All Hands On Deck

"Welcome aboard, folks!"

Spoiler

Last week, a man named Nathaniel Pritchett sent you a message, asking you if you'd be up for a month-long cruise. You asked him why, and he kindly requested a meeting between the two of you, ensuring that the job would pay handily.

He was right; you'd be receiving three million dollars just to be aboard the ship. You realized how good of a deal this sounded--someone was paying you to indulge in a cruise--but nonetheless, you were slightly suspicious. It was a little too good of a deal. You asked Pritchett a series of questions.

In answer, Pritchett gave you a brief synopsis of his motif. Over these past several months, passenger planes from several different airlines have been disappearing. Pritchett has a strong belief that they are all disappearing to the same place, an island with many dangers the ship's crew could confront. You have a very specific set of skills; skills that will help find island and uncover the mystery of the missing airliners, while losing the least lives possible. (E.g. there might be evil / dangerous creatures on the island, so Pritchett might recruit an assassin.)

You might believe Pritchett, and you might not, but either way, you decide to take the risk and embark on the boat trip. Maybe it's because you need the money, or because you're a sucker for a good adventure. Regardless of the case, you've just become a member of the crew.

So basically:

You're someone of 20* years of age or older. You have a very specific skill or set of skills that Pritchett believes will prove vital to solving the mystery of the missing airliners and passengers. The majority of this SB will take place on the ship (at least at the beginning).

*If you want to create someone younger than 20 years old, then PM me separately.

Notice:

When you first board the boat, you begin to realize that many of the other characters keep secrets, many of which are dark. The most important secret of all is Captain Sanders'; on the first night you will catch the rumor of his baggage, and the fear will slowly sink in:

Captain Sanders is a murderer, and he is out for blood.

You're scared and begin to question your motives; are you the Captain's next victim? How do the other characters fit into the picture? Is three million dollars worth the price of your life? And furthermore, does Pritchett's island actually exist?

Rules:

All skills should be relatively realistic. No "powers" or invincible characters. Make sure you're polite to other members of the SB, and by all means, do whatever you have to in order to develop your characters. Lastly, have fun and please write literately.

NPCs:

Spoiler

Captain Sanders: Captain Sanders is rambunctious and exuberant. He's very charismatic, never missing the opportunity to crack a 'joke'. His jokes are often more sadistic than humorous. He walks with a limp, but his eyes are his defining attribute; they're an icy blue that resembles the open sea.

Captain Sanders is a murderer, and will remain somewhat mysterious throughout the entire SB. He's killed a man in his lifetime as a result of his grief and anger. He is very temperamental, has an extremely hot temper, and gets dangerously mad very quickly. This has led to his abuse of others in the past. It's also why a lot of people warn crewmembers to stay away from his bad side. In fact, a lot of people don't even meet Captain Sanders until the occasion arises.

Doctor Wells: Doctor Wells is the only doctor aboard, and is characteristically a quiet man. He is soft-spoken and keeps to himself. He is tall and wears glasses.

Nathaniel Pritchett: Pritchett is not on the ship, but the crew all but worships him and makes it appear as though they're following his orders. He is the one who funded the trip and recruited your character. No one really knows much about him.

Open Slots:

Spoiler

Passengers:

Keegan Myers: [@Sevro]
Doctor Eugene Dryden: [@CandyWizard]
Dusty Caruso: [@Wolfical]
Jane West: [@AllisontheWriter]
Dr. Selena Masters, Ph. D.: [@niteowl]
Juliette Emilia Gaudin: [@HazelGrace16]
Cecily Fitton: [@AliceAfternoon]
Duncan Sturmholtz: [@Chaser]
Professor Jack Stein: [@CandyWizard]

Cook:

Issie McDonald: [@Steggy]

Deckhand:

Wesley Gold: [@Savvy]

Captain Sanders' Right Hand Man:

Jean-Claude Baptiste: [@Jexy]

Character Profile:

Spoiler

CodeSelect all

[b]Name:[/b]

[b]Age:[/b]

[b]Appearance:[/b]

[b]Personality:[/b]

[b]History (optional):[/b]

[b]Skills (mandatory):[/b]

[b]Secrets (optional):[/b]

[b]Other:[/b]

Wesley Gold

"Up 'n at 'em, Gold. There ain't nobody but the two of us to do this job, and y'know I don't do crap around here." The door was all but pounded in, the harsh blows of a fist cutting through the cacophony of the waves. It was never quiet on the ship--a fact I'd been apprised of within my first day. There was always something. Whether it was the creak of the ship rocking underneath your feet, or the voices of cranky sailors. Even when there was nothing, there was something. Bubbles. Water. Your own stomach sloshing around inside you.

After I slipped into my T-shirt and threw a button-up tee across my shoulders, I came out of my cabin. A hunk of muscle was waiting. It was shirtless; I'd seen it once yesterday, hauling a wooden box to the storage compartments.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said, hands on his hips. "Glad you decided to join me, after I've been knockin' on yer damn door for thirty minutes." His voice rose, and his eyes widened as he spoke.

"Thirteen," I told him. "Thirteen minutes. Who're you?"

"Well I, pretty boy, am the best thing that's ever happened to you." He shut my cabin door behind me and led me to the main deck.

"How's that?" I asked him, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Because I'm gonna get your ass in gear till you get it in gear yourself. If I don't, then the Captain will. And trust me, Gold--" he clamped a hand on my shoulder. "--you don't want that." He looked away to jiggle a closet doorknob. When the door swung outwards, I caught a glimpse of the contents: janitorial supplies.

"I'm Kale. But I ain't no vegetable," the man said, turning to extend his arm. His septum ring glinted in the sunlight. I shook his hand.

"Wes," I said. "Nice to meet you." He laughed; I wasn't sure if it was at me or my manners.

"Yeah, well," he grunted, "these're the equipment. From what I heard, you know what to do, so you don't need orientation."

In response, I took the broom from the closet. Kale turned a dark and perspired shoulder. Curiously, I beckoned him back. "I do have one question," I admitted, bemusement curving in my brow. "When do I get to meet the captain?"

Kale laughed at this, a big bark of a laugh that seemed to emote from the thick cords of his neck muscles. "Trust me, Gold, you don't wanna meet the captain." I gave him a half-smile and a nod, tapping the broomstick on the deck. "But hey," Kale said, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender. "Captain's cabin's always open. You just gotta be man enough to face him." He leaned in. " But from what I seen from you, Gold? You're nowhere near ready." He chuckled.

I exhaled, nodding my head slowly as he laughed. "Noted," I said. "Hey, where're you going?" I asked as he strutted away.

"I'm off-duty!" Kale yelled back to me with a grin as big as the sun. "Once the boat's docked, I'm gone, Ponyboy. Looks like you put me out of a job, and damn, am I glad."

With that, he was gone, and I lifted the mop from the bucket, lowering it to the wood. It was no different from my job back at Pritchett's hotel. The jobs never changed; it was just the people. The people were what really made things interesting.

~*~

The boat docked somewhere offshore in the Bahamas, and the only reason I knew that much was because Kale checked on me at the top of the hour, eliciting a loudmouthed ramble about the salmon he was dying to stuff himself with. He told me he might stay in the Bahamas for awhile before he takes a plane back to the States, and I told him to get a girl for me. "Aye-aye," he said, with a salute and a grin.

He didn't tell me goodbye when he set off; he just shouldered his belongings and left.

I saw his back disappear in a crowd as I waited at the entrance of the boat. I could see colorful tents and shops littering the base of the dock, where people could buy fish and souvenirs. I watched the crowd gathering there until I caught sight of a girl stepping towards the boat.

Her presence grabbed my attention right away. She toyed with the cuff of her blazer, and tangled her other hand in her dark, wavy hair. "Is this the boat?" she asked me, a strand of her hair catching in her ruby-red lipgloss.

"Yes ma'am," I confirmed, stepping in her direction. "Need help with your things?" I gestured to her suitcase. She gave me the once-over, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a smile.

"Sure. Thanks, love." I took her suitcase from her, and she regathered her purses. She was my height, almost exactly. Tall for a woman. She looked older than me, but I couldn't place her exact age. "Selena Masters," she introduced. I picked up her suitcase and started leading her to her cabin. When I didn't say anything in response, she prodded, "And who might you be?"

I let my mouth curve up into half a smile. "I'm just the deckhand," I told her, as I set her suitcases down right inside the door. "Shout if you need a hand with anything, Miss Masters," I said.

Brushing her hair aside with her forefinger, she said, "Expect me to shout." I knew a flirt when I saw one. I gave her a polite smile and turned to walk away.

Just then, I saw two men arguing on the gangway. One of them was a muscle-head with a crew cut, and was puffing out his chest. The other was tall and dark-haired with horn-rimmed glasses. He was crossing his arms.

"Clearly, if you didn't take my wallet, I would still have it," Glasses seethed.

"You better cut out that world-class charm, Clark Kent, okay?" Crew Cut mused with a laugh. "Listen, I clearly don't have any need for your wallet, chump. In a few weeks, I'll have three mil lying around."

"Yeah, that's real believable, except for the fact that I literally felt the wallet being pulled out of my pocket. There was only one person behind me, buddy, and that was you, pal."

Crew Cut had a slow and amused drawl to his voice. "'Buddy'?" he inquired, "'Pal'? Who do you think you are?"

I made my way across the deck. When I got to the gangway, Glasses's fists were ready to fly. I was contemplating stepping between them, but another man with blond hair and a broad smile beat me to the act. He gladly inserted his smile into the argument. "What's going on here?" he asked, voice muffled by the lap of the waves against the side of the boat. "You two need to calm down, yeah? Let's go, Doc," he coaxed, putting a large hand on the doctor's back, and nodded at Crew Cut.

"Oh," Crew Cut said in mock surprise. "Be my guest, Paul Bunyan. I was just having a nice laugh over here with the laughing-stock." Crew Cut laughed cynically at his own joke. I narrowed my eyes; there was something he was hiding. His black eyes were calculating, and gears were turning behind them. His eyes didn't match his mouth; when he smiled, his expression was still cold.

The doctor pushed the mediator away, adjusting his backpack and the handle of his briefcase. Crew Cut held an camouflage duffel in one hand, and the blond man had a large suitcase. "New passengers?" a stout man asked the three of them, and started leading them away.

I knocked twice on the mahogany door. "Come in," I heard a man's voice call, so I swung open the door and entered the room. It was an office with a wide mahogany desk in the center, backed by a window that took up the entire wall. When I peered outside, I couldn't see the ground. I should've figured that Pritchett's office would be on the twentieth floor; a man like him would settle for nothing less than the penthouse.

"Wesley," the man behind the desk greeted. He was tall, with short, white hair and sharp features. Whiskers outlined his lips, which curved tightly at the right corner. His nose was pointy, and his Adam's apple was sharp, like there was a chip he couldn't quite swallow. He was decked in a full tuxedo; I hadn't ever seen him in anything less elegant.

"Mr. Pritchett," I returned the greeting.

"Sit down," he said. I took a seat in one of the plush chairs at the foot of his desk. "Mr. Gold, we've met before," he told me, intertwining his fingers with a sigh. "I hired you to work at my hotel. I watch you work sometimes. You do a fine job, a commendable job, even."

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"And you're a fine young man," Pritchett told me, allowing himself to give me a weasel-like smile. "Listen to those manners."

I returned the smile. "Thank you, sir," I repeated.

Pritchett stood up, and began pacing the area behind his desk, examining the antiques shelved on the east wall. "But you know what you don't have, Mr. Gold?" He took a sailboat figurine from the shelf, admiring it.

"What's that?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Individuality," he replied, catching my eye with his black ones. A smirk still played upon his lips. Taken aback, I said nothing. "And you know why you don't have individuality?" He looked away and brought the boat closer to his face, looking underneath it. "Because you were never taught it," he told me, answering himself. "Learned behaviors don't develop if they are never taught. A lion cub only learns to hunt when it accompanies its mother on her hunts, and observes from afar. Just as a boy only learns to be himself through the company of his father."

I felt my jaw clench, and I lowered my eyes.

"He was absent for the majority of your life, but even when he decided to come to your rescue--you could never look up to your father, Wesley. The only behaviors you learned from him were those you knew not to follow."

"How do you know that?" I asked, feeling my chest heat up with every word he said.

"I know much more than you think," Pritchett responded. "I've been watching you. But even a blind man could see that you're lost."

"How long have you been watching me? Why do you care?" I asked him. "Did you call me up here to shame me? To shame my father?"

"Don't act as if you care about your father!" Pritchett spitted. "You've become a mirror, Wesley. You tell people what they want to hear. You have no idea who you are, so you emulate the behaviors of others. Hoping you'll know which ones to pick up on. Accompanying them on the hunt. Observing from afar. Desperate to learn just enough to eat."

Pursing my lips, I shook my head, staring at the floor.

Pritchett set the boat down on the desk, and I raised my gaze just enough to see his sharp smile. "But I can help you, Wesley," he promised. "I can help you find your way."

"Hey, um," I heard a voice pipe up from behind me. It was the kind of voice that exploded out of mustered-up bravery. I'd been leaning against the railing, observing the scene. I stood up straight, turning to see a girl with a head of pale red curls and olive skin. She was peeling an orange. "Do you know where I'm supposed to go? I'm one of the new passengers," she told me, clutching one of her backpack straps and then letting go.

"Sure," I told her, "right this way." She had stopped peeling her orange, and was toying with her bracelets nervously. "What's your name?" I questioned.

"Dusty Caruso," she responded. The words rolled off her tongue. I wondered if Dusty was her real name, or if it was just something people had gotten to calling her. Her eyes were a pale green, and they kept studying her surroundings.

"Right here," I told her, knocking and then opening the door a crack. The tall woman from earlier was sitting inside.

"Thanks, um...?" Dusty cleared her throat. "Your name."

"I'm just the deckhand," I told her, and then set off down the deck, grabbing my broom from its place against the wall.

Spoiler

After working on this all day, I've finally finished it. ^^ Anyone whose characters I used, feel free to tell me what to change! Hopefully I didn't misrepresent anybody. If I did, don't be afraid to call me out.

Jane West

A hot, salty breeze whips her brown, almost black hair around, pulling tangled strands out of a halfheartedly fastened clip as she surveys the dockyard. There are clusters of brightly-colored tents, smiling locals hawking expensive but pointless souvenirs, and several sunburned tourists hover around the scene in skimpy attire and flip-flops.

Everything looks so happy ... fake-happy. It hasn't taken long for Jane to realize - re-realize? - that there's no such thing as happiness in this world. Not even on vacation.

Jane West hasn't slept a wink during the flight to the Bahamas. Lack of sleep = increased paranoia, she reasons as she walks towards the immaculately white cruise ship that's docked a few blocks away. (You're not in the city anymore, she chides herself irritably. Stop thinking in its block-headed terms!)

When she arrives, no one else is around. Jane wonders if she's at the right ship, even if it's the only one for miles that looks remotely cruise-ship-y. She consults the papers Pritchett gave her the week before - yup, this is the right one.

Drawing in a breath to steel herself, Jane hefts her worn, blue duffel bag - containing everything she owns - over one shoulder and makes her way up the gangplank.

Already, just by agreeing to come here, she's earned three million dollars ... and a promise that's unlikely to be kept. But honestly, the three million will do just fine.


"Jane." There's something vaguely familiar about the way her name's been spoken, although - to the speaker - the name itself is wholly unfamiliar. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?"

Daring to sneak a glance at the customer she's serving, Jane locks eyes with a tall, thin man in a suit whose tailoring made the worn, red bench he was sitting on seem tackier than usual. For someone so extravagant in appearance, he's ordered a simple coffee, black and sugarless, and one soft-boiled egg.

Wordlessly, Jane sets the food down, being careful to not spill the mug's murky contents. This wasn't the first time a male customer had attempted to start a conversation with her today, and it hadn't ended well the last time. Five bucks an hour is barely enough to get by as it is, but even Jane has her limits on how far she'll go to earn a generous tip.

This one is persistent, though. "You need not be so aloof, my dear." His beady, coal-like eyes dart across the diner's faded interior. "Look around you. Although you may not remember, I may be the only friend you have left in this world."

"Would you like anything else from the menu, sir?" Jane asks coolly, still skeptical and plenty suspicious. To herself, she's wondering, How does he know that I can't remember a darn thing?

The man gestures to the opposite bench in the booth. "Please, Jane, sit down and allow me to explain."

Casting a glance at the boss (who's busy putting out a fire from the newest excuse for a short-order cook), Jane slips hurriedly into the proffered seat and mutters, "You'd better make this quick, capisci?"

"I'll make this brief," the man affirms. "My name is Nathaniel Pritchett and I believe that we each have skills and resources to help each other."

Jane rests her arms, crossed, on the table's scratched, graffitied surface, and laughs harshly. "Who says I need anyone's help?"

Pritchett smiles serenely, knowingly. "Jane West, I've watched you for longer than you can remember. And it is evident to me now, from your lack of recognition, that you cannot remember much."

Bruce, "The Boss" of this two-bit Rock 'n' Roll Diner, tells her to get back to work soon, or there won't be any for her to get back to.

"I have to go." Jane slips out of the booth and dusts off the hem of her ill-fitting waitress's uniform.

Pritchett slides a small envelope across the tabletop. "This will explain the rest. If you help me, I will help you to rediscover your past." Jane takes it quickly - not out of eagerness or enthusiasm - and shoves it into the pocket of her apron. "I've included my contact information. Call me when you've decided. You have forty-eight hours."



"Umm, miss?" A voice from somewhere behind startles Jane out of her thoughts.

Sleep-addled instinct kicks in and she whirls around. The hands she's had stuffed in her sweatshirt's deep pockets are balled tightly into invisible fists....

Spoiler

So, I had some time to write a little something after all! I've left this scene open-ended and fairly vague so anyone who wants can continue it. Jane will probably relax if she realizes the other person means her no harm.

Doctor Eugene Dryden

I used to love New York. Everyone was so busy, and nobody had time to bother or bore me. Every day, I got up at six, I had my coffee, I had breakfast at the diner across the street from Pritchett Industries, I went to work at Pritchett Industries, I did overtime, I came back home, I had dinner, I watched a show or a movie, I got yelled at on the phone by my dad, who was not at all happy that I never called him, but who only called me so that he could say that he calls his son every day. Then, I would say "fuck you", hang up, and go to sleep. It was perfect, but after a while, even that bothered and bored me.

So, I needed a change. And when Nate Pritchett made the offer to get out of New York and do something bigger than avoiding my 'friends', I was all too eager to accept it.

"I've been following you, Doctor, for quite some time now," he said as we sat on a bench in Central Park, a flock of birds flying around us. "You have proven yourself to be an outstanding member of Pritchett Industries, and I can think of no one better to be a part of this sensitive expedition."

"And what exactly is the nature of this expedition?" I asked.

He looked away from me and gazed at the skyscrapers in the distance. "There has been a series of disappearances, Doctor. Planes. Seemingly random flights, but all of them follow similar patterns: they're all passenger planes, they're all flights that depart early in the morning, and they're never more than half-full. Not a single one of them has been recovered so far."

"Sounds like somebody needs people," I remarked and placed my hand on my chin. "Ruling aliens out, could it be a terrorist organization? Has anyone claimed responsibility?"

"That's highly unlikely," Pritchett replied swiftly and sternly. "They would have wanted the public to know as soon as possible, and they would have chosen flights with more people to attract more attention. No, this is someone who wants things off the books. We have reason to believe that whoever is behind this has unrestricted access to a copious amount of resources. They would go to any length to fulfil their agenda, and maintain ultimate secrecy in the process."

I smirked. "Sounds dangerous. What's in it for me?"

He must have liked it when people got straight to the point, because he gave me a little smile. "Other than worldly recognition, and a position of your choosing in my corporation? Three million dollars on a Swiss bank account. Take your time, think about it."

"I'm a fast thinker," I said. "Count me in."

* * *

The cab driver dropped me off at the beach. A Jehovah's Witness handed me a flyer, then gave me a stare of death as I tore it in half and threw it in the bin right next to him.

He walked up to me and poked my chest with his finger. "There will be a reckoning, and you will be judged," he said in a condescending tone.

I adjusted my glasses. "Overruled," I said and walked away from the Witness.

It was a good ship. I mean, I didn't know anything about ships, but it was nice and big, it was white and pretty, and it floated. What more did we need?

I walked along the dock, passing a group of fisherman walking the other way. Just as I set foot on the deck, I turned around to get a better view of the docks. I started walking backwards, and I bumped into the biggest fish on the whole beach. He had a slightly-overgrown army haircut, a shaven face, and a dead-eye look. I bounced off of him and I nearly fell over the railing as my glasses almost slid off my face.

"Watch where you're going, four-eyes," he spoke angrily.

I adjusted my glasses again. "Oh, I'm sorry. Next time I'll watch out for brick walls."

He snorted irritably, but he didn't look too bothered. "Move along, kid. I don't have any lollipops." He wasn't even that much older than me.

"You're right. I'll go ask your mom if she has some." I patted my pockets. They were all empty. "And while I'm there, I'll tell her how you took my wallet. Give it back, meathead."

"What are you talking about?" the large man asked, confused.

I crossed my arms. "You bump into me, and my wallet is suddenly gone?"

"I didn't take your wallet," he sternly replied.

"Clearly, if you didn't take my wallet, I would still have it."

Keegan Myers

The boat was nice. Nice enough that I almost felt like I should be paying them three mil for this gig. I had been perusing the length of the dock, doing some recon. It was habit, I guess, to scout out the mission beforehand, to minimize casualties. Sometimes, it took all I had not to crouch down and shuffle forward, crossing my feet over each other and bringing my shooting arm up, just like they taught us. But, usually, I was pretty good about keeping those habits in check.

There were markets and people coming out of nowhere, getting all up in my face. It made me want to punch their lights out. It would be a reasonable reaction, I thought. If a bunch of little, old Asians were scampering around, squawking on and on about the rotten fish they were wavin' in your face, I mean, hell. Any sane man would do what he could to put some silence into that situation. When I saw the boat—the only half-clean thing on the whole dock—I milled around for a while, my duffle in my right hand. I watched more than one pretty woman walk on board. I smirked to myself. I didn't realize it was gonna be that kind of party. After another minute or two, I walked on board slowly, taking in anything that could be worth all that money that was waiting for me on the other end of this mission. I turned back towards the dock, only to have a twig of a guy bounce off of me.

"Watch where you're goin', four-eyes."

The words fell out of my mouth with a lazy drawl, no thought involved. No, my thoughts were focused on the wallet I just lifted off of this guy. I was honestly stunned at the reflex I didn't even know I had anymore. I was aware of my military-based habits, but this one? I clearly remembered burying this particular habit and all the memories that were associated with it deep down, somewhere I'd never have to find them again.

Somewhere I'd never have to face them again.

"—time I'll watch out for brick walls," he was saying. Still a little shell-shocked, I tuned back in. I gave a little laugh. He was one of these guys. The ones that don't know that insults don't work when you're fixing your glasses while you say them. I weighed my options. I wasn't in the mood for knocking anyone out—my knuckles had just healed from an altercation I had with a man who had the balls to spill his drink on my shirt a while back. So I figured I'd just play along with Twig's charade.

"Move along, kid. I don't have any, uh, lollipops," I monotoned slowly, with a bemused smile tugging at the corners of my lips. He seemed appalled that I would refer to him as a child.

"You're right. I'll go ask your mom if she has some," he said with that whiny voice of his. He'd have to be a grave robber to see her, I thought absentmindedly. "And while I'm there, I'll tell her how you took my wallet." They usually don't notice they're missing anything until they've walked past you, a little voice muttered in my head. "Give it back, meathead," he demanded, holding his hand out, palm-up.

"What're you talking about," I said casually. He scoffed and crossed his arms.

"You bump into me, and my wallet is suddenly gone?"

I leaned toward him a little, emphasizing my innocence. "I didn't take your wallet," I reiterated in a similarly slow voice.

"Clearly, if you didn't take my wallet, I would still have it," Twig said. I could tell he's starting to get angry. I sighed, bored with him.

"You better cut out that, uh, world-class charm, Clark Kent, okay? Listen, I clearly don't have, uh, any need for your wallet, chump. In a few weeks, I'll have three mil lying around," I said, giving him a little smile, one that said Yeah, I'm smiling now, but I won't be for much longer. He didn't take the hint. Was I really gonna have to punch this guy?

"Yeah, that's real believable, except for the fact that I literally felt the wallet being pulled out of my pocket. There was only one person behind me, buddy, and that was you, pal," he said, with an authoritative tone to his voice. I don't think that tone would've worked on the kids he probably teaches high school science to.

"'Buddy'? 'Pal'? Who do you think you are?" I said to Twig, nice and slow, to be sure that he heard me right. He was about to spit something else out of his mouth, when a barrel-chested blonde guy came out of the blue.

What's going on here?" he pretty much bellowed to us, drawing both of our attentions from about two feet away. "You two need to calm down, yeah? Let's go, Doc," the man said, putting his arm around Twig, pulling him away from me with a nod.

"Oh, be my guest, Paul Bunyan. I was just having a nice laugh over here with the, uh, laughing-stock," I say, my eyes and smile widening a bit in feigned surprise. Twig pushed Paul Bunyan away and snarled the snarl of a house cat. I hoisted my duffel in my right hand, sticking my left in my pocket as another guy came to lead us all to our cabins. I guess Paul Bunyan is a passenger on this boat, too. Our sad, little train stopped at a door, dropping off Paul Bunyan. To my bemusement and Twig's anger, we're both deposited by the same door. I take the liberty of walking through it first, not interested in a staring contest with my new roommate.

I drop my duffel on the bunk to the left of the door. I hear Twig put his bag on his bed and walk right back out of the room. I check over my shoulder to make sure he's gone, and then take the brown, leather wallet out of my front pocket. I spread it open to reveal its contents. License. Debit card. A couple of rewards cards. Twenty-six dollars and change. Aside from the very first time I decided to pickpocket someone, this was the first time I've hesitated. In these circumstances, where I know first-hand that the guy is annoying as all hell, I'm not the type to get cold feet. But, I also know that I'm gonna have to spend the next few weeks with this guy sleeping ten feet from me. I shifted my jaw, my inner scale tipping back and forth. I let out a breath as I make my decision. I add the money to my own wallet, and take out his debit card and license. Pocketing the mostly-empty wallet, I walk over to his bag and unzip it. I move fast, in case he decided to come back in the room. My hand reached down to the bottom of the backpack and felt a pair of jeans. I pulled them out halfway. I found the back pocket and shoved the card and license into it. I pushed the pair of jeans back to where they came from and zipped up the pack before I could change my mind.

I unpacked a bit, shoving my cargo pants and T-shirts into my two drawers of the little wooden dresser. I found an outlet behind it, and wrangled the tangled charger out of my bag. Not bothering with the knots, I plugged my phone in, dropping it onto the surface of the dresser. I walked out of the cabin, and nearly stepped on a woman about my age. Both of us jolted to a stop. The man who was showing her to her cabin paused his explanation of where the kitchen was.

"Sorry," she sputtered, putting a hand to her tied-back brown hair. Her deep blue eyes dropped to the floor as she moved to the side. She looked back up when I didn't move by her, but instead, stepped backwards and to the side to allow her the right away.

"No, excuse me. After you," I said politely. Her smile grew as she thanked me and walked past. I carried on my way, out to the deck. There was a young guy leaning on a broom, pointing an old guy with gray hair towards the cabins I had just exited. The younger man let his gaze rest on me for a moment before looking back to the other guy again.

I walk to the rail and lean on it, looking down into the dark waters. I pull out the wallet with the rewards cards in it. And as I rebuild the walls in my head, I toss the wallet into the writhing abyss below me.

Spoiler

@CandyWizard @Savvy @Steggy Let me know if I need to change anything.

Dusty Caruso

I found the color of the deck immediately pleasing to the eye. It wasn’t the usual pale yellow pine, laced with brown knots, but a soft and natural-looking cinnamon, the more sun-weathered boards blushing with a tinge of rose. It looked lovely against the otherwise modern steel railing and white body of the ship, satisfying both the romanticist and the modernist, or just anyone who’d want to play pirate with the lifestyle luxuries of the aristocrat’s twenty-first century. There was even a polished brass compass fixed on the forecastle deck, paired with a just-for-show steering wheel at the helm.

A woman with porcelain skin and a wheat-colored French braid came and stood next to me at the railing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I agreed. “Nothing’s more beautiful than the sea.” I leaned over so I could see the waves splashing against the hull. “See how the water moves when it comes into contact with something? If you trace a single strand of water, you’ll see it crash into the ship, turn over on itself, dissipate into white foam, and become one again with the rest of the ocean. Liquid is a fascinating substance.”

The woman laughed, her keen green eyes sparkling with flecks of gold, like sunlight upon rifts in the water. “I’ve never really looked at such a small fraction of the sea before. I always saw the ocean as a whole.”

“I guess I usually did, too,” I admitted, “but as time’s gone by I’ve taught myself to look for those tiny little details. Anyone can do it.”

We were silent for a few moments, and I rested my chin on my arm, watching the water contentedly. Then the woman asked me what my name was.

“Dusty Caruso. Yours?” I was hoping she’d be Dr. Selena Masters, my assigned cabin mate. This woman seemed really nice, and smart enough to be a doctor, even for her age.

She answered, however, with Juliette Gaudin, to my slight disappointment. Nevertheless, we held a friendly conversation for several more minutes. I learned that she was French, which made sense with her accent, and that she was, indeed, training to be a doctor. She was humble when speaking of her accomplishments, but just by the way she spoke I could tell that she had plenty of both street smarts and book smarts.

The conversation quickly switched to Pritchett. How we met him, why he needed us, and what the mysterious island and disappearing planes were all about. I was pleased to know that Juliette didn’t know anything about aviation or islands, either. As far as I could tell, Pritchett was simply intrigued by her wit.

What did he value in me, then? He seemed to be quite aware of my artistic ability and the way I can observe details. I’ll admit it, those’re my things. But when it comes to helping solve a mystery about disappearing planes, what the heck was I useful for?

Juliette and I finally decided that we’d return to our respective rooms. I did so with a content heart, knowing the first day wasn’t even over yet and I’d already made a friend.

Dr. Masters had arrived by the time I got there. She was reapplying her red lipstick at the mirror, and smiled at me when she heard the door open. She was very pretty, but I didn’t like the look in her eyes. They weren’t sweet or humble like Juliette’s.

“You Dusty?”

“Yes. You must be Dr. Selena Masters.”

“Mmhm. So, what do you do?”

“I’m, well, an artist. I don’t really know why I’m here, actually.”

She capped her lipstick, shrugging. “I guess Pritchett has his reasons.”

Juliette Gaudin

I have been living in America for 4 years now, and everyday something new surprises me. Whether it's the rudeness of a man begging for money, or the kindness of the rich man giving it to him. I know there are similarities everywhere in the world, but America just seems so much more...More of what, I don't know. Everything I guess.

I walk into the bank feeling jittery. I knew the results would not be good, but I had to try. I had no other options. When I walked into my bankers office he was tapping his pencil violently against the desk, and peering at his computer screen with cold intent. Without looking away from the screen he waved me over.

“Come have a seat Miss Gaudin. Your mother told me you were coming to visit me today.” He swiveled his chair to face me. “Now, please explain your reasoning for visiting me this afternoon.”

“Well, as you know I graduated from Colombia with a Bachelor’s degree in psychology this past spring, but my scholarship does not pay for the medical experience or the classes I need to receive my psychiatric diploma. I graduated as one of the top of my class, but even that doesn’t seem to be helping my case of finding a job to help pay for the next step of college. I got a job at the bookstore by my apartment, but it doesn’t pay enough to pay for necessities and college. Plus living in a city like New York without any family for 4,000 miles is hard. Not just because of the price, but also the loneliness of the city. I have friends, but they’re not close friends. Also my boyfriend broke up with me a few months ago, and-” He clears his throat staring at me from across the desk a notepad in hand. His face has no hint of compassion. “I'm sorry, I’m rambling and wasting your time. It has just been a long couple of months.” I rub my face with a sigh.

“I understand Miss Gaudin, and I want to do everything I can. But, you and I both know the amount of loan debt you have right now is inexcusable. The bank cannot loan you anymore. Have you thought about asking your parents for money?”

“No.” I say a little too quickly. “I can't. I made a promise to myself that I could do this on my own. Is there any other way I can get that money? I am desperate.”

“Win the lottery Miss Gaudin. Win the lottery...Now if you’ll excuse me I have some meetings to attend. If you have anymore questions feel free to contact me. I am sorry I couldn’t have been more of a help.” He stands gesturing to the door. I nod silently as he leads me towards the door. I no longer have anything to say. I was out of money, out of options, and out of time.

When I reach the street I stare at my phone for a long time contemplating calling my parents. I know my dad would do it willingly, but my mother...She would tell me constantly “I told you so,” and “I knew you couldn’t do it without me.” I winced as I rubbed a hand across my lower back where the scars created little ridges across my skin.

No one would know. No one should ever know. They would never believe you.

I remember the many times she gave me that same speech. I shudder bringing my thumb towards the home contact on my home. All a sudden I am jolted away from the call at the notification of a new email with the strangest subject.

New Opportunity, and we need you Miss Gaudin.

It was directly appointed to me strange enough, and I was glad for the distraction to get me away from calling my family.

And so it begins…

-------------------------------------------------

I have always been a fan of the water, and boats. It's something about it being separated from civilization that makes it so extraordinarily intriguing. However, this boat was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s fairly large, and very expensive looking. Nothing like the simple boats my father owned at our lake house.

As I approach the docks, with my suitcases wheeling behind me. I notice there aren’t many people on this expedition. There are a few stragglers on the main deck, but the ship is not overflowing by any means. From an outward glance, they all seem fairly glamorous and successful. I took my time walking up the steps to the boat, and was instantly greeted by a very tall, somewhat grungy looking young man.

“Welcome aboard. I’m gonna help you out real quick. I’m Wesley, the deck hand, and I’ve been asked that question many times today already...You’re one of the last ones to come aboard so I decided to take that jump for ya.” I looked down knowing I was caught red handed.

“Traffic.” I lied. He laughed slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m always late to things.” I say with a forced, embarrassed smile.

“Understandable. By the way your French accent is very cool.” I smile slightly. “Can I help you with your things?” He asks politely. I shake my head.

“Nope I’m fine, but if you’d point me in the direction of my living quarters I would be very appreciative.” He nodded. Pointing me in the right direction. “Thank you.” When I eventually find my assigned cabin someone is already inside unpacking. She seems a little older than I am, but she is still fairly young. When she sees me a smile quickly crosses her face.

“Hello! You must be my roommate. I am Issie McDonald.” She holds out her hand, and I drop my bags returning the handshake. For some reason I can’t shake my view from her crazy blue eyes. “You’re very pretty by the way.” She says smiling brightly.

“I’m Juliette Gaudin.” Her eyes widen with surprise. “And thank you for the very sweet compliment. Your eyes are pretty.” She laughs.

“I get that a lot. Also, you’re French! How interesting. Look at us. Two women complimenting each other. What a world.” She laughed again. I was gonna like her. She plopped down on her bed, and continued with her unpacking. I set my bags onto my bed, and headed for the door. Issie looked up. “Where you going?

“I assume we are setting off soon, and I like watching the horizon disappear when you leave the mainland.” She nods seemingly impressed with my weird personal pleasure.

“Seems fair. I may join you in a little bit.” I smiled with nod, and walked out of my cabin shutting the door behind me.

When I reached the main deck there were only a few people around. There was an attractive largely built young man leaning against the railing, Wesley, the deck hand, cleaning up something on the floor nearby, a girl with fiery orange hair, and maybe some people talking around the corner but I wasn't sure. I took a deep breath of the sweet salt air, and smiled. I noticed the girl with fiery hair leaning heavily over the railing. She seemed to be entranced by the water. I walked over taking a spot next to her. I don't know why, but I started a conversation. It would be good to have some friends on this trip. The conversation was pleasant, and after we finished talking she retired to her room. However, I stayed at the railing taking in more of the calming sea breeze. There seemed to be a sense of hope in it. A sense of adventure.

I had a good feeling about this trip.

Spoiler

@Wolfical @Savvy @Sevro

Cecily exhaled, releasing the gray smoke from her cigarette and spoke, “What exactly is it that you want, Mr. Pritchett?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.

The man leaned back in the burgundy chair, his legs where crossed and his hands in his lap. He watched Cecily like a cat watched its prey, with extreme caution and interest. “There is a cruise ship, it leaves port Forford on Thursday and will not return until a month has passed. I’d like you to be on that ship.”

Cecily raised an eyebrow, it was not her usual job. Most people who walked into her cupboard of an office had more daunting tasks, but after her last job—which included her almost drowning—Cecily was more than happy to jump on a cruise ship for a month. “Alright. How much?”

Mr. Pritchett leaned forward, took an envelope out of his jacket and slid it across the surface of the rosewood desk, towards Cecily. She looked Mr. Pritchett in the eye and opened the envelope. Cecily pulled out a check and answered, “Three million dollars! What the hell is on the bloody ship?” she yelled.

With a smirk, Mr. Pritchett explained, “Over the past few months, passengers on multiple airlines have gone missing. I have a strong belief that these passengers have all been disappearing to the same place. An island not far off the coast of Africa. I expect this island to be filled with dangers, but you Cecily Fitton—you are more than capable of protecting yourself.”

“So let me get this right,” Cecily started, “You are paying me three million dollars to go on a cruise ship that goes to a dangerous, mysterious island filled with missing passengers? How do you know for sure that this island exists?”

“That is my secret, and once you are on the ship, you will realize a lot of the passengers have secrets of their own,” Mr. Pritchett stood up, buttoned up his jacket, “I hope to see you there,” and before he left the room, without turning around he spoke her name, “Cecily Fitton.”

Spoiler

This is my first storybook. I hope that was good enough >_< @Savvy I wasn't sure about the "port Forford" or "island off the coast of Africa" bits but just tell me if you actually have a location for these places already. Sorry it was so short. I like writing short chapters

Dr. Selena Masters

The port in the Bahamas brought me back to the Bermuda Triangle mission, my first project with Johann. It was on a port just like this, with vendors hawking their souvenirs and tourists wandering around, where he'd wined and dined me and we took our relationship to the next level. We'd had some good times on that boat, even though it wasn't half as nice as this ship Pritchett had commissioned.

Was I betraying his memory by going on this cruise? Johann had cursed Pritchett's name any time it came up, but when I asked why, he never cared to elaborate. So I was surprised when I got the message from Pritchett.

"Oh, that," he responded when I asked about their apparent rivalry when we met at my favorite bar. "No, we never liked each other all that much, but I did respect the man. He had his convictions and he kept good company. Like yourself, Dr. Masters." He took a swig of top-shelf whiskey and ordered another round for both of us. As we talked and he described the mission, I decided that I couldn't turn it down. I was sick of fighting Johann's family and raring to do some fun work again. And maybe some fun men, if I was lucky. So I agreed.

"Is this the boat?" I asked a man who looked like a crew member. A little young, but not bad-looking at all.

"Yes ma'am. Need help with your things?" I smiled and let him help me to my cabin. "Shout if you need a hand with anything, Miss Masters."

"Expect me to shout." Crew members could be a lot of fun, but this one seemed more business-like. Darn. I settled in to my cabin and wondered what I should do next. A ship this nice has to have a bar, I figured, especially given Mr. Pritchett's good taste. I had brought my own stash, but I didn't want to cut into it before I had to. I touched up my makeup first, since I didn't know who I'd run into.

Right before I was about to leave, an olive-skinned redhead entered the cabin. This must be my roommate, Dusty Caruso. Strange name, and an artist to boot. I couldn't figure out why Pritchett would want an artist on this mission, but then I could never figure out why Johann did what he did half the time either. Rich men were strange.

"So I was about to take a look around and see if I can find the bar. Care to join me?" If the stereotypes about artists were true, we'd have something in common at least.

"Er...I'd rather get settled in for now. But thanks for offering."

"Suit yourself. I guess I'll see you later."

I walked around the boat for a while, but didn't see anybody else or any signs of a bar. I was just about to give up and head back to the cabin when I saw her. Tiny, dark-haired, twitching about like a paranoid mental patient. Except that if she was who I thought she was, her paranoia was entirely justified.

"Um...miss?" She whipped around to face me, her black hair flying in her face from the wind. She looked like hell, more sleep-deprived and less made up than Johann preferred, but it was unmistakably her. And either this ship was haunted, she was a damn good hologram, or she survived after all.

"Hi there. I'm Selena. What's your name?" I tried my best to sound soft and motherly. Not my nature at all, but she seemed incredibly nervous and I had to get her to trust me.

"Um...Jane. Jane West." She pulled one of her hands out of her sweatshirt and held it out. I gave it a nice, firm shake. She was solid, real. Not a ghost or a hologram, though she had apparently changed her name. Or had another glitch. I couldn't really tell.

"Nice to meet you, Jane.You know, you look really familiar. Have we met before?"

She shook her head. "I work at a Rock-n-Roll diner. Maybe you've seen me there?" She sounded weary of the excuse, like she had said something like that a thousand times before. So either she's lying or she glitched again. I stared at her for a moment looking for any tells, any sign of recognition, but her confusion seemed genuine. Maybe Pritchett or someone else had gotten to her memories? This would be an interesting trip.

"You haven't happened to find the bar on this ship yet, have you?" Hopefully after a couple drinks, I could get "Jane" to tell me what the hell happened to her.

She shook her head and pointed to her bag. "I haven't even managed to find my cabin yet."

"Oh, of course. Maybe we can drop off your things and then find the bar and enjoy a drink in the sunset." We made our way back to Cabin 4, which was right across from mine. She opened the door to a tall blond girl who seemed none too pleased to be sharing the cabin. She introduced herself as Cecily Fitton, When I asked what she did and how she ended up on the ship, she said that it was none of our business. I invited her to join us, but she declined, which was more than fine with me. I wanted to talk to Jane alone anyway.

At last, we found the bar. It was empty, save for a tall man in glasses behind the counter. He introduced himself as Dr. Wells and said he kept busy as bartender when there wasn't a medical emergency. I ordered a mai tai while Jane stuck with water. Smart girl. It would be harder to pump her for info when she stayed sober. As the ship took off, we headed to the dock and watched the glorious sunset over the Bahamas.

"So, what do you do, Selena?" Jane asked me. When I told her I was a scientist, she perked up considerably. She asked about my work, but I could tell she wasn't interested in the details of mutant plant genetics. If she'd glitched like I suspected she had, she probably only cared if I could restore her memories or something. Still, I kept yammering on about the details of my research, hoping she'd get bored enough to interrupt...

"What did you mean earlier? When you said I looked familiar?" She finally cut me off and told me what was really bothering her. I looked down into those wide brown eyes, that face blessed (or cursed?) to remain forever at 20, and wondered what to say. I could lie and say she just had one of those faces, or I could tell her the truth. Or at least what I knew of the truth. But first I had to confirm my suspicions.

"It's hard to explain, but can I ask you a couple questions first?" She nodded, so I continued. "Do you know a lot of facts you probably shouldn't? For example, are you as familiar with Elvis and Duran Duran as you are with dubstep or whatever normal 20 year olds listen to?" Her jaw dropped, which I took to mean yes. "Okay. And do you have abilities you don't remember acquiring, like picking locks?"

She nodded. "There's...there's a lot I don't remember, actually. Mr. Pritchett made it sound like there might be answers on this boat." So it was her. Johann would have been pleasantly surprised.

I downed the rest of my mai tai and handed her the empty glass. "Go get me another drink, and I'll tell you what I can." She nodded and headed back to the bar. When she came back, I told her we should both sit down, and then I started to tell my story.

"So you don't recognize me at all, correct?" She nodded. "Okay, what about the name Johann Bensen? Does that mean anything to you?" She shook her head, her blank stare confirming that she was telling the truth. I rattled off a few other names, neuroscientists and software engineers that were more intimately involved in her project, but she didn't know them either. Whatever had made her glitch this time must have worked a lot better. At least last time she knew where the lab was.

"Okay, so Johann Bensen was my boss before he passed away. Like Pritchett, he had a lot of money and peculiar interests. I don't know all the details, but I know you were his greatest success. Until you became his greatest failure."

"What do you mean?" Jane asked, clearly hungry for this knowledge.

I took another swig of my cocktail and was about to tell her what happened when I heard a loud cough behind us.

"Good evening, ladies. Nice sunset, isn't it?" A man snuck up behind us, nearly causing us to spill our drinks on ourselves. "Bloody as rare meat, just the way I like 'em." He laughed at this strange joke, and Jane and I laughed along out of politeness. "Captain Sanders, by the way. Looks like Mr. Pritchett went out of his way to select some lovely traveling companions for me."

"Pleasure to meet you, Captain. I'm Dr. Selena Masters." I smiled and shook his hand, putting myself between him and Jane, who looked paralyzed with fear. I didn't blame her for being afraid, but I could handle assholes like this.

"The oceanographer, eh? Well now you're on my radar!" I laughed like I hadn't heard that one a thousand times before.

"And now you're on mine, Captain. I imagine we'll have to work together to find this mysterious island."

"Lookin' forward to it, my dear. But right now you all need to get your sea legs so you'll ta...so you'll think better."

"Of course, Captain. We should probably head back to our cabins now and get some rest."

"Don't worry, Dr. Masters. I'll make sure you have smooth sailing through the night. Good night, ladies! Don't let the crew bite you now!"

"What do you think he meant by that last bit?" Jane asked me as we hurried back to our cabins. "You don't think the crew are vampires, do you?"

"No way. Though that doctor guy sure did look pale as hell." I laughed. "It was probably just another bad joke. You know, like playing off 'good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite.' "

"Yeah, you're probably right. But still, that captain creeps me out." I didn't want to admit it, but I agreed with her. My co-workers at Bensen Enterprises had strange senses of humor too, but two jokes about blood right after meeting us?

"So he's a little odd. But we're still getting paid, right? Just gotta make it through the month." I did my best to sound confident. "Guess we'll have to finish storytime later. Good night, Jane."

I climbed into my cabin bed and stared at the gleaming white ceiling, trying to banish the memory of meeting our unusual captain so that the waves could rock me to sleep.

Jean-Claude Baptiste

The Frenchman awoke in a disagreeable mood as there were a number of loud knocks upon his cabin door and he sat up with a grunt. "Pour l'amour du Christ...." Swinging himself over the edge of his bed and stood with a crack from his back as he stretched. "Stop with that wretched knocking, I'm getting up, I'm getting up." Still the knocking persisted. "Fous le camps!" Sighing and cursing, the massive man pulled on a pair of black military trousers before storming the door and flinging it open.

Before him stood the captain's son, newly appointed deckhand of the ship they had all only somewhat recently boarded. The Frenchman's face softened, if only barely so, and he let out a huff. "What is it, boy?" He suddenly remembered what the day meant for himself and the captain. "Are the passengers starting to arrive?"

The Captain and his son had arrived at the ship the previous day with Jean-Claude after a short time on land to prepare the boat for their voyage before the other passengers of interest began to filter in. It would seem that the specialists Mr. Pritchett had sought out were arriving right on time. Wesley nodded and the First Mate simply grunted before closing the cabin door once again to finish getting dressed.

--------------------------------------------------

After a quick check in with the Captain, Baptiste took a position on the lounge deck, looking down over the passengers as they boarded the ship from her platform. He noted the men and women carefully in his mind, those that Pritchett had told he and the Captain about anyway. There was Dr. Masters, the prodigal daughter, Dusty Caruso, the artist, Ms. Gaudin; Pritchett had not elaborated much on the Frenchwoman- some investigation would be required...

More passengers filed up the ramp, and Jean-Claude recognized two of the others on Pritchett's wishlist; Dr. Dryden and Keegan Myers seemed to already have gotten off to a good start, accusations and insults being passed back and forth. The First Mate watches in amusement for only a moment before gesturing to another crew member to intervene and make sure Keegan doesn't put the good doctor into the infirmary. They are separated and lead to their rooms. Jean-Claude smirks. Those two will be thrilled when they see their bunk mate...

Eventually, Jean-Claude grows tired of watching over the embarking passengers as most have already boarded and wanders away. Time to evaluate our guests, as per Sanders' orders...

The first person the Frenchman comes across is none other than Keegan. Apparently the others were still unpacking and the ex-SEAL was taking the time to brood, staring over the railing into the sea below.

Adjusting his round sunglasses, Jean-Claude steps forwards from the shadows and folds his arms across his chest. A small object falls from the other man's hands and plummets over the railing and out of sight. There is a small splash barely audible over the ocean breeze and ship's noises. Keegan turns to face the large Frenchman staring at him.

"Mr. Myers." Time to get to know the guests.

Issie McDonald

Adventure doesn't knock, but it sometimes does interrupt dinner.

Judy was always the kind one of the family. Bustling around with a clean pot for dinner. I would be the on in the kitchen, yelling commands to the two siblings, Ollie and Martin to get back to work. Tonight was especially busy. Meaning the two twins were seemingly gone.

Sugarcane or salt? I weighed the two glass shakers in my hand, deciding on which would go well with the dish I was making. Angel Hair with white sauce. The house special for tonight. An ideal summer feast for everyone that came. I didn't want to be the only one making it, though. I shook my head and quickly added the salt, lightly mixing the Angel Hair pasta in the boiling water. I stared longingly into the boiling water, my thoughts getting the better of me. My mother would always nag me not to stand over it.

"It takes time for stuff to actually give under the pressure. People, for example." I laughed softly. My mom always had a funny way of saying inspiring quotes.

"Issie! Could you hurry it up on the Angel Hair!" Judy yelled. Even at the age of sixty-nine, she was lean and fit. The third in line to own the restaurant. I never understood where she got her energy from.

"It's coming!" I yell back. It is common for the McDonald's to yell when in the kitchen. I quickly drain the rest of the hot water from the pot, leaving the Angel Hair pasta in the colander. I skipped to the fridge, pulling out the left over white sauce from last night and place it in the microwave. The guest say the sauce is to 'die for' and 'what is the recipe?", when in actuality it is just store bought. A 'family secret' we hope nobody finds out about.
Soon, I have five plates of pasta and white sauce settled on the tables out there. Another busy night. Sighing, I grab a dirty wash cloth and slowly started to clean the counter.
I never wanted to be a cook. In fact, I had to drop out of college and run this little place. Second in command.

"Issie! Somebody's here to see you!"

I hadn't expected anyone to see me. Sure, I was the kind person that helped everyone out and would stop traffic for ducks to pass. But in reality, I didn't like people. I have to hold everything in my power to not ask for one to go away.

"Coming," I muttered, throwing the dirty dish rag into a nearby sink. I quickly looked into a nearby mirror, patting down my hair and putting on a fashionable smile. God pray this takes only a minute.
When I pushed open the plastic door leading into the kitchen, I saw Judy and some man chit chatting away. The man is dressed in a old vest, a styled white button up underneath it, and holds the view of a bartender. His hair reminded me of dying sunlight on a cool summer's day. Inside I groaned heavily while on the outside, I continued smiling.

"Ah good, you're here," Judy stated. "I'll be out back, washing the remaining potatoes for tomarrow." Her accent, when she spoke, would come out in a southern twang. I nodded before taking her spot in front of the man. He smiled gently, resting his elbows on the table.

"Are you Issie McDonald?"

I nod. Of course. Who else would I be?

He smiles once more. "Excellent. I'm Gerald Hicks. It's a pleasure to meet you." I can smell your falseness, Mr. Hicks.

"I'm here to present you with an offer, Miss McDonald. It is up to you whether you accept it or not. If you decline, I understand. If you accept, well, you'll be offered three million dollars. I know, it sounds unbelievable and a complete hoax. Trust me, though, it'll be worth it."

"Uhh..." I didn't have anything to say really. Why of all people did he ask me? I didn't have a clue. I only stared blankly at the man in front of me. A complete stranger asking me to go on a cruise and be awarded three million dollars for just going. It seemed rash. Sudden. Over-whelming.

"Is there by chance a time I can get back to you, or...?"

Gerald's expression seemed to hardened as he shifted in his seat. "I understand that you need to time to think. But I'm afraid I'll need an answer by the end of the day."

Panic seemed to build in my chest. Or was it fear. It was overwhelming. I didn't know why I was acting like this. Melodramatic. It ran in the family. My hands were getting sweaty as I intertwined my fingers together.

"I-I have a business. I-I can't j-just leave it-"

"I think you should take it."

"Ollie!"

Oh. Great. Double trouble has arrived.

I glanced over quickly, giving both the twins a stern look. Ollie, a ten year old with raven black hair and rusty brown eyes, only smiled before skipping into the kitchen. Martin, another ten year old with walnut brown hair and caramel eyes, looks sincerely at me before following behind his brother. From the corner of my eye, I could see Gerald scoffing. I mentally roll my eyes before turning around.

"Sorry about that."

Gerald only laughed before waving a hand. "It's fine. I know how siblings can be." He straightened himself up, grabbing a car from a pocket inside his vest. "Anyway, back to what I said before. I would like an answer by the end of the day, Miss McDonald. Here's my card if you decide." With that, I watched the bartender esqued man walk away. The card almost felt heavy between my fingers. I looked down at the card. Gold lettering on white. A phone number written in black ink. I felt queasy.

"Are you going to take it or not, Issie?"

I turned my head quickly to see Ollie standing outside the plastic door that lead into the kitchen. I frowned slightly.

"I don't know."

Ollie softly laughed before stepping down. "I think you should take it."

"And why's that?"

"Well, for one." He paused as he neared the table. "You're the hardest worker at this restaurant. And two, I think you deserve a break."

"You're starting to sound like Judy," I muttered. "Besides, you're only ten. I don't think you understand how big this decision could affect this place." I slid out of the booth and slowly walked up the steps. Ollie shrugged.

"But, hey, like the man said, you have." He stopped to look at a nearby clock. "Exactly seven hours before you can contact him. I'm sure that'll give you plenty of time to think of an excuse to not to go." He added his causal smile before walking towards the back door. I sighed heavily. Looking down at the card, I decided it was better to just ignore the card until it was time.

Of course, I didn't forgot about the stupid card. It got in the way of work for the rest of the day. After we closed for the day, Judy pulled me aside.

"What's eating at you, Issie?"

I grimaced, pulling at a stray hair on my sleeve. "I'm invited to go on a cruise ship for three million dollars."

"Is that what the man wanted? The one that came earlier?"

I nodded. Judy only sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Look, Issie. I know you're nervous and all, but you should take this chance. I'm sure you know that you're the hardest worker around here. You please everyone with your smile and you kindness. If anything you should remember that us McDonald never fail to please."

"I disagree on the 'hardest worker' part," I muttered, casting my view to the floor. A small ant was carrying a bread crumb.

Judy frowned. "It is true. You may think that you aren't the hardest worker but you make the food-"

"And you give it out to everyone who needs it."

"Iss-"

"If anything, I'm nothing."

"That's isn't true! Cooking is the most important thing that keeps a restaurant open and going!" Judy exclaimed. I rolled my eyes before turning my back.

"I don't know if I should go, anyway. I don't want this restaurant to fall because of me leaving. I fear that. I mean, when my mom and dad died, the rate of people coming in dwindle. I don't want that to happen again."

Judy sighed, patting my back. "If you leave, Ollie, Martin, and myself will look over it. We'll make your famous Angel Hair pasta with white sauce. As I said before, us McDonalds never fail to displease. So, going back to my point, I think you should go." She paused before softly laughing.

"Besides, you're getting paler."

I felt my face getting hot as humiliation settled in my stomach.

"I think a nice tan will suit you, Issie!"

"Shut up!"

Laughter was in the air as I walked out of the kitchen. Judy opened the small ordering doors.

"It's a true fact!" I sent her a glare before walking to the bathroom. When I was going to the bathroom, Martin was leaning against a adjacent wall of the doors. His head was bowed, arms crossed with his left foot on the wall.

"So, are you going to take it?"

"What is with everyone? I don't know!"

Martin sighed before looking up. "Other people can't decide for you, Issie. I'm sure you know that. But they can push your opinion forwards or backwards. It's up to you whether you take this chance or not."

"Gah. I hate it when you're right," I muttered. I felt a little disappointed. I was going around, dragging people with me. I couldn't make a simple decision without the help of others. Other times, it would be good to ask for opinions but now, it was on my shoulders.

Martin gave a soft chuckle. "I'm only right ninety nine percent of the time."

"What about that one percent?"

He shrugged, walking past. "That's up to you."

I sighed, continuing to the bathroom. Pulling out the card from before, I glanced down at the phone number. I pushed open the door to the bathroom with my side, grabbing the phone from my back pocket in the process. I stood in front of the mirror, gazing over my body while the phone rang for two minutes.

Suddenly, the lined clicked and voice sounded over.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mr. Hicks. It's Issie McDonald from earlier."

"Ah. I never expected you to call so soon, Miss McDonald. Did you come to a conclusion yet?"

Why else would I be calling? "Um.. yes. After talking to my family, I've decided to come onto the cruise ship. Will I be payed three million dollars beforehand or when I get aboard?"

There was laughter on the other side of the call. "When you get aboard the ship, McDonald. Did you make the decision upon wanting the money?"

I groaned internally. "Actually, my grandma suggested I get out more because I'm unfortunately paling. Also, I do need something new. Don't like looking around the same old place, if you know what I mean." I added a quick chuckle after I had said that before sighing.

"I'll be sending a cab to pick you up tomorrow morning, at ten. Don't sleep in or you'll miss it. I'll be seeing you tomorrow then, Miss McDonald." And the line went dead. I sighed, pocketing my phone. I looked in the mirror once more before exiting iting the bathroom. When I left, Ollie had his ear against the door and stumbled back when I opened the door.

"What're you doing?" I asked calmly though deep down, I wished to flick him to Mars.

"Overhearing your conversation."

"Why?"

Ollie only rolled his eyes. "Because, I was bored."

I crossed my arms. "Couldn't you just bothered Martin or something? Help Judy clean the dishes?"

He stood up from his crunching position and sighed. "All of that is boring. Messing with you is much funner."

I frown slightly, moving past him. "Funner isn't a word, y'know?"

Ollie only shrugs, following me. "So, how'd did the call go? Are you going?"

"I thought you overheard it."

"The only part I got was you getting paler because grandma insisted you stay indoors."

"And that is why you shouldn't eavesdrop because you get the facts incorrectly." I sat on a stool by the bar while Ollie jumped over the counter.

"You know there's a door."

He nodded, grabbing a glass from under the counter. "I know. I just thought it'll be better to act cooler if I jumped over. Like they do in the action movies, y'know?"

"Except they throw bottles and whatnot. Also, gunshots are present."

Ollie rolls his eyes before pouring apple juice into the glass.

"Back to my question."

"Oh. Well, I'm going. Apparently, I'll be paid three million dollars just to go."

"Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head.

"Can you hide me in your suitcase? I bet there'll be some cute chicks aboard."

"You're ten."

"So?"

I sigh before hopping off the stool. "Which means, I'm not taking you with me."

"Oh, come on. Even if I beg you?"

"I'll just say no."

"You're lame."

"I know."



"Be sure to look after the place while I'm away. Oh, and also! Don't let Ollie burn down the house!"

"That's a rude thing to say, Issie!" Ollie yelled. I only rolled my eyes before stepping into the cab. I looked through the tinted window and wave towards my family as the cab pulls away. When we pull away, I see the restaurant become only a place on the side of the road. I sighed, turning my view in front of me. A grey patterned seat with faded and folded magazines in the back. I took one, paging through it before getting bored. It was another hour before I arrived at the shipyard where the cruise was suppose to be at. Gerald hadn't provided any details as to where this shipyard was at, only mentioning the cab.

Sighing, I turn to look outside again. Trees, shrubs, and small houses seemed to zoom by even though it felt as if we were slowing down. All of my bags were in the trunk even though I had asked the driver to give me my backpack. He only shrugged and got in. I didn't even know his name. Doubt settles in my stomach. The person driving might not even take me to the shipyard. Some random person on the street could be driving me to some abandoned hotel, filled with insects and smelly bed. I groan at the thought of this.

This is not the time to think about stuff like that, Issie. But it was kinda hard not to. I only continued to stare out the window, my eyes roaming over the different signs and plants.
A few hours later, I must've fallen asleep because I heard a gruff voice calling my name.

"Miss McDonald, please wake up. We're here."

"Judy, let me sleep for... five minutes," I muttered, waving my hand to the man. He only sighed deeply before poking my shoulder.

"You have to get up now, McDonald. The cruise ship will leave without you."

Groaning, I slowly opened my eyes and sat up. I yawned shortly before feeling my neck hurt at the sudden reminder of discomfort I had felt while napping. Reminding to not sleep in a moving car.

"A lady needs her rest, y'know?"

The man only chuckled before moving towards the trunk. I stepped out of the door, feeling the gravel move underneath my feet. It only took a minute before my eyes could adjust to the sudden brightness that I noticed a huge boat docked to my right. Water lapped at the bottom, green algae decorated the side. The smell of the sea almost caused my heart to go into my chest.

It's happening. There's no turning back now.

"Here's your bags, Miss McDonald."

"Oh, thanks. Also, Issie's fine."

The man grunted before reaching into his suit, retrieving a huge packet. "Here's the three million dollars I was told to give you. Another thing I was told to tell you was Mr. Hicks won't be joining you today." He stopped before smirking. "He's a little busy at the moment."

That sounds suspicious. "Okay... Thank you for telling me. So, do I just, er.. go up to the dock and onto the boat?"

The man facial expression changed to a frown. "It is that simple. Oh, and somebody will be waiting for you when you get aboard. They'll help you find your way around the place." He closed the trunk, startling me a little and walked in front of me to the driver's side.

"One more thing, Mis- I mean, Issie."

I turn to face him. "What's that?"

"Stay alive." That was the last thing I remember hearing from the mystery man. I watched the car drive off and turn left onto the highway. I sighed, swinging my backpack onto my shoulders. Slowly, I make my way onto the ship itself. The air suddenly felt heavier and hotter than I imagined. Then again, it could be the jeans and long sleeved flannel I was wearing.
When I finally made it to the landing, I glanced up the ramp that lead to the upper part of the boat. An uneasy feeling crawled its' way into my chest as I glupped. I haven't been on a ship nor did I want to. Part of my brain was making me rethink this while the other half kept repeating Judy's words in my head. Sighing, I trudged forward and up the ramp.
The upper deck of the ship was empty, a few barrels were here and there but nothing special. A net laid nearly off the side of the ship, seaweed dangling on a green thread. I groaned, thinking it was best to do find some other people aboard the ship.

I was walking for what felt like an hour before I came back to the original spot. My backpack growing heavier by the moment. Go explore indoors. Maybe there's an A/C in there, my mind pleaded. I chose to ignore it. A silly notion. Sitting against the iron fence that looked unsafe, creaking from the pressure, I dung around in my backpack until I found a water bottle. Glupping it back, I stared up into the sky.

Was this the wrong place? The wrong ship? I groaned. Sweat lined my forehead and my neck. I felt as if I was slowly dissolving into the very fence behind me. Goodbye cruel world, I thought as I turned my head to the side.

"Excuse me, Miss, but why are you laying around out here?"

"Eh?" I blinked my eyes to see an older man in front of me. He was wearing a turtleneck with a thick brown jacket over it. How hasn't he died yet?

"Oh, I'm just resting. Walking around this place- I mean, boat, is pretty tiring."

The man nods, walking over. He puts forth a hand (which I take) and lifts me up.

"There's an entrance over there, you know." He then pointed behind him to a steel door that had a bronze wheel. I glanced over and mentally frowned.

"Oh... I didn't even realize that."

The man chuckled. "I'm sure nobody would. Oh, my pardon, I'm Professor Jack Stein. Though, you may call me Stein, if you'd like."

"Nice to meet you, Stein. I'm Issie. Issie McDonald."

Stein smiled before gesturing to the door.

"So, what did you do before coming aboard the boat?"

"I was a cook at a family owned restaurant. My grandma and brothers are running it while I'm away, though. What about you?"

He shrugged. "I'd thought you would already guessed. I'm a professor at a college, dealing with the fine arts and that kind of thing. One of the highest colleges in the world, actually."

"Oh."

When we opened up the door to the ship, there were crew mates down there. Ants of the a giant floating anthill.

"Aye, what're two doin' down here?"

I sighed.

"We're looking for the rooms. Do you know where they might be at?" Stein asked, shifting the suitcase he was holding in his left hand.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. Find a map or somethin' and get lost."

"With all due respect-"

The crew mate scoffed. "I don't need your goddamn respect! Get lost!" We both, dejectedly, made our way out from the crew mate's hallway and onto the deck once more. When we were back on the deck, another crew mate appeared.

"Did you run into Rusty?" he asked suddenly. He has a cut over his left eye and a scruffy brown bread.

"It seems so," Stein stated rather harshly. I only smiled towards the crew member.

"You guys looking for the rooms?" We both nodded. "Ah. Follow me."



"And, here's your room. At the end of this hallway. Miss McDonald."

"Issie's fine, thank you."

When I stepped into the room, I ran straight into another guy my age. He looked scary. Holding something dark within. I blinked before muttering a quick 'sorry' and stepped out of the way. As he walked past me, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I walked down the hallway towards a bedroom. It was big and had two separate beds. Is it possible that I am having a roommate?

My first thought was to start unpacking, which I did. Unzipping my backpack and dumping my clothes onto the bed. As I was sorting out the clothes from pinks and yellows, I felt a presences behind me. Smile time. As I turn around, I see a young woman with blonde hair and wearing a silk blouse. She was holding onto a small bags.

"Hello! You must be my roommate. I am Issie McDonald.” I hold out a hand which in turn she shakes. You’re very pretty, by the way.” I smile brightly, as we drop the handshake.

“I’m Juliette Gaudin.” What a pretty name. “And thank you for the very sweet compliment. Your eyes are pretty.”

I give her a soft laugh.

“I get that a lot. Also, you’re French! How interesting. Look at us. Two women complimenting each other. What a world.” I laugh again before walking back to my bed. Plopping down, I saw Juliette put her suitcase on her bed then walk back to the door.

"Where you going?"

“I assume we are setting off soon, and I like watching the horizon disappear when you leave the mainland.”

I nod.

“Seems fair. I may join you in a little bit.”

As she closes the door, I lay back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. I begin thinking as to what would happen if I didn't come aboard the ship. Would I still be in the kitchen, slaving over a hot pot of Angel Hair pasta? I could never know. What I did know was this adventure was going to be something I could never forget.

Professor Jack Stein

"What do you mean 'you can't meet my demands'?" Stein asked the real-estate agent sitting across his desk.

The agent leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk, her dark curly hair bouncing on top of her head. "I mean, Professor Stein, that there is a surplus of houses on the market. The prices simply aren't nearly as high as we'd both like them to be."

The professor sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "I see. Could we expect the prices to go up in the foreseeable future?"

The agent raised her brows and curled her forehead. "Professor Stein, there really is no way to tell. I'm sorry. If you'd still like to sell your house…"

"No." He shook his head and forced a smile. "Thank you."

* * *

"My ducats, my ducats! My Christian ducats!" the professor exclaimed as he strolled across the full classroom. "How everything in the world revolves around money!" He paused and stared at the ground for a good five seconds. "We spend our time making it, just so we can later spend it to gain more time. But what happens when you run out of time?"

A student raised his hand. "You lose a pound of your flesh."

"Exactly!" Stein said excitedly and pointed at the student. "And that is precisely what happened to Antonio. If he had had more time, he would have likely found a way to make more money and pay off his debt. But that's precisely what Shylock counted on: him running out of time. Both of them knew what was likely to happen. So, why did Antonio strike that deal with Shylock? What was so important, that he risked a pound of his flesh for?"

"Love," a girl said from the back.

"Love," the professor repeated. "Love for Bassanio. Strong love. Unconditional love. The kind of love that made him risk getting his heart carved out just so Bassanio could be happy. When a person loves someone that much, there is nothing they wouldn't do to make them happy."

* * *

"It's 3 a.m., Stein. Can't this wait till the morning?" a male voice replied on the other side of the phone.

"I just need to know," the professor said, sitting in his leather armchair. "Can you help me or not?"

"How much do you need?"

"Two million."

"Two million dollars!? Jesus, Stein. I don't have that kind of money. I thought you were gonna say like, ten grand or something."

~ ~ ~

"Two million dollars." "Please." "I'll pay you back as soon as I can." "Just hear me out." "Two million dollars."

"I got a business to run, a family to feed." "I can't help you, man." "You're old, Prof. You won't even live long enough to pay me back."

~ ~ ~

Professor Jack Stein sat in his armchair at 11 a.m. He was late for work, and he hadn't slept all night. His phone's battery was nearly empty, but there was just enough left for one more call. He dialed the numbers on the touch screen, and lifted the device up to his ear.

"Yeah?" the man on the other end said. "This is Pritchett."

"Hello, Nathaniel," Stein uttered nervously. "This is Jack Stein."

"Arthur! I've been expecting you call. Listen, I heard about your… situation. You know, I've been following you…"

"Yes, I am sure you say that to everyone." Stein pulled the phone away from his mouth to yawn. He was too old to be pulling all-nighters anymore. "There is no other way to say this, Pritchett: I need money. A lot of money. And I know it's been a long time, and we didn't exactly part on good terms, but…"

"You want a job. I don't know, Jack. It's been twenty years; I'm not sure you've got the same skills you used to back in the day."

"Whatever it is," Stein said. "I can do it, Pritchett. You know I can."

"I do. Like I said, I've been following you. And just so it happens, I do have something that meets your demands."

Stein nodded. "I'll do it."

"Don't you want to know what it is first?"

"Whatever it is, Pritchett, I can do it."

* * *

"Welcome to the Alanis!" a young man said as soon as Jack set foot on the enormous ship. "My name is Wesley. I'm just the deckhand, but if there's anything you need, be sure to let me know."

"Thank you," the professor replied and glanced at his bags. "I will need these delivered to my cabin."

Wesley winked and smiled. "Will do."

"And where is my cabin?" Jack asked, a serious expression ever-present on his face.

"Oh, right over there, professor," Wesley pointed at a set of stairs leading to an upper deck, where a rather muscular young man was leaned over the railing. "You'll be sharing a cabin with a guy called Duncan."

"Sharing?" Jack sighed and forced a smile. "And to think I believed this would be easy. Duncan, you say?"

The deckhand nodded. "Yeah, real nice-looking fellow; blond. You can't miss 'im."

"Thank you, Wesley," the professor said and climbed the steps. The muscular man was standing in his way, but he did not move, despite being aware of it. "Excuse me," Jack pleaded, looking the man in the eye. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir?"

The man chuckled and stepped aside. "You sure you'll last a month, old man?"

"I'm as sure about it as you are," Jack said calmly and walked past him. He could tell that this mountain of a man was up to no good. As soon as he was away, he patted his pocket to check if his belongings were still there. He was a master thief, at least in the old days, but that did not make him immune to being stolen from, as well.

He found his way to his cabin; the door screeched as he opened it. He was almost certain that Pritchett had hand-picked it just to grind his gears. His roommate had already settled in, and had gone out to explore. He considered going through his things, but ultimately kept his hands to himself.

He sat down on his bed and picked up his phone. He dialed a number, but he did not call it. He stared at the screen until it turned black and the phone locked again, adjusting his glasses twice in the process. He put his phone back into his pocket and paced out of the cabin.

The ship was impressive, and a sight to look at, but Jack did not pause to soak in any of the sights on either the vessel or the numerous red-roofed houses sprawling in the distance. He wandered the deck, but did not have a hard time finding the bar.

"Scotch," he said to the doctor-bartender. "No ice."

"You got it, boss," the doctor replied.

"Same for me," a tall, young man with glasses said and sat next to Jack. "Make it a double."

"I prefer to drink alone," the professor said.

"I'll drink to that," the man said as they both received their beverages. "I'm Eugene."

"Jack."

"What is it with people being so tight around here?" Eugene said. "They're all like fucking rubber bands or something. This roommate that I've got, I swear he wants to suffocate me with a fucking pillow. Take this: he steals my wallet, then he puts my card and my ID in my bag, like I misplaced them and blamed him for nothing."

"Maybe you did misplace them." Jack sipped from his drink.

Eugene shook his head. "Not a chance. But it doesn't matter: I'm not gonna argue over a wallet. Still, I never realized we'd have his like on the ship," he sad and pointed at a large man with a shaved head and a dark beard who was passing by. "Jean-Claude, like the actor. There's a few guys like him going around."

"I suppose it is necessary for everyone's safety."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel too safe at the moment. So, it's time to show these grunts that the real power comes from up here," the young man said and tapped his temple with his finger. "I'm a scientist, by the way. What about you?"

Jack finished his drink. "University professor. English Literature."

"Not to be rude, dude, but how will that help with the mission?"

The professor reached inside his pocket and took out a debit card. "I have my uses," he said and placed it in front of Eugene.

"That's… my card," the scientist scratched his forehead. "How did you..? You never even got near me."

"There are thieves, and there are thieves, Doctor Dryden," he said and turned to the bartender. "He's paying."

"Speaking of thievery, I wouldn't mind stealing a kiss from her," the scientist said about a tall redhead with a number of multicolored bracelets on her wrists. She entered the bar, as if looking for something or someone, then left the same way she came. "Yeah, I'd like to pay," Dryden hurriedly said. The bartender swiped his card, and he strode to where the red-haired woman had left. "See you around, Jack."

Professor Stein rose and descended to the lower deck. In a narrow passageway, between two sets of pipes, he encountered a well-groomed blond man. The man was just about to squeeze past, when Jack patted him on the shoulder. "Duncan, correct?" he asked.

"Yes, I am Duncan," he loudly said.

"My name is Professor Stein. Jack. We will be sharing a cabin together."

"Oh, yes! Stein!" He abruptly grabbed the professor's hand and started to shake it furiously. "Very nice to meet you!"

Jack smiled. "Likewise. I will see you at the cabin," he said and they parted their ways. Jack was glad he had not gone through his roommate's things.

The ship departed – everyone was on board. He stood at the very back of the ship, staring at the shrinking houses and the shrinking beach. He had already left home, but now that he was leaving solid ground, it all felt a dozen times more real. He wondered what the people at the university were thinking about him, how his colleagues viewed him for simply disappearing like that and leaving the country without telling anyone. But no matter what they thought, no matter what his neighbors said, and not matter what everyone gossiped, it was all worth it for…

"Stein!" he heard a loud voice from behind him. "Professor Jack Stein." He turned around and recognized the face of Sanders. "I am Captain of this ship now, my friend," he said and limped over to Jack.

"It's good to see you, Sanders," Jack said and turned back to enjoy the view. "I met your son earlier, but he didn't seem to recognize me."

Sanders leaned on the railing beside him. "Yes, yes. Well, it has been a long time, Arthur... Jack. I might just kill you for it someday," he said and laughed.

"How is Cameryn?" the professor asked. The ship had picked up enough speed to leave a lengthy trail of white foam in its wake. The water was quite clear indeed, and a joyful flock of dolphins could easily be seen swimming in parallel with the enormous vessel.

"She… Er…" The captain lowered his head and stared into the water, his eyes perfectly reflecting its light-blue color. "She died ten years ago. Fire. The house burned down; Wes saw the whole thing."

Jack patted the captain on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, people die. It's how it goes. All we can hope is that it's the person beside us who goes next, and not us."

"Poor kid."

"Eh," the captain waved off with his hand, "he's doin' alright. We're not really… on good terms at the moment. And tell you what, that kid needs to be put in his place every once in a while."

"He looked alright to me."

"Why did you leave us, Jack?" Sanders asked after a brief silence – as silent as the splashing water would allow. "We needed you more than ever, and you just abandoned us. I did time, and Pritchett almost did, too. Everything was falling apart, and you betrayed us right in the middle of the job."

"I didn't care about anyone but myself, Sanders. I always did what I wanted, and what was best for the crew. I wanted to be the best, I wanted fame, I wanted glory. But then I had my daughter, and everything changed. I had to leave. I didn't want her to grow up with the fear of seeing her father arrested and never seeing him again. I wanted to be someone she could be proud of."

Sanders nodded slowly and sarcastically. "You snitched on us. That’s really something to be proud of, Jack."

"I just told them where it was. They were simply supposed to find it, take it away, and leave us all alone. It's not my fault you were too greedy to let it go."

"You know I wanted to kill you? I wanted to choke the life right out of you, but Pritchett stopped me. He said that it wasn't worth it. And he was right. I'll see you around, Jack," Captain Sanders said and limped away. The shore was getting smaller and smaller, slowly being swallowed by the horizon.

Spoiler

I used some of your characters, I hope I portrayed them okay. Let me know if there's anything you'd like me to change/add/remove.

Duncan Sturmholtz

I’ve been at sea for twenty years
And in that blessed time,
I’ve seen the countless sights and fears
And put them all to rhyme!

Hey ho! Hey ho!
Sing of the blessed time!
To sail, to hoist, to mop, to row,
And put it all to rhyme!

The storms upon the seven seas
Will send ships topsy-turvy,
But salty air is sure to please
Unless you’re down with scurvy!

Hey ho! Hey ho!
Sing of the blessed time!
To sail, to hoist, to mop, to row,
And put it all to rhyme!

The glorious shanty boomed in my ears, filling me with pride as I strolled down the seafront avenue. All around me, tourists bustled, overjoyed at the sights and sounds of the ocean.

And really, who wouldn’t be? Certainly not me. I’ve been on the waters my whole life, and the adventure has never worn thin.

Vendors leaned forward from their shaded stands, holding out ripe, exotic fruits for the curious tourists. I myself stopped at such a stand, puzzling over a yellow, star-shaped fruit. “How can this be? A starfruit!” I exclaimed.

The vendor nodded, grinning. “That’s right, friend! A genuine carambola! Try one! It’s free! Except that you have to pay for it!”

“Thank you!” I said, grabbing one and biting into it heartily. The skin was a bit waxy, but underneath it was sweet heaven. My teeth crunched through the fruit, and I was rewarded with delicious juices spilling into my mouth, a bit dribbling into my beard. I devoured the rest of the starfruit, licking my lips when I was done.

“It’s incredible!” I exclaimed, marveling at the sheer flavor of the starfruit. “I’ll take ten!”

“Glad to hear it, friend!” He quickly placed ten carambolas in my bag. The vendor’s grin widened until I slapped thirty dollars into his waiting hand.

He scrutinized it, frowning. "Erm, American money? Wait, sir! You can't..." But I was already walking away with a smile on my face.

I strode into the excited crowd, vowing to remember him and his delicious starfruit. I did not notice his cries from behind me, nor his vivid insults about my mother.

I grinned. “When I get home, I’ll order a boatload of these for Sophie. I want my daughter to grow up with the greatest fruit in the world!” With that in mind, I withdrew another starfruit and happily ate it as I walked.

Of course, I wanted to spend as little time as possible away from my family, but this journey called for my service. Although the three million dollars offered did factor into my decision.

Allow me to explain all this. I will recite it in the form of this thrilling tale!

My sailboat skimmed over the bay waters, the rudder bucking in my hand. I was approaching the dock, coming in too fast as always. A full net of fish flopped in the boat beside me, the final catch of the day. Enough to buy a day’s food, maybe more.

The bow of my ship tapped the wooden pier, and I stepped out of the boat, binding the ship to a dock post with rope. Satisfied with my work, I reached in and hefted the wriggling net onto my shoulder. It was only then that I realized that I was not alone on the pier.

The man was sitting on a bench, his fingers clasped in his lap. He wore a sharply-ironed suit, and his nose was stiff from the salty air. Thinning, needlelike white hair fell to either side of his prominent cheekbones. All in all, the man seemed to be made entirely of angles.

As I neared, he stared at me, relaxed in spite of the incensing brine, as if he were inside his own bubble of space that his nose couldn’t penetrate.

“Duncan Sturmholtz?” he asked politely, only strengthening my suspicions. My name was nonexistent to most people in suits.

“Er, yes?” I responded, just holding my bag of fish.

“My name is Nathaniel Pritchett, and I wish to discuss something with you.”

I dropped the net to the deck, joining him on the bench. “Alright then,” I mumbled, dreading anything to do with businessmen. Nasty bunch of swindlers, my father had taught me. This one looked to be particularly...er, sharp.

Pritchett clapped his hands, nodding. “Excellent. I’ve come to you today to offer you the cruise of a lifetime.” A hint of amusement cavorted in his expression.

Joy fizzed up in my chest before dying out sadly. I sighed, then gave him a polite smile. “My deepest apologies, but I cannot. I’m sure that your company is incredible, but I can’t afford-”

“Hush.” He spoke the lone word, and it shut me down. “Mr. Sturmholtz, that is exactly why I make this offer. This cruise is of a unique kind. I myself will pay you to partake, and all you must offer is your effort in solving a mystery.”

“Hm!” I stroked my beard, sitting upright with discipline. “Well, it certainly sounds grand! Alright, I’ll attend! Though I should warn you, I’m a man of action, not thought!” I chuckled heartily, folding my arms.

Pritchett cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m more than well-aware. Anyway, this letter should give you the finer details of the trip.” He pressed a wax-sealed envelope into my hand, then stood up.

He stared at me for a moment, analyzing everything about me in a single glance. “Remember, Duncan,” he said finally, “do your part, and you will be rewarded.” With that, he turned and walked off of the pier, glad to be away from the stink of fish.

I watched him go with equal parts respect and uncertainty. Suddenly, a thought struck me. “How much will I be paid?” I called to his retreating figure.

“Three million dollars,” he replied without looking back.

At that, I fell off of the bench.

And that is the tale of how I met Pritchett, and was enticed by his wealth to take part in this expedition. My intentions were purely noble though, in case you had doubted me. After this journey, my family would finally be well-off, and I could fish and dive to my heart’s content.

The feeling swelled in my chest, and I strolled along the dock, not bothering to shield my eyes against the bright sun. On a lovely day such as this, how could anyone have a care in the world?

It was then that I heard a man’s voice, speaking in a low, aggressive tone. It was a tone I’d heard numerous times in a bar, used seconds before a fight broke out. I hoped to avoid this end as I neared the speaker.

Two men stood in front of a cruise ship, battling glares. One seemed to loom over the other; the other rose up in retaliation. Neither seemed very willing to back down.

I watched with concern, then decided to aid them. Puffing my chest out, I marched over to resolve their argument. Yes, I could already see this trip would make a fine tale for my family when I returned home. The legend began here!

Wesley Gold

I plodded through the rest of the day's janitorial work, making my rounds to both port and starboard. I think I'd stepped in every square foot of the deck by the time evening rolled around. I'd spent most of the afternoon showing people around, and I supposed that was alright. I was patient, but my mind was raging with thoughts of Pritchett's motives. Blindly, I'd trusted him. But now, as I surveyed the boat, I didn't feel one inkling of affirmation that this job was going to help me--as Pritchett put it--find my way.

The ship only made me feel more lost, if anything. I was surrounded by people who didn't know me and had no desire to; people who were caught up in their own belief that they'd someday save the world with Pritchett at their backs. I didn't want that. Nor did I need the money. I was content with living modestly. I had no family to provide for; no extravagant responsibilities. All I had was my work.

I passed the bar, broom and dustpan dangling from my right hand. The wide doorway emitted the glow of dim yellow lights, chatter and the chink of bottles filling my ears. I'd seen at least four people head straight for the scotch after unpacking their things. Stein, Dryden, Miss Masters, and another girl whose face I couldn't place.

I walked along the deck, the breeze dark and swift. I was alone; everyone else was either at the bar or asleep in their cabins. I had to guess the crew members went for a drink.

Suddenly, I realized that the creak of the wooden deck didn't match my steps, and a shadow flashed behind me. I didn't slow my pace, or glance over my shoulder, but I had my guard up. People who snuck around were normally one of two things; keeping secrets, or trying to scare you. I wasn't easily scared, and I could spot a secret-keeper from a mile away, so I thought it best to refuse acknowledgement.

I turned the corner. As I did, a human figure disappeared from sight around the opposite corner. I furrowed my brow. Strange; I thought the shadow was behind me.

After heading over to the janitorial closet, I went to jiggle the doorknob, but to my slight surprise, the door was already unlatched. Curiously, I threw it open.

I felt myself inhaling steadily as my eyes ran over the contents of the closet. I scanned over the dark skinned face, the septum ring connecting the two nostrils, and then his neck slackened over his right shoulder. Snapped. He was bleeding from the corner of his lip. The blood dripped onto his broad, muscled chest.

Stomach turning, I crouched to my knees and put my hand on his wrist. His pulse was silent. "Kale," I muttered, fingers touching to his face. "Kale, are you--?" My voice faded when I saw his lifeless eyes, gazing from underneath his eyelids. My eyes widened, and, speechless, I reached a hand up to my hair. "Oh God," I whispered, paralyzed with shock.

Just then, I sensed movement from behind me. Pumped with fear and adrenaline, I leapt to my feet and wheeled around with agility. When the hooded figure behind me caught wind of my advance, they turned to run. I took three steps and pounced on them, shoving them into the railing. I wrapped one arm around their stomach and the other around their neck. The person was small; at least a head shorter than me.

They let out a scream, which I stifled with my palm. My instincts had surprised me. My grip loosened slightly, and the person shoved me away, struggling. In one motion, I whipped an LED out of my pocket and yanked off the culprit's hood. I switched the flashlight on.

Their face was illuminated. I immediately took a step back. Their dark hair frayed out from their face, pale blue-grey eyes squinting furiously in the light. It was a girl.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked me, seeming both incredibly nervous and recovering from the shock of being attacked.

"I could ask you the same thing," I countered. Calmly, for what I was feeling. My head was spinning, and I couldn't get the image of Kale's broken neck out of my head.

"I couldn't sleep, so I got up to take a walk. That's when I saw you sneaking around. I was following you." She argued a mile a minute, voice wavering slightly. "You were the one who seemed up to no good." Her eyes averted to the open closet, where Kale's body was laying limp on the floor. Her face took on a sickly pallor, and she looked abruptly nauseous. "Oh my God," she inflected.

Then her eyes flitted back to me. She stepped backwards, hand falling from her mouth. "You really weren't up to any good," she marveled, looking terrified.

"You think I did this?" I asked quietly, face contorting. She was backing away from me gradually. I shook my head. "If you think I could've broken a man's neck noiselessly in the thirty seconds you stopped watching me, you're sorely mistaken."

She suddenly seemed uncertain, steps faltering. Just then, a brassy voice piped up from my left. "And what d'we have here?"

Heart seizing, I hoped I was wrong; I hoped that wasn't the same voice I'd been trying to forget for ten years. The girl and I turned to face the men who'd approached us. There was the bearded and gruff frenchman I'd been acquainted with this morning; supposedly he was the First Mate.

I laid eyes on the frontman; he was middle-aged and rugged, icy blue eyes boring into mine, a knowing smile playing across his lips. My heart palpitated, shock and terror filling my chest. He limped slightly forward, broad nose twitching. "What d'we have here?" he repeated softly, roar suspended at the bottom of his chest like a cough he couldn't restrain.

Losing all of my strength, my defenses fell away. I tried to stop my lip from shaking. "Dad?" I asked, naming a word I thought I'd never have to speak aloud again.

"Hello?" I asked, picking up the landline.

"Hello. Mr. Sanders? We were just calling to inform you that your magazine subscription to The New Yorker expires on the thirty-first of this month," the woman on the other end told me, her voice robotic. "Would you like to re-subscribe?"

Rubbing my forehead, I exhaled. "This is actually Wes Gold, Mr. Sanders's son. Sorry for the inconvenience, but would you mind calling back later, please?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then the woman relented. "Sure, Mr. Gold. We'll call back later. Have a nice day."

"You too," I responded, but the other line clicked as the woman hung up the phone.

As I lowered the phone to the countertop, I heard the slam of the front door. Boot heels clopped into the foyer with a certain syncopation, and my father strutted around the corner. His blue button-down was wrinkled, and his jeans were ripped. My jaw clenched, gaze falling to the floor. Mom always maintained a prim-and-proper appearance, with ironed skirts and curled hair. I couldn't remember her smile anymore; I guess I those're things you forget quick. But I remembered her ironed skirts and blouses. She was always clean and nice and pretty.

My father took a swig from the Heineken bottle in his left hand. Beer sloshed over his lips onto the floor. "What're you doin'?" he drawled. "Huh, boy?"

"Thinkin' about Mom," I replied. Sometimes I was too honest for my own good.

"Thinkin' about your mother?" he asked me, cocking his head to the side, as if a sudden thought came to mind. "Well y'know what?" He hiccuped and stumbled to the side. "Your mom's--" He attempted to put his bottle down on the table, but his hand slipped. Beer spilled all over the counter. "Your mom's gone." He tried to wipe it up, but his fingers were clumsy. I quickly grabbed the paper towels and rushed to his side.

Suddenly, I was on my back; his palm had flown out and struck my chest. The wind was knocked out of me, and I struggled to breathe, clambering to my feet.

"Lemme do it myself, will you, boy?" Dad bellowed, his glare zeroing in on me.

"Okay," I said meekly as he mopped up the liquid. Rubbing my bruised arm, I walked hastily into the living room. I sat perched on the couch like a mute zombie, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong. When Dad was done cleaning, he reeked of alcohol. I guessed he probably had it on him before he spilled the beer, but I didn't know.

He came around the corner, boots still clopping. "Y'better get used to your mother bein' gone, boy," Dad said. "Because I'm the only one that's gonna be carin' for your sorry ass from now forward."

My gaze landed on the partial handprint his filthy palm left on my sweater. It was the sweater Mom had bought me at Boscov's for my birthday. Getting a sudden surge of strength, I said, "I like Mom better."

Dad stopped walking. "What was that?" he whispered.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, staring at the patterned carpet. "I like Mom better," I repeated.

"Don't use that tone with me!" he suddenly roared, jabbing a finger at me. I flinched, confused. I'd just told him what he asked, and he looked like he wanted to-- "Y'know what happens when little boys talk back to their fathers?" He started to undo his belt, sliding the leather from his belt loops. Fear settling in my stomach, I stood up.

"Where d'you think you're going?" he asked, and soon he was so close to me that I could smell his warm breath. He took me by the collar of my shirt, stretching the neck of my sweater. I thought I was brave. I reached up and tried to hit him, but he was mad, drunk, and provoked. I'd pulled the last straw. Dad grasped me by the arm, pinning it back behind me and shoving me down onto the couch, face-first. I cried out in pain. "I'll give you one for every time you say your mother's name," he growled in my ear, and then I screamed, feeling the sharp slap of the belt against my shoulder blade. Soon, I was crying, tears wetting the couch cushion. Dad yelled every time the belt hit me. I could hear the back of my shirt tearing, and the sound of the leather slicing through my skin.

When he was done with me, he shoved my body off the couch, and I fell into the coffee table. "That oughta teach you a lesson," he barked at me. My head was pounding, and my back ached terribly. I was shaking from the agony. My vision was blurred, and I saw the shape of my father recede into his bedroom. The door slammed. He always slammed doors.

Just then, I started to hear the phone ringing. My breath shook in my ears, and my whole body seared with unspeakable pain. Sobbing, I crawled to the counter and picked up the phone. "Hello?" I asked, with some silent plea for help.

There was a pause on the other end. "Hello, sorry to be calling back so soon, but we do have a schedule to maintain. Is Mr. Sanders there?"

"Cancel the subscription," I said, voice shaking, and hung up the phone without another word.

"Don't look at me like you've never seen me before, boy," Dad chided with a condescending smile, the word boy rolling off his tongue like a dirty insult. I couldn't bring myself to believe it; after ten years of avoiding my father, he had reappeared here, on the ship. I suddenly remembered what Pritchett had told me: "...a boy only learns to be himself through the company of his father."

Abruptly, Pritchett's motive dawned on me; he sent me here with the intent of reacquainting me with my father. He knew that this would happen, and he somehow came to the conclusion that it would help me find my way.

I was still looking on in disbelief and secretive horror as the captain and the frenchman laid eyes on Kale's dead body. "What d'we have here?" the captain repeated for the third time, calm and contemplative. Unsurprised. Almost amused. The girl next to me had eyes darting in every direction--from me, to the captain, to Kale, and back to me. She was desperately trying to gather clarity from the absurd situation.

"Run off to bed," the captain ordered the girl and me, his expression turning cold and serious. "I'll clean this mess up."

Spoiler

@AllisontheWriter I used Jane! Let me know if I need to change anything.

Jane West

Jane finds the way to her cabin, which is vacant, save for a closed suitcase on the lower bunk. Whomever left it there isn't here now.

Jane's not afraid of heights, and the top bunk isn't all that high, but it would've been nice to have a choice. She tosses her duffel bag into the closet and clambers up the ladder to what will be her bed for the foreseeable future.

"Johann Bensen.... I know you were his greatest success. Until you became his greatest failure...."

The words - names and phrases, as unfamiliar as they are - repeat themselves constantly, battering themselves against the walls in her brain. Perhaps, if they keep at it, the walls will fall down, and she'll remember something ... anything.

This Selena Masters woman, who seemed cool enough to buy her a drink without any questions about her age, knows something. If only the conversation hadn't been cut short so abruptly by that odious man!

Right now, though, all Jane wants to do is sleep. Not bothering to remove her shoes, she climbs into the top bunk and just lies there, flat on her back, staring at the textured ceiling overhead in hopes that her eyes will shut on their own.

She doesn't know where she's heard the song she selects from her mental jukebox - perhaps at Bruce's restaurant when somebody actually shells out enough change to play that grungy, old record machine.

Ooooh, my love, my darling ... are you still miiiine?

It's very slow and a bit sappy, and it usually relaxes her. Tonight, though, it's of no use.

She climbs out of bed and leaves the cabin, thinking a bit of fresh air might do her some good.

The deck is empty, save for the deckhand, going out his business, swabbing the decks. She watches him for a while. He's a lot younger than the decrepit fellow who mops up Bruce's place at the end of the day.

Oblivious, put his mop back into his janitor cart, and make his way to a broom closet that's just out of of sight.

Out of boredom, she follows him to the maintenance closet, which he opens without a key. What they both see inside makes her scream, involuntarily.