to the bathroom. You toss your sweater in the general direction of your laundry hamper (you're pretty sure you hear it land on the dresser) as you stop at your bedroom, not bothering to flick on the lights. You push into the bathroom, depositing yourself on the edge of the tub with a groan. There’s no way you’d stand up again for a full shower. Bath it is.
With a grunt, you feel around for the light switch in the tiny room before taking it in.
The bathroom is pretty much all white, reminding you of that weird bunker hallway with a shudder. Your feet rest on a plush bathmat. Couldn't help yourself, huh? you (with some amusement) note the blue bathmat and towels.
You pull a towel down from its place hanging on the wall before turning to your leg. Your eyes widen.
From about your knee to your ankle, wrapping around your leg in an odd way, are four long scratches. Whatever it was ripped through your jeans and left long trails of damaged flesh. It stung like a cat had torn up your leg, and it definitely hurt more now that you were looking at it.
Thankfully, it didn't look too deep, though the small beads of blood that start dripping down your leg make you feel a little nauseous as you turn the tub on and wet the towel under it. You set the towel on the edge of the tub as you stand up and peel off your pants, wincing at the brush of denim over your wounds. Getting off the rest of your clothes as the tub fills up, you wished you had gotten a first aid kit–Or soap.
Grabbing the towel and sitting on the edge of the tub again, you start gently wiping the blood from your leg. After that, you set the towel next to your ruined jeans as you sink into the tub. The warm water soothes you instantly, relaxing muscles you didn't even know were tense.
The relief doesn't last long as your mind wanders back to that facility. What was that place? Did people know it was there? Did your aunt? Should you tell somebody? Definitely not the cops, although you weren't even sure if there were any on the island. But somebody.
What would you even tell them? You grumble internally. Hey, there's a lab-building-facility-thing under an old bunker in the woods that looks straight out of a sci-fi film! No, come back, I promise it's real!
You sigh, sinking further into the heat of the bath. Your hand goes to your empty wrist again. The tears start flowing freely.
Tomorrow.
You'd go back - prepared - and look for your bracelet. Hopefully, you just dropped it as you left. You have to check. You have to hope.
------
The facility is 0_(sound)detect as a hand breaks the surface of MP_boundary_02 pulling up a body after it with a screech of metal. Optical sensors lock onto a trail of water leading to B_boundary_3_forbidden as the whirring of the land conversion stops, signifying they can stand. A spin of actuator_crvcl flips their hat out of cmpt_001 as they get up.
They unfurl their fist, blue silicone briefly holding the impression of their prize, a gift left by visitor_unregistered(unauthorized) . Some of the red strings are severed where they tore it off, but it is otherwise still intact. Their faceplate display_[1.2]emtn as they think of the trespasser struggling in their grip under the water.
Sharp teeth snap together as they move further into the facility into their S-M_chrgprt to display their trophy among the other dusty items in their collection. They then turn to grab a mop.
It's been so long since they've had a visitor.