Kane’s eyes shot open.

He wasn’t a fan. Of having his eyes open at present, that is. Not that he was a fan of many things in general, but of this especially, whatever this sensation was… he wasn’t a fan of this.

His head cussed him the hell out for whatever he’d done to it. Pain lanced through his skull like strikes of lightning — he could literally see flashes of color at the edges of his vision.

It didn’t help that he couldn’t tell exactly what he was seeing. He was looking up at something thick and opaque; it looked sort of like a dark, cloudy sky, but there was something off about it. Patches of a rusty red were far and few between the black, angry puffs of smog, and some clouds pointed straight down towards Kane like stalactites on a cavern ceiling, threatening to snap and plummet and cut some poor sucker’s spelunking session far too short.

The only thing he could really think at the moment was, “Clouds don’t look like that.”

The innate sense that something was very wrong flooded him, and that was when Kane’s proprioception began to return.

The surface below him rocked about, giving to an unpleasant bout of nausea. He could feel ice-cold water droplets stinging at his face; he could feel the wet, rough wood beneath his back and his hands; he could feel sweat dampening his jacket, and he could feel the sweltering ambient heat whispering false promises of relief if he were to take it off.

And finally, he felt someone’s gaze, riveted on him as if he were the most interesting guy in the world. This feeling was different in that, there was nothing to back it up. It was as if Kane had unlocked a new sense.

Or had it always been there?

Kane very quickly realized he couldn’t remember what things were like before.

He sat straight up — far too quickly — and took in his surroundings. Consequently, his eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets.

An ocean of red. All around him, angry ocean waves, the color of blood, red wine, Kool-Aid, whatever, he couldn’t be sure — but he was definitely hoping for the Kool-Aid. The expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky at the horizon, just below the impenetrable cloud cover, was crimson-orange — like a sunset behind smoggy wildfire, but vastly more foreboding, as if Kane were in a horror film. No sun was in sight. Hell, he could barely see his own shadow — the light around him was ambient and soft and seemingly everywhere, and everything was too dim for Kane’s liking.

Not to mention, he seemed to be on a ship. A pirate ship, constructed from dry black wood. It was massive, with huge black sails and an entire mess of ropes and lines on the deck and overhead. Kane was seated on the forecastle deck, right up at the front.

The ship plowed forwards through the violent waves, the mini-tsunamis, that made up this ocean. It jostled back and forth, back and forth, dangerously, precariously, as if the vessel could flip at any instant.

Kane now realized the water on his face was indeed that same red substance in the ocean.

He could smell it now. It had the irony tang of blood.

Kane slapped himself.

No, he didn’t wake up. Of course he wouldn’t wake up. The only difference he noted between before the slap and after was that it hurt far more than usual. As if the very air here was simply acute enough to accentuate his senses, and thus, his pain.

He rubbed at his cheek, his hands suffused with a deep chill, and he pushed to his feet unsteadily, maladroitly, as if he’d forgotten how to work his limbs. His clothes — a black corduroy jacket and faded jeans — were soaked with this frigid blood-water-hybrid, causing his teeth to chatter. Not to mention, he could taste the bloodwater on his tongue, which didn’t help with the nausea.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kane noticed a net on the deck beside him. In between the loose netting were blood-red droplets. And one of his sneakers was caught in it. He hadn’t even realized he’d lost it.

Before he could stumble over to grab it, though, he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Hide.

“No need.”

Kane froze. The voice was clear and firm over the sound of the ocean’s uproar. That, Kane realized, was a voice that belonged to someone who knew what they were doing. A voice belonging to someone who issued worthwhile commands. Someone who deserved to be listened to.

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Heart filled with dread, Kane slowly turned to watch as a man crested the forecastle steps and entered his field of view. Of course, as the man climbed up, his hat was the first thing Kane could see.

It was black with sleek gold trim, and it was the cleanest thing in sight. A tricorne, made from soft, velvety felt, seeming to gleam in the nonexistent sunlight.

A hat befitting of a captain.

I want it.

But Kane quelled this spike of desire just as soon as it arose.

The young man wearing the hat was just as impressive — tan skin and a dark goatee on a strong square jaw. Bags under his hazel eyes, which glittered gold like coins in the uncertain lighting, and a playfully curious expression on his face.

He was dressed in a thick black cloak partially concealing a purple tunic. He definitely looked the part of a ship captain. He looked powerful.

Not to mention Kane’s sixth sense picked up on it too. The waves of power, emanating from this figure. He thought it was stupid, but he felt just this feeling just as well as he could smell the salty-irony tang of the bloodwater, just as well as he could see the foreboding red-orange of the sky.

Best to put the escape plan on hold for now. Kane had already thought up four methods of escape — whatever that meant in this situation — and none of them were good. Something told him they truly wouldn’t work in the presence of this man.

“Look at the poor bloke,” the captain finally said with a sneer, walking right up to Kane, right up, as if he were inspecting a closet or a piece of furniture rather than a person. He looked him up and down, taking in the young man’s outfit as if he’d buy the pieces right off of him.

“Ah. So he’s alive. Pity.” It was only now that Kane realized someone else had followed this captain up to the forecastle. A tall, skinny young man with gray-blond hair and a pitch black hoodie. His eye bags were deeper than his companions, and Kane truly did see a bit of pity in his eyes, if only a modicum. “Is he flammable?”

Am I flammable?

The captain looked Kane up and down once again, the motion smooth yet voracious. “Are you flammable?”

Kane’s typically gravelly voice was hoarse from disuse. “I don’t… think so?” he croaked.

The captain turned back. “He doesn’t think so.”

The fair-haired man sighed with relief. “Good. We didn’t need two.”

Kane cleared his throat, embarrassed at the sound of his previous utterance. “Can someone explain what’s going on here?”

The captain’s eyes glimmered with excitement — or at first, it seemed that way. Kane noted that some part of his excitement didn’t feel quite real, and the idea that he might have a reason to fake it at all caused Kane’s stomach to drop. “Ah, but this is the best part! Tal, would you like to tell our new friend what’s going on?”

The other man — Tal, apparently — thought for a moment, eyes cast up to the clouds in thought, before frowning. “I don’t feel like it, Luce.”

And with that, Tal walked away.

Kane stood there, dumbfounded. “Did he just…”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” The captain didn’t seem the least bit surprised that his subordinate — or at least that was what Kane assumed — had walked away despite a command. What kind of a ship is this?

The captain shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ll get used to him. I mean, if you choose to.”

“Choose?”

“There it is again, with the questions. Listen closely, mate. If you want to stay aboard this ship, you’re going to have to get used to not having all of your questions’ answers served up on a silver platter. Capiche?”

“Sure, yeah, sure.” Kane rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion being the final sense to return to his body, before realizing far too late that he was simply spreading the blood around. “But one quick question that I think does merit an answer. Where are—”

The captain cut him off. “You’ll find out very shortly. I’d just like to inform you of two things.”

He held up his index. “One, Tal pulled you out of the Sea with that net over there, so when you see him again, you’re going to lay down flat in front of him and thank him for saving your life.”

An odd request, but very doable. Kane wasn’t the most grateful individual, but he knew when to put his pride aside.

The captain raised up his middle finger as well. “And two, whatever you do, don’t die. And especially don’t try to kill yourself.”

Kane winced at that second point. “Why the hell would I try to do that?”

The captain took one step back in a military-like fashion, raising his arm and pointing his two fingers at Kane’s eyes. “You were thinking of jumping off the ship.” He sounded angry, as if it were a great affront to him and his hospitality. “This isn’t a dream, Kane.”

Kane blinked rapidly. “I wasn’t thinking of doing that!” But he was. That had been Escape Plan No. 5, and not a very good one. But he sure as hell couldn’t tell this man that. “And how do you know my name?”

“Don’t fucking jump off. We’re not fishing you out a second time. At least, we won’t have time before the torrafins get to you and dissect your body over the course of a couple days. Now, go meet the others in the crew or whatever. We don’t really have time to offer you a proper welcome right now.” He shrugged, the easy nature returning just a bit. “Maybe we’ll do something tonight.”

With that, the captain turned on his heel and walked off the forecastle, leaving Kane standing dumbfounded, bamboozled, and drenched in blood.

Truly, Kane wanted to be anywhere but here. He had truly been thinking of jumping off the ship, especially after realizing he couldn’t take these guys in a fight.

But Kane’s newfound sixth sense did seem to agree with what the captain had said. Dying here would be… bad. Very bad. Somehow worse than normal death.

Additionally, Kane soon realized that something else was driving him to hang around just a bit longer.

Maybe more than one thing. The first was his curiosity. The captain had offered no answers — only raised more questions. Kane would have to gather information, and fast.

And the second was that hat. That goddamn tricorne captain’s hat.

Kane wanted it. Badly.

So he’d figure something out. He always did.