Chapter Text
It had been two days now since the Hadal Blacksite was compromised due to a security breach, various experiments now roaming free in the secret facility built in the nearly unknown Let-Vand Zone. Urbanshade had been sending submarines full of inmates like yourself down into the depths since the 10th, and not a single person of the thousands sent had successfully retrieved the crystal, or Z-2; no one had yet completed the task they were given.
It had been two days since the start of the breach, and the tension in the air was growing thicker with each subsequent failure. Everyone knew that the risk of death was high when they agreed to participate in this mission, but the looming threat of demise wasn’t great for anyone’s mental well-being.
The lack of survivors and successes didn’t stop the guards from performing their duties, though. They continued shoving the inmates who were starting to become less and less cooperative and/or excited about this potential opportunity for freedom into the submarines, even going so far as to shoot the ones who fought back. Honestly, at this point, you wonder if a death by the hand of another human being would be a mercy.
You had heard whispers of the monsters hiding below the surface, contained within the metal walls of the blacksite and the surrounding waters, now having been set free by another who remained unknown to most of the expendables. Soon, you will be in the same facility as them, and you will be attempting to bring back something no one else has been able to.
There’s a lit cigarette nestled between your fingers as you take a drag, thinking about the past two days and wondering if all this suffering was truly worth it. Your knee bounces up and down in response, a telltale sign of anxiety as you try to calm your nerves. It was just yesterday when a fight broke out, too, resulting in the death of twenty-six prisoners and one guard. They had been trying to overthrow one of the ships they arrived to the island on, but unprotected flesh could do nothing against the onslaught of gunfire.
You were thankfully far from the event when it happened, but you heard the screaming, the gunshots, and the thick scent of iron mixed into the air. You can’t help but sigh at the memory, pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to alleviate the growing headache at the back of your skull. The cigarette in your grip bends slightly when your fingers press together, tightening, a hopeless feeling bubbling up your throat; it tastes bitter on your tongue.
You had been an inmate of ███████, a high-security prison, for the past few years, living out your life-long sentence in relative peace. You were a somewhat liked inmate, never causing any problems and always being on your best behavior. You glance around at the thousands of prisoners, some of the faces being familiar, but there weren’t many of those left… at least not anymore.
Urbanshade had gone to a wide array of prisons across a variety of countries to round up as many draftees as possible for this mission, all with the end prize of, if you succeeded, freedom – the opportunity of a new life, the possibility of a second chance. A chance to be pardoned of all crimes, a chance of being given a clean slate. Others were here for the cash reward, too, but you couldn't care less about that.
Your mind subconsciously travels back in time, remembering the crime you committed – the whole reason you found yourself in this position as you sit off to the side, watching some other prisoners argue with the guards; you hoped that another bloodbath wouldn't occur so shortly after the last one. It didn’t matter what you did or didn’t do anymore – no one cared if the sentence you received was fair, so why should you?
Your eyes fall to look at your boot-clad feet, your laces tied up as tightly as possible, the navy blue of your pants tucked snugly inside. You looked like a soldier, though you were lacking any protective armor besides the kneepads strapped to your legs.
The jumpsuit was warm, able to keep out the cold of the Norwegian Sea’s winds and weather, but the fabric was rough against your skin. It was waterproof, though, so you couldn't complain too much. That was indeed something you were grateful for, considering this mission took place underwater. Despite Urbanshade not caring for the health of you and your fellow inmates, just a bunch of expendables in the eyes of the company, at least they didn’t want everyone croaking before they could truly start their mission.
On your back rested the diving gear given to you about a half-hour ago, a piece of equipment made to help you traverse the underwater facility. The tanks were heavy, almost uncomfortably so, but you would much rather have air than have nothing at all. There was something pressed against the back of your neck, cold and hard. It was an annoying sensation to feel in addition to the constant weight, but you kept your mouth shut; you didn't want to give the guards a reason to take their frustrations regarding the current situation out on you.
However, despite how uncomfortable you felt with it against your skin, you refrained from touching it, not wanting to break or ruin your gear before you even started accidentally. The smoke of your still-burning cigarette wafts up into your gaze, reminding you of its existence. You take another long drag before it completely burns itself out, savoring it as much as you can, especially since it was probably your last one.
“Hey. How you hanging in there?” You hear a weirdly chipper voice call out to you, glancing up and seeing a somewhat familiar face. You had met them in the boat ride to the frozen island, a talkative middle-aged man with uneven stubble on his face and blindingly bright green eyes. He walked with an uneven gait, but had assured everyone that it didn’t slow him down. He smiles warmly at you and takes a seat beside you, bumping his knee with yours as he asks, “You excited for this mission, kid?”
“Yeah... I'm very excited to be sent to my death, just like I'm sure everyone else here is.” You reply in a deadpan tone, flicking the cigarette butt in your hand to the floor. There weren’t exactly any trash cans sitting around, so you weren’t going to worry about littering when you were practically sitting on death row.
He laughs loudly at your words, smacking your back with a bit too much force in a far too friendly manner, successfully knocking the air from your lungs before he comments cheerily, “Come on, now – keep your eyes on the prize! We’ve got freedom and money waiting for us at the finish line!”
You bit your tongue, deciding not to mention that thousands of others had failed. What made him think your group would be successful? You can’t help but wonder what he was on to be so upbeat during this situation that practically everyone else felt hopeless in. That wasn't counting the occasional adrenaline junkie who was looking forward to the challenge or the people who wanted their death to be something extraordinary, of course.
You could feel the frustration building inside you, the heat filling your torso and up into your head. You turn away from him and take a deep breath, standing up before inquiring, “…Did you come over to fetch me? I'm assuming it’s our turn to head down, right?”
“You bet’cha.” He says with an easygoing smile, nodding at your question before he stands up and follows after you. The two of you walk along the plush rug that leads to where the submarines are docked, the sound of your footsteps muffled by the material. It was colored a deep crimson, almost like Urbanshade had laid out a red carpet just for you.
"How kind of them," you thought bitterly, hands balled into fists at your side, hidden in the pockets of your jumpsuit's pants. A gust of wind blows in from the outside, hitting your cheeks and causing your skin to burn from the cold. Your eyes flutter shut, and you try to savor and enjoy the feeling of fresh air against your skin, especially since the chance of it being your last was more than likely the case.
Soon, you’re standing with other expendables, a total of fifty being able to fit on a single submarine at a time. Everyone was dressed in the same blue suits, the same heavy airtanks on their backs, and almost everyone had the same hopeless expression on their faces.
Your group would be the sixteenth one sent down today, and all other contact with those who went before you has been cut off. The guard reminds you once again of your mission, and once again, what you will receive if you manage to succeed. Just another debrief to cover all their bases, and to make sure that everyone was told what would happen to them, to make themselves look more humane...
The guard’s spiel is interrupted as the sound of shouting echoes from further down the docks, hidden behind the other submarines lined up and ready to descend. The yelling is muffled, and you're unable to hear what is going on. There's a lull in the argument, quickly followed by the noise of water splashing, almost as if someone jumped into the freezing-cold arctic sea.
Then, just as quickly, there’s a pop, and it sounded wet. You hear the noise of further splashing as whatever it was that blew up fell back into the water, smacking against the surface with a sickening sound. Everyone in your group just stands there, eyeing one another with varying levels of distress. Some people looked annoyed, others looked unbothered, and some looked incredibly pale.
The guard lets out a sigh, muttering something under his breath before the sound of a man’s voice buzzes to life over the intercom. You spare a glance at the speaker the sound emits from, the voice reverberating throughout the facility in an uncaring and practiced tone, “Just a reminder for all EXP-R, but attempting to leave the docks by swimming away or climbing the railings will subsequently result in PDG denotation. For your sake and the sake of the cleanup crew, we appreciate your cooperation.”
You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the taste of acid building in the back of your throat. Hastily, you swallow it back down, not wanting to start off your mission with a pile of your mediocre breakfast on the ground. There’s a loud sob, and your eyes dart over to see an older woman holding her hands to her face, shoulders shaking as she cries. Her silvery hair falls down around her shoulders, a testament to her life lived. Your brows furrow, and you cannot help but wonder what brought her here.
The guard pays the woman no mind, though, as he continues his speech, adamantly refusing to acknowledging the fact someone’s head was most likely blown clean off, “Much like it was just stated, be aware that your diving gear will be detonated remotely if you attempt to escape the Hadal Blacksite, disobey any direct orders given to you, enter any restricted areas without permission from superiors, attempt to attack any personnel, or if you pick up any weapons that have not been cleared for you to use. Additionally, if you attempt to tamper with your PDG device or remove it from your person, it will also cause it to fire.”
There’s another pause. The air feels thick, making breathing harder and harder to do successfully. You felt like you were drowning, and you weren’t even underwater yet. The woman’s cries sound so loud, and you hear a man yell at her to shut up. The noises they’re making are becoming fainter and fainter, like there was cotton stuffed into your ears. The thing pressed against your neck was some kind of gun or explosive, and you had no idea. You're glad you didn't try adjusting it earlier.
Then, the guard speaks up again, “Does anyone have any questions?”
“Fuck right off, you bastard! Why don’t you pricks, with all your special weapons and gear, go down there and get the crystal back yourselves!” The irate man yells at the guard, but he doesn’t make a move to attack him, knowing better at this point. The man who was filled with anger, with the scar across his face and a head devoid of any hair, scoffs, hands pointing an accusing finger at the guard as he cries out, “You’re all cowards – just a bunch of pussies makin’ people do your work for you!”
“Thank you for your feedback. Now, please, everyone, form a single-file line into the submarine. Any pushing or shoving may result in physical restraints being placed upon you until successful completion of the trip to the Hadal Blacksite, or you will promptly be executed by our NAVI AI system if deemed too much of a liability to the mission.” The guard says, making sure to adjust the grip on the gun in his hand. He shifts his body ever so slightly to draw attention to the electrified stick hanging from his hip, too. Those minuscule actions, those small movements, were enough to get everyone to line up, one behind the other, before the entire group walked to their death.
Everyone crowds inside the submarine, sitting down on the benches that line both walls. You were seated between the man who had come to retrieve you, the usual chipper look he wore now completely gone, now replaced with an unhealthy paleness and sweat forming on his brow; he sat on your right, nervously fiddling with his hands. To your left was a woman around your age, her arms crossed over her chest, a blank expression plastered across her features. The irate man was sitting across from you, his hands holding onto the bench beneath him with an iron grip, so much so that his knuckles were turning white. The woman who had been crying had quieted down, now sitting near the front of the vessel, holding herself in what looked like a hug in an attempt to comfort herself in what could potentially be her final moments.
It was practically silent as the guard checked to make sure everything was fine before exiting, his footfalls echoing throughout the space. Then, he gives a nod, stepping out of the vessel and stating robotically, “I wish you all the best of luck. May you receive the crystal and earn your freedom. Farewell, and thank you for your service to Urbanshade.”
The mechanical sound of the door closing is the last thing you hear before you feel the submarine jolt, the descent into the inky void below having now begun. The eerie silence lasts for about fifteen minutes before the woman with the silver strands begins to cry again, her sobs echoing in the enclosed space. Everyone was doing their best to avoid acknowledging her, even if you could hear the teeth of the irate man with the hairless head grinding together from where you were sitting.
How was your group supposed to retrieve a crystal at the heart of this facility? What the hell was the point of all this unnecessary loss of human life?
“S-So, uh… what brought you here?” A voice calls out to you, sounding small and unsure.
You turn to look to your right, and the man with the stubble is giving you an uneasy smile, his green eyes now glazed over and dull. There was a crookedness to some of his teeth, one of his canines seemingly growing sideways into his gums. Your hands fidget in your lap, fingers intertwining like the weaving of a wicker basket. You just mutter a short and simple answer, “Second-degree murder.”
Whatever he had been expecting, it most certainly wasn’t that. He exhales sharply through his closed teeth, shifting away from you slightly as he stutters, “Oh, damn. I, haha… wasn’t expecting that. I assumed you were in for, like, petty theft or something...”
There’s a pause before he says, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips, “I was caught for drug trafficking… God forbid a man feed his family, am I right?”
You don’t reply, instead staring back down at your hands, wondering if you should have just remained locked up with no chance of escape. You envision your life in the past as you stare blankly ahead, unblinking, the feeling of the beach waves crashing against your ankles, the way the grass felt underneath your feet as you ran, the warm breeze lapping against your skin as laughter fills the air.
Your body twitches slightly, your mouth almost painfully dry as your tongue traverses around each of your smooth teeth one by one in an attempt to moisten them. You were still fighting off that urge to puke, doing everything you could to not let the bile rise in your esophagus.
You hear her breathing before you see her, glancing over to take in the sight of the older woman with tear-streaked cheeks and her silvery hair that was now awry, having been tugged on by her slightly wrinkled hands. When she stands up from her seat to pace around, no one says anything; all expendables in the submarine were currently engaged in some final act of self-reflection before the vessel arrives at the intended destination.
When she begins to mutter under her breath prayers for her god to forgive her for her sins, to grant her a chance in heaven, you can’t help but raise a brow. Her rambling was starting to become more slurred, her hands shaking as they combed through her hair. Her unblinking eyes dripped an endless stream of tears, her voice becoming louder and louder.
“Sit the fuck down, you crazy bitch! I’m sick of hearing you and your endless fucking whining!” The irate man yells, slamming his hands against the bench he sat on. When the woman flinched at the noise, it only seemed to upset him further. He stands up quickly, the people around him afraid to stop him, and he strides over to the woman, grabbing her by the shoulders as he shakes and shakes and shakes—…
“L-Let go of me! Get off of me!” The woman cries out. You can feel your palms become sweaty, your gut twisting and swirling, and the occasional jolt of the submarine not doing much to ease your stomach. You feel your mind becoming foggy again, and everything blurs around you. You hear the two of them arguing faintly, the sound of others joining the conflict in an attempt to stop the fighting muffled.
You cannot make out the words, just the panicked sound of the woman begging for freedom, for a chance to see her grandchildren again. You hear her mutter that it was too tight, too constricting, and then-... then you hear a pop, and you feel the way something wet and hot splatters against your skin and drips down your face…
The sound of terrified screams fills the air soon after, now thick with the smell of iron, an uncomfortable humidity quickly filling the small space. People are running around, and the vessel is shaking. There’s more pops, more shrieks and cries. Your eyes lock onto your hands, now flecked with specks of bright red, the color only enhanced under the crimson shade of the lights above you. You know you shouldn’t look up, you should keep your eyes trained solely on your lap, but you do. Your eyes travel slowly up, taking in the sight of the older woman lying motionless on the ground, the back of her head having been broken open.
Past the whiteness of her shattered skull, now colored a deep red that looked almost black due to the scarlet lights of the vessel, lies what remains of her brain. There were clumps of gray matter floating in a pool of blood, bobbing with every motion of the submarine like apples floating in a barrel. Her face was turned away from you, something you were deeply thankful for.
You could imagine what it looked like, though, considering her jaw sat a few feet away from her unmoving body, eyes probably blown wide open, tear streaks most likely still apparent on her sunken cheeks. Her teeth had scattered across the floor from the force of the blast, pebbles of white rolling around, all becoming smeared with the red that flooded the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut, your hands clasped firmly together in your lap. You whisper to her a prayer, hoping that, maybe, she would be able to reach the heaven she believed in.
The panic eventually dies down after more yelling and crying. Now, everything was silent again, the occasional sob echoing in the space. Time goes incredibly slow, the journey feeling as though it would never end, until the submarine finally comes to a stop. There’s a brief pause before the hatch opens once more, and just like that, you have surfaced at the Hadal Blacksite. The sound of a woman’s voice starts, stating robotically, "The submarine has arrived. Please stand at a minimum of 5 studs away from the hatch until it's fully opened. Please exit the submarine in a calm and orderly fashion."
Your team of fifty suddenly was now a team of forty-four, six expendables having been executed in the scuffle, including the irate man who lay motionless next to the older woman. Everyone makes their way out of the ship, some to vomit nearby while others have seemingly already done so in the vessel. You numbly walk over to the water’s edge, kneeling on the concrete flooring as you reach out, scooping the cold water in your hands as you do your best to clean the blood and chunks of flesh from your skin and hair.
There’s barely any time for everyone to process what just happened before a voice echoes from the intercom, a pre-recorded message playing, “As you are aware, the primary goal is to reach and secure the Crystal. Your secondary objective is to secure as many loose assets as you can. You may open and follow the number-marked doors when ready.”
“H-Holy shit, I… I can’t fucking do this.” You hear a voice mutter beside you, turning to see the man with the stubble, tears rolling down his cheeks as he stares at his reflection in the water. You watch as the droplets fall into the dark waters, causing ripples to expand across the surface. Your gaze falls to your own reflection dancing across the mirror-like plane, taking in the sight of your expression – never before had you seen such a glazed look in your eyes, even back then.
You barely have time to think before a new voice suddenly begins to speak over the systems, their voice smooth with an almost disappointed tone to their words as they speak, “Such a shame that this is what Urbanshade sent, despite my suggestion for them to send me some of their ‘highly trained’ operatives instead… Oh well, I hope that some of you will at least provide me with a challenge.” The person’s voice becomes a bit lighter, muttering as if it were amusing to them, “I cannot wait to see what this batch of expendables has to offer.”