Elliot Baris

Elliot Baris loved the sea. That was never something to be debated. He was a fan of everything—the smell, the sound, the wildlife, anything had an appeal in some form or another. That being said, it did not mean he was always on board. The sweet relief of solid ground was just as welcome as home nowadays, especially the older he got.

He was in the middle of strolling down a little street a ways away from the docks, watching those that passed by. There were a few locals, passing by quickly with clear destinations and smiles at their fellow neighbors and shopkeepers, but for the most part it was a string of tourists and traffic. The sweet smell of sugar hit him from one side, carried by the wind as an ice cream shop was in the midst of their busier season. A few racks of t-shirts were set out on the opposite side of the street, most listing useless slogans involving the sea in bright neon colors. A few restaurants were open as well, but most were having trouble dealing with the multitude of people wanting last minute meals before they set out for the afternoon. After all, Prospero was not the only ship taking leaving that afternoon, but one of several. It was a rather busy harbor truth be told.

Which may have been why the man was in no rush to return. Instead, he found his feet leading him away from the street, off of the sidewalk, and toward a small grouping of trees and a walking path that lined a view of one of the smaller inlets, personal boats and barges were tied to the concrete a short distance away. A smile fell onto Elliot's face as he watched them bob up and down with the shallow waves that had pushed in far enough to make a slight distance in the smooth surface. He traveled down the path until he found a bench sitting out and facing the water and collapsed onto it, the hard, hot metal pressing against his back.

There was something calm and quiet about the soft movements of the ocean so close by and the occasional walker. A jogger passed by and a few boats docked on the other side. A couple walked by with a sweet looking lab, it's tongue lolling out the side of its mouth and several seagulls passed overhead. Leaning back, the man rested the back of his head against the top of the bench and closed his eyes, lopping his fingers together over his stomach.

Time passed, shadows dancing over the top of his face. Light tickled his eyes from behind his eyelids in bright colors of green and red. Warm wind stirred with the humidity of the day around him, and a thick fog of air hung over the earth, heating up everything in its path until there was nothing short of a thin layer of sheen sweat on everyone and everything. Elliot was no exception to the heat. His finger was placed discretely between the white shirt beneath his uniform and his bare chest, pulling it out just enough to let in a thin stream of fresh air flow as he sat. His back was particularly sticky, the feeling of cloth stuck to skin was clearly present, and he could only hope he would look presentable in a few short hours.

"Well you look comfy." The comment came from his left, forcing the man to give quick turn of his head to the brunette standing only a few paces away. It was a mystery how she'd appeared there or how long she'd been watching him silently fan himself, but it made him smile nonetheless.

"Silent as ever, I see, Emmy," he commented, the nickname rolling off his tongue with a sincere familiarity.

The young crew member gave him a rather hard stare in response before her face softened again. For as long as he had known her, she was never one to hold a grudge, and it was just the two of them out here, far away from prying ears. "My apologies, Captain," she responded, emphasizing Elliot's title in retaliation. "I thought you heard me come up."

He gave a soft noise, close to that of a hum and gave up trying to get his skin and shirt to peel apart. Elliot chose instead to close his eyes again and give the warm metal seat beside him a soft pat. There was no response for a moment or two, although Elliot could clearly picture Emma pursing her lips tightly in response, only forcing her own posture stiffer. The clipboard she'd brought with her under her arm was likely clutched painfully close, and he hated to imagine her blood pressure could go any higher. "Did you need something?"

A sigh crossed through the air as relief filled the woman's lungs. He really didn't mean to make this hard on her, but it was hard not to tease her. She was young and determined, he knew that he'd be hard pressed to do any real damage. "Well, the passenger list is all updated, maintenance is doing a final run through on the diagnostics, and the crew is—"

The pause in her voice forced Elliot to open one eye again, tilting his head toward her slightly. "Something wrong?"

With her eyebrows creased tight, Emma forced a quick shake of her head. "Nothing, just making sure you're listening." Pain laced her tone, forcing a slight ache in the man's chest as he watched her to try and contain her anxiety over the matter. "I simply thought I'd bring you back myself," she continued, trying to push the pain back out of her voice as if she was worried it would make a difference at this point in how he saw her. "I know you tend to wander."

Pushing himself up from the bench, Elliot shook his head softly. He crossed the few steps of pavement and set a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Nonsense, there's nothing wrong with stretching my sea legs." A laugh slipped between his lips, deep and mellow.

Slowly but surely, the woman's own shoulders relaxed as she breathed out and in a few more times. "Alright, I just worry because they need you to give the all clear and there was a small issue with the rudder and I know you don't—"

"Officer Miller," Elliot cut her off with a soft shake of his head, squeezing her shoulder in reassurance. "I know you are new to this position, but put a little more faith in the crew, would you? I've sailed this trip a hundred times and I will a hundred more. What's the worst that can happen?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrian Lovett

God, who thought Florida was a good idea?

It was humid, hot and miserable. Every time the Prospero prepared to raise the anchor, I was reminded by the hot hellish misery that is Florida. If the job on the cruise liner wasn't so worth it's weight in gold, I would leave.

Sweat beaded at my brow as I finished sweeping the deck. That's right, I was in charge of sweeping the freaking "poop deck". Hilarious, right?

It wasn't.

And after literal years of hearing that joke, I was more than done. My boss, was generous enough to allow me to work without my uniform today. The slacks and button up and velvety vest is a classic look, one I like for its many uses; however it was suffocating in this terrible weather.

The work wasn't particularly definitely difficult. The cruise line had a fully staffed sanitation team that had already come through earlier. However, Management deemed that it wasn't a "Prospero level of clean". Which meant, that I had to go back through with what Miss Rosa had already done.

I pushed the broom back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. It's constant rhythm nearly putting me to sleep where I stood. Until I heard the chimes of the announcement system. I sighed, knowing that some overly chipper voice was coming. You can never trust someone who is always super chipper.

"Hello Prospero staff!" Came the dreaded happy-camper voice. I zoned out immediately, knowing full well what was going to be said. That we were almost ready to set sail, and that they were happy to have us here, blah blah blah. "And would Adrien Lovett please come to Krystal's office. I repeat, would Adrien Lovett please come to Krystal's office. Thank you~!"

"Oh great." I swore. I tossed the useless broom to the side and started my trek.

The Prospero was alive with working people. Rooms were being cleaned, furniture moved, equipment set up and supplies organized. Most of them didn't even look up when I passed, and that was perfectly fine with me. A lot of these faces were new, still happy and shiny from the thrill of a "real job". Pft, what a joke.

On the bottom most level of the ship, was the working rat's headquarters. They skittered and scattered about, faces all flushed with the fervor of work. I weaved through the crowd with practiced with ease. Towards the back of the floor, was the management's offices. I always found it ironic that the leaders, the ones that the rich snots asked for, hid behind all of the worker rats.

As soon as I entered the hallway for their offices, a large hand stopped me. I looked up, to be greeted by the sight of Kevin. There are many ways to describe Kevin, most of them unprofessional, nor family friendly. The words "rat" and "bastard" work. Though the stereotype of the stupid jock would also apply. He was a tall, buff "alpha" male who expects everyone to do what he wants. And of course, management decided he was "manager material". So now, he had the authority to go with his shit personality.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked with narrowed eyes. I raised my eyebrow at him.

"I was asked to be back here." I did my best to not sound bored. (It didn't work.)

Kevin raised his own eyebrow at me. "By whom? The managers are very busy and don't need to be bothered by..." He eyed at my shoulder, where my name badge was supposed to be. No doubt he was looking for my position. "Where is your name badge?"

"Krystal said I didn't need my uniform today. That included my badge." I sighed. "Speaking of which, she is looking for me."

"Quite the attitude you have there. Don't get too cocky, newbie." Kevin sneered before letting me pass. I pushed by, before rolling my eyes so hard they went back into my skull. Leave it to Kevin being amongst the people who forgot about me.

Krystal's office appeared pretty quick and I quickly knocked, getting myself into my "happy worker" persona. The door opened to show Krystal, a short Hispanic woman who could give ghost peppers a run for their spicy level money. I gave her a customer-service smile.

"Ah! Adrien, just the person I was looking for." She said, and waved me in. I entered her office, and was greeted by just stacks and stacks of paperwork. "Thanks for coming in. I know you are busy."

"Yeah, uh huh. Super swamped." I nodded.

"Well, we here at the Prospero wanted to thank you for all of your hard work." While her words sounded sincere, she wasn't even looking at me.

"It's nothing, really." I said, with my head lowered and voice low. Yeah no duh they need to thank me after all I've done for them. Still, I had to appear grateful and meek.

"So... aha! Here it is." She snatched something from under a pile of paper on her desk. "Here is your 10-Year Anniversary pin! We here at Prospero wanted to thank you. You may wear this next to your name badge, to show off your Prospero Pride!"

She took my hands and placed a small box into it. The top was clear, showing off a small gold-colored pin with a big number 10 on top of it. I looked up from it, and saw her giving a big smile. It was genuine and wide, and I tried to give one back, but could barely manage something half as big.

"O-oh. Thank you." I said.

"Of course, HR will be contacting you about the pay raise. So be ready for that!" She continued, unfazed by my less energetic responses. Thank God. "Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to processing this paperwork. Yay me~."

The end was supposed to be a joke, so I added a small chuckle before saying a quick "thank you" and leaving.

I sold my soul to this place, and I only have a pin to show for it.

The opening dinner couldn't come any quicker. The morning and afternoon had passed in a flash, of registration and assisting people to their rooms. I quickly became a face within the crowd. There was something particularly soothing about being able to blend in so well. Many times, a couple would be whispering to themselves about where they needed to go, clearly confused. They would then look up looking for staff. Despite me wearing the uniform, the name badge, and hell, even the pin, they would look right over me.

Which, was perfectly fine by me.

While the dinner happened in 3 of our dining rooms, the best part of the ship opened. I found myself wondering towards it, without even thinking. The buzz of slot machines, of glasses clinking and cards shuffling filled my ears. I let out a breath I didn't even know that I was holding.

As I entered, I slipped my vest off, and stashed it in a fake tree's pot near the entrance. With that, I entered the crowd. Nearby, I found a table with one seat open. Adding some swagger to my step, I approached and slipped to stand behind one of the players. I watched, very carefully, as a few rounds pass. The players were terrible, throwing caution to the wind and letting fate decide if they won or lost. Poor fools.

One of them looked up, and cocked his head to the side. "Are you Richard's boy?"

"Uh... yes sir, that's me." I said with a shy smile. Richard's boy, that's who I am tonight. Given my response, looks like I will be the shy heir. Easy enough role.

"Ah, I thought you looked familiar! Come, and sit." The man patted the seat next to him. I looked at him, looking unsure. He smiled and nodded. "We work with your father, promise we don't bite."

I gave an uneasy smile before sitting down.

"Do you know how to play blackjack?" He asked.

"Dad made sure I did, he said some of the best deals happen over a card table." The men laughed at that. "I just haven't gambled much."

"Well, that won't do. Dealer, please give him some chips. It's time the boy learned." The man smiled at the dealer. I looked up and saw a new faced worker. I internally smirked, perfect.

"Yes Mr. Johnson." The dealer said and pushed some chips in my direction.

The game began. Like the rest of the table, I allowed myself to make "caution to the winds" decisions. I won once over the course of an hour. But, when the drinks started to flow, well my luck must have simply improved. The men were getting a little loose, noticing less and just laughing more and more.

It was my time to shine.

I started to win more often. The men weren't hard to distract or convince into making poor decisions. They often laughed with the "to hell with it" mentality, and kept losing. When I had won for the tenth time, Mr. Johnson leaned over. He threw his arm around my neck, putting his alcoholic breathe near my face. I flushed out of habit, and leaned away a little.

"You're a natural, my boy." He chuckled.

"You think so?" I replied sheepishly. With careful fingers, I reached up to scratch at my neck. My fingers caught on something hard and metallic. With a grin I put my hand back down.

"It's your turn, Mr. Johnson." The dealer said.

"Ah, yes. Hit me." Mr. Johnson turned back towards the table, his arm remaining exactly where it was.

His jacket was opened, and whatever was in the pocket was hitting my leg as he moved excitedly. I frowned and pushed at the jacket. Whatever it was fell on the ground. I leaned over and scooped it up, placing it in my own pocket to make sure he didn't lose it again.

That's when I began to lose. It was on purpose, of course. I had to return to work before anyone noticed I was missing. Being in such a huge ship, meant you could easily be anywhere doing anything, but if you're gone too long... then questions start getting asked. That I couldn't afford.

"You were doing so well." Mr. Johnson jabbed.

"I think I was just lucky?" I suggested. The men laughed and continued.

A few rounds later and I was broke. I got up to leave, but was stopped by Mr. Johnson's hand on my sleeve.

"You should stay. Here, you can have some of mine!" Mr. Johnson, he reached into his chip pile to push some my way. Some of the other men reached to do the same.

"Oh no, I couldn't." I put a hand up. Mr. Johnson frowned, letting go of my sleeve. "It was wonderful to meet you gentlemen, but I should get going."

They grumbled but let me go. Good.

I made my way back to the door, to grab my vest when-

"Has anyone seen my wallet?" His voice rang out. Shit. "And my watch?! Where have they gone?"

"Jared!" He called out towards me. His tone started to become confused, maybe even angry. "Jared, have you-"

That's when the ship lurched. I was launched forward onto the ground. I huffed, feeling my teeth knock together. Before I could recover, the ship shifted, and I felt gravity pulling me headfirst towards the wall. I tried to look up but was immediately greeted by the sight of one of the card tables. Immediately I crashed into it, and saw stars.

I heard screams and shouts around me as my vision went in and out of focus. Then it sounded like metal bending and breaking, then roaring winds, then it sounded like nothing at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Augustus Menenzes

Dr. Augustus Menezes had it all. He was rich, handsome, successful, and he didn't look a day over forty. To many, it would've seemed as though he was living the American dream. His twenty years of research dedicated to software engineering had finally paid off and he was about to make a fortune on a language translator that was nearly the same as the one from the Star Trek series—a coveted accomplishment in his line of work! How many people could say they invented a device that mimicked the very ability sci-fi fanatics could only dream of?

The very idea itself had made him rich!

As part of the celebration for this newfound wealth, Dr. Menezes had spent the last twenty-four hours on a cruise ship headed to the Caribbean. The Prospero, to be exact. According to online rumors, the ship was a billion-dollar baby that was designed to be the new Titanic but with a modern touch. True to the claim, The Prospero was enormous with over fifteen decks and six thousand passengers sailing across the vast open sea. The ride was luxurious, and Dr. Menezes hadn't expected any less for what he was paying for it.

Nevertheless, he had enjoyed sipping white wine under multi-colored chandeliers while listening to classical music. The whole experience had felt expensive. Exclusive. And he couldn't think of a better way to have passed the time waiting to reach the Bahamas.

But as the day went on, he found himself growing tired. The type of tired that left men his age paralyzed and at the mercy of whatever regret stuck to the bottom of a liquor glass. He'd tried to cast back in his mind the bitter feeling of being alone, but the sight of families had made it nearly impossible. If it'd been up to him, his family would've been there with him, but his wife had insisted they take a break to "renew their commitments." He wasn't sure everything their separation had entailed, just that they were no longer living together and there was a wedding ring missing on her left hand.

While it would've been natural—expected, even—for any man to look at this and see a failing marriage that needed to be saved, Dr. Menezes had opted to let her be. There was a kind of flawed logic to a man buying a woman a bouquet of roses and promising to attend marriage counseling that left a bad taste in his mouth. If Melina needed a break to see other men for her to realize how great she'd had it before, he was willing to entertain her delusions until she did.

But for now, he just waited. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Royale Dio Du Sainte-Germaine Champs-Elysees

DID NOT HAND IN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MJ Williams

Mary Jane sat on a stool at the bar, a half-full pint of beer in her hand, smiling contently. All of the windows had been opened, so nothing was stopping her from enjoying the salty air streaming into the room on the evening breeze. She basked in the warmth of those last rays of sunset as she watched the ocean roll out endlessly towards the horizon. She took a drink of her beer.

This, she thought, is the dream. She could get used to this.

The piano bar MJ found herself in, what she would consider to be by far the best of the three different lounges boasted by the Prospero, was dimly lit and already filled with the sounds of soft piano and smooth singing. It was still only the first day and most guests were still settling into their rooms and exploring the ship, so the lounge was relatively quiet save for the music and light chatter.

She took a long sip and turned to the bartender nearby who had busied himself rearranging glasses behind the bar. "You know, Eric, I've never owned a boat before, but if I did this is definitely the one I would want."

Eric the bartender chuckled politely and smiled back to MJ. "It's quite the ship. Is this your first adventure aboard the Prospero?" he asked. The word 'adventure' stuck out to MJ as one that the Ocean Cruise Milan loved to pepper generously into its advertising and employee training videos.

MJ laughed. "You could say that." Eric raised an eyebrow at her, and she continued, "I'm new on the crew. Deck cadet in the control room."

Eric's smile shifted a bit. "A day off already? You're lucky."

"Yeah, nah, I start work in a couple hours." She took another drink of her beer (which wasn't great, if she was being honest with herself, but that certainly wasn't going to stop her from drinking it).

"Should you be drinking that?" Eric asked, pointing at her glass with a concerned look.

MJ shrugged.

He paused for a second, and then shrugged himself as he continued shuffling around glasses and bottles beneath the bar. "So, why are you out here? Just enjoying the view?"

"I'm waiting for my roomie to finish her shift," MJ explained as she gestured towards the stage behind her. "Have you met Willow?"

"The singer? No, I haven't had the chance yet. How do you know her?"

MJ smiled brightly and leant forward onto the bar with her glass in hand. "Funny story, that! We call it the noodle incident. Right, so it started on an old fishing boat off the coast of Italy—"

A light, melodic laugh from behind cut MJ off, who turned to greet her best friend and partner-in-crime Willow Zheng. She was a petite woman dressed in a gorgeous floor-length burgundy dress with perfectly curled hair and sparkling diamond trinkets that reflected the warm colours of the sunset. "You know, I could have sworn that story actually starts with a ferry transporting zoo animals across the Baltic sea," the singer said as she sauntered up next to MJ and placed a careful hand on her arm. She was quite the contrast to MJ, who was barely achieving a smart casual look with her messy hair pulled back with a bandana, loose button-up top and jeans. MJ felt Willow squeeze her sleeve out of habit.

"Speak of the devil! You finished for the afternoon?" Willow nodded, and MJ turned back to the bartender. "Eric, this is Willow. Willow, this is Eric."

The two exchanged hellos and polite, restrained nods.

"You know," MJ said, "I bet you two would get along like a house on fire."

Willow shot her a friendly scowl and lightly tugged at her sleeve. "I just have to clock out, but I'll meet you down at our room?"

MJ gestured her glass to Willow. "You don't want a drink first? Doesn't look like their stuff is great, but it's still alcohol." Eric chuckled behind the bar again and turned away to serve some actual passengers.

"No, I'm not in the mood to drink right now. Besides, it's a bit loud here. It will be easier to talk in the room."

"Fair enough. I'll finish this and see you down there," MJ said before throwing back the remains of her drink in one long gulp. By the time she finished, Willow was already strolling back towards the stage. MJ placed her empty glass down on the bar and stood up to leave, digging a hundred dollar note from her back pocket and tucking it underneath the glass. As she started to leave, she looked down the bar and saw a dejected, nerdy-looking kid sitting in the corner carefully contemplating a tall glass of water.

MJ stopped and leaned over to the bartender, whispering, "Hey, what's his deal?"

"Him? I think he's a comedian."

"Ah. Could you give him a drink for me?" She fished out a fifty and slid it over the bar. "I'm thinking something fun and fruity, like a... A Bloody Mary, I bet he'd enjoy that." Eric nodded with a bit of surprise and took the note. Satisfied, MJ left the lounge and headed to her room with a spring in her step.

.....

MJ reached their shared bunk first. It was just one of the many cramped rooms below sea level that were famous for giving the cruise staff flashbacks of their first year living on a university campus, although MJ would have to take their word for it. The room had only the bare essentials: a small table, minimal storage space in the form of draws and shelving, a closet, an impeccably neat bottom bunk, a chaotic top bunk, and a large map of the Caribbean covered in MJ's doodles hanging on the wall. MJ and Willow were lucky, having been granted their request to bunk together despite their completely different jobs. They had even been assigned a room with slightly more closet space to accommodate Willow's many work outfits.

MJ walked straight to her bunk (the top bunk, of course) and threw the curtains back to reveal her other best friend and confidante, Sharkbait the pink and grey galah. The bird looked up from the from the open book he was pecking at and squawked.

"Shh, not too loud," MJ hushed Sharkbait, holding one hand out for him to climb onto and petting his head with the other. Sharkbait blinked with his eye that wasn't covered with an eyepatch. "Yes, I missed you as well. You enjoying your book?" The bird chirped and clicked as he hopped onto MJ's hand and she lifted him off the bed.

At that moment, the door flung open and Willow stepped in. "Yes, it's great to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you around," she called out the door to someone walking down the hall.

MJ turned around as she placed Sharkbait on his usual perch on her head. "Hey! Took you long enough."

Willow closed the door behind her and groaned. In an instant, her whole being changed. The polite smile on her face was dropped so quickly by Willow's trademark frown that MJ could only imagine an actual mask being taken off to reveal the real Willow underneath. She made quick work of ripping off her heels and started pulling off the assorted jewellery adourning her body with a fury not often directed towards priceless diamonds. "I am over this 'lounge singer' shit. Do you know the skill set I possess? I know at least twenty-seven ways to knock out a man with my bare hands and this is what I'm doing now. And why did I think it was a good idea to apply for a job where people stare at my face all night!?"

"But you're so good at singing! And being a musician suits you so well."

"You're too kind, Sheila," Willow deadpanned. She quickly changed into some simple black clothes and pulled her hair into a sensible low ponytail, then put her dress away so it hung neatly next to several more dresses and assorted staff uniforms for different departments across the ship.

While waiting, MJ pulled out some duffle bags lying underneath the bed to check nothing had been touched or moved. Of course, MJ knew it hadn't, but Willow would fret anyway until everything had been checked. She opened one bag and nodded to herself. Yep, no one had taken the gas masks, or the spare gas masks, or any of the ten cannisters of hallucinogenic gas. She checked another; the extra gas, the rods that could be affixed to a door to barricade it, the weapons and bull tranquiliser just in case things went wrong. Even the fireworks and explosives were exactly as they had left them.

"Was anything touched?" Willow asked over her shoulder.

"Nope," answered MJ. "I think if someone found all this, we'd know pretty quickly." She zipped up the bags and shoved them back under the bed.

Willow pursed her lips. "Hmm. You haven't said anything to anyone, have you? Especially that bartender in the lounge. I don't trust him, I think he might be on to us."

"Oh, Eric? He's harmless. I mean, he did tell me he was an undercover spy looking for boat thieves, but he was just so nice I thought it would be fine if he knew." Willow shoved her in the arm, but MJ didn't take it personally; Willow was never very good at hiding her smiles.

"Okay, fine. I get it, but we can't be too careful. Not until we're the only one's on this God damn ship and we're sailing off into the sunset. Speaking of—" Willow reached into the closet and brought out a large roll of paper, which she unfurled onto the table, "—We should go over the plan again."

MJ threw her head back and groaned with much more volume than necessary, causing Sharkbait to squawk and hop down to her shoulder. MJ snuck a look at Willow, who unfortunately didn't react at all. Instead, she scrutinised the ship blueprints in front of her with unwavering intensity. MJ huffed, grabbed a handful of bird seed from one of the shelves, and sat down on Willow's no-longer-neat bed.

Once MJ sat down, Willow started, "Alright, phase one is evacuating the ship. On day three of the cruise, at 1450 hours exactly, we begin."

"Yup, right when the boat is between Cuba and the Caicos Islands, where the drawing of the turtle with a gas mask is," MJ added, nodding to the map on the wall as she fed Sharkbait the seeds in her hand.

"Why exactly is it... You know what, never mind, I won't get it anyway. Anyway, at that point, you set everything off by staging a collision in the control room that would convince everyone that the hull has been breached and the gas mains are compromised. Now," Willow sighed, "are you sure I can't convince you to have some sort of plan of how you are going to do that?"

MJ rolled her eyes. "I told you, she'll be right— I'll just figure it out on the day. I have a pretty good idea of how the computer systems work, I can fiddle around with some knobs or something, maybe actually run us into a rock. Who knows, I'll see where my imagination takes me." Willow shot her an unimpressed look. "Look, you're very smart and very good at scheming, but I'm good at coming up with ideas on the spot. I'll wait and see what's happening in the control room at the time and go from there. Besides, you know I'd immediately ditch any plans, anyway."

Willow sighed again, a sign of resignation that MJ was all too familiar with. "Okay, I guess that makes sense, in a weird, only-makes-sense-to-a-madwoman kind of way. You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

MJ grinned. "I promise you, Willow, I'll figure it out. You are literally the only person in the world I care about, and I do not plan on letting you down."

And there was Willow's reluctant smile again, and an obligatory eye roll. "Okay, okay, you know I trust you." She turned back to the blueprints. "Anyway, after you do whatever it is that you're gonna do, I'll be waiting down in the maintenance room where the fake 'gas leak' will be..."

And Willow continued talking, her pace gradually speeding up, as she went through the plan again. It was a good thing that she was mostly speaking for her own benefit, because MJ was quickly distracted sharing birds seed with Sharkbait (too many sunflower seeds are bad for him, anyway). She knew the important bits: They'll barricade the room with the 'gas leak', convince the crew it's unfixable, and hit some people with hallucinogenic gas so that everyone will panic and the Captain will be forced to call a full evacuation. They'll stowaway as everyone boards the lifeboats, and then take control of the ship and start sailing away. Then, to make sure no one comes looking for them, they'll fake an explosion and a fire (and throw in a real explosion for fun, if MJ gets her way) so everyone assumes the ship burnt up. It was the perfect plan.

"But wait... what if they decide to wait until the ship docks to evacuate?" Willow gasps, jumping up from her seat. "We didn't consider that!"

"Yeah we did, I chose a spot in the ocean that's too far away from any ports."

"But what if we're delayed? What if you've miscalculated the ship's location?"

"Not possible, but—"

"What if the hallucinogenic doesn't work properly and isn't deemed a big enough threat? How can we convince... Hey, what are you doing?"

While Willow was spiralling, MJ had calmly gotten up from the bed, wrapped an arm around Willow, and dragged her towards the door with little resistance. "We're going for a walk so you can clear your head."

"But—"

"No buts! You're spiralling again, so let's get out of here. We could suss out the maintenance rooms, have a bit of a snoop around." She stopped just before the door and gave Willow the smile she knew her friend couldn't say no to. Willow glared at her for a moment. "It'll be fu-un," MJ sang.

Willow rolled her eyes again and reached for the door knob. "You know I can't say no to that face."

MJ beamed. "Don't worry so much! Everything will be fine."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willow Zheng

"You know, I've⁠—huh!⁠—made mistakes before." Understatement of the century. "I⁠—fucking ow⁠—applied to be a cruise ship lounge singer. I⁠—Jesus fuck⁠—trusted an expat on the dark web with my classified information. I left mainland China, and we both know how well that⁠—shitting CHRIST!"

"And this is the dumbest mistake you've ever made?"

"Well, it sure as hell isn't the smartest!" Willow turned sharply on her heel to shoot MJ the most homicidal glare she could muster. Judging from the continued snickering and the way the Australian swung her feet from her perch on a gas pipe as she fed her gallah, Sharkbait, another shrimp, it was entirely ineffective⁠—probably because of the hair in the face and the sweating through the clothes and the fact they were both currently locked in the most disgusting maintenance room known to man, god damn it. "You gonna help me, deck cadet? Because I'm getting a little tired here and I'm starting to feel like I might also wanna take a little break and sit down somewhere in this room full of gas mainlines and fuck all else, you know, totally fine here with no way out and nothing to do, stuck in the goddamn closet ⁠—why are you laughing, that's⁠—oh." English slang. It never stopped changing. "Very funny." She slammed her shoulder against the metal door one more time for good measure, even though her job description wasn't the one that involved physical exertion and ship structure things and also death. It didn't move, just like it⁠—big surprise⁠—hadn't moved the last infinity-plus-one times she'd done it. In a fit of pique, she looked around for something to throw; the monkey wrench hit the door with a clang, ricocheted off the rusted floor, and nearly took out her kneecap. As one does, when the universe hates you. "At least we know it'll probably stay shut when we need it to."

"And when we don't need it to," MJ added cheerfully, entirely unperturbed at the possibility of boredom or starvation or immediate discovery and capture in this dark room so far away from God's light. Things that might cause normal people a moderate amount of concern, no big deal. "You know what your problem is? You're always so worried about thinking things through—"

"The problem is that I think things through?!" Willow turned her head so fast she could hear the bones in her neck crack, which—well, that couldn't be good. Not that everything else in her life was doing fantastic at the moment, either. She threw her hand out, gesturing dramatically (and, if she were honest with herself, more than a little maniacally) at their surroundings. Between the sickly amber glow of the singular lightbulb, the uncomfortably suspicious stickiness of the floor, and the pipes snaking the walls in various shades of Corroded Metal #7, the room looked like a set out of Saw 5. "Do you see what happens the one time I don't think things through?!"

MJ fixed her with an unimpressed glare, which was—probably warranted, even Willow could tell she sounded like a madwoman, but she was justified, god damn it. This actually wasn't the only time Willow hadn't thought things through: the first time she hadn't thought things through she'd ended up barred from, wanted dead by, and nearly extradited back to a major world superpower. The second time—if you counted the second time as one extended catastrophe and not three separate incidents featuring her FBI agent, an info leak, and her traitor mother respectively—she'd gotten barred from, wanted dead by, and nearly extradited back to a different world superpower on top of the first world superpower. The third time, she'd taken the first job that got her off of world-superpower land and into trans-boundary waters outside of national jurisdiction so she couldn't be murdered and/or extradited by major world superpowers without looking closely at the job description, and now she lived in this beautiful glorified bathtub with nowhere to run in the middle of the ocean in a state of constant paranoia because she'd inadvertently taken a job where people got a nice long look at her super-wanted face eight-to-ten hours out of every day. And now it was the fourth time, and she'd gotten herself locked in a dank hole that might end up doubling as her coffin with her oblivious best friend and what had better not be a used condom floating in a puddle of black mold under a ceiling leak. Bad things happened when she didn't think things through.

"Sometimes what happens just happens, and worrying won't fix it when it does." MJ shrugged her shoulders, as if Willow were saying something dumb and dramatic and not extremely realistic and totally justified given that they were standing in what would be a really shitty place to die. "The way I see it, someone's bound to find us eventually⁠—worst case scenario, when the Captain makes his rounds⁠—"

"⁠—Because finding your two newest hires in one of the most important maintenance rooms is normal and won't raise any questions." Willow sagged against the demon-door and let her forehead hit it with a light thunk⁠— lightly enough not to lose brain cells, hard enough to get her point across. Predictably, it did nothing to help. It didn't even make her feel better. "At least a deck cadet maybe got lost. Entertainment isn't even allowed on this floor, I don't think." Thunk. Maybe if she sacrificed enough of her brainpower to whatever higher entity was torturing her, they'd take pity and open the door. Unlikely, but it would be just as effective as every other thing she'd tried in the past...fifteen minutes. Either her watch was slow, her eyesight was going, or the demon-door had actually transported them into an alternate dimension where time stood still and life was hell. "Baris is nice, sure. But he isn't⁠—"

"⁠—stupid?"

"Nice, stupid⁠—all the same." She waved a hand. Fuck. If nothing else, the shame of being beaten by a door had shown her that she needed to work out more. Her ribcage hurt. It was a little alarming and a lot aggravating. She slumped further down towards the ground, wincing internally as she felt the fibers of her sweater catch on the hinges. The grime was getting all over it too, no doubt. "Being heart-stupid isn't any better than being brain-stupid, it's all⁠—fuck⁠—the same stupid. He isn't blind."

MJ flashed an impish grin. Beside her, Sharkbait horked up a shrimp shell onto the water-stained floor. Willow continued gasping for air. "We could always pretend we came down here to fool around, if⁠—"

"Wouldn't work." There was probably something ironic about the fact she was struggling to catch her breath in a gas room. She was sure she'd think of it and regret not making some snide comment later, at a time when she wasn't actively dying and unable to string two sentence fragments together. "We share a room. Too obvious of a lie. This place isn't sexy. Also, ew."

"You're no fun." At this point Willow was sprawled on the (frankly disgusting) ground with her eyes closed⁠—you know, as one does when life is a shitshow⁠—but if she had to guess, MJ had been hoping to get a much more enjoyable rise out of her with that one. She might even have delivered, if her brain had been receiving enough oxygen to summon any thought more advanced than a fourth-grade level.

"You take that back. I'm very fun." Willow lifted her head, cracked an eye open, and put on her most not-fun scowl. "I'm goddamn cruise ship entertainment, god damn it. Being fun is my job. I take fun very seriously." She held it together for a few more seconds before the tremulous grin on MJ's face set her off; she let her head fall back and hit the floor as they broke almost simultaneously into peals of laughter. God damn. Her lungs still hurt, but at least this time it was worth it. Somehow, she found the energy to roll away and prop herself up against the peeling wall; she brushed the sweat-crusted hair away from her forehead, ignoring the way a water pipe was digging incessantly into her back. Focus. Think things through. She was better than this. "Well, on the bright side⁠—"

"You? The bright side? Who are you and what have you done to Willow Zheng?"

"Hardy har har," Willow deadpanned, feeling much less frazzled and much more herself. After a good laugh and a little reconsideration, nothing major had changed. She tilted her head back and lifted a hand⁠—which was shaking, because ow and also why and also she probably shouldn't have bashed her shoulder against a door a bunch of times, but whatever. She pointed out one of the pipes sitting high in the shadows by the ceiling, tracing its trajectory through the air with her finger. The ship gave a heave; the waning incandescent lightbulb flickered. "That line's the one. Nitrogen oxide, sulfur oxides, the works. Hallucinations and shit⁠—the whole nine yards."

"Not the carbon monoxide?" MJ leaned over and rapped smartly on one of the nearby pipes with an alarming clang. "Heard that one's pretty nasty."

"Oh, it'll fuck you up." Willow tried for another laugh, but it came out as a high-pitched wheeze. "But it'll also knock you out before you start hallucinating, and we don't want doctors or whatever getting suspicious about the logistics. Carbon monoxide would work for an assassination cover-up⁠—and I've got some of that in my trunk too, by the way, if you wanna go that route instead⁠—"

"You know what? I think I'm good." Civilians. So squeamish.

"⁠—but we're not assassinating the people on the cruise ship, we're stealing the cruise ship." Or they would, hopefully, if they ever left the goddamn room. "And if we're gonna do that, we want them hallucinating. Or thinking their hallucinating."

"Makes sense." MJ nodded toward the door. "And we know the room's secure."

"Yeah." Willow shot the door a dark glare. Bastard. "Too secure. Fucking asshole."

"It's a door, it can't hear you." The Australian continued cheerfully on, ticking points off her fingers. "So with the barricade sorted and out of the way...the stuff in the lifeboats and life jackets, the evacuation procedures, the special lifeboat and life jackets, the⁠—uh⁠—" She briefly mimed a quick swing with a baseball bat. "⁠—the gas stuff's moved in here, the fireworks, and the rest of the fireworks...?"

"I've sorted it out on the entertainment stockpile's end." Willow's hair swung limply back into her face; she pushed it out again, raising an eyebrow as she looked to her closest friend. "The collision?"

"I'll figure it out." That was MJ for you, completely unconcerned. She was going to give Willow a heart attack, is what was going to happen. Willow would kill her, if she didn't need her and also love that girl to death. "So that's everything, right? We're all set?"

"Yeah, we're set." Willow eyed the door once more. "We're set, as long we get out of this fucking hellhole before we start cannibalizing each other for sustenance."

"Which we will, so stop worrying. You're pretty dramatic for a spy, huh?" MJ rolled her eyes, hopped gracefully onto her feet, and made her way over to the door within a few quick steps; she eyed it up and down before grabbing the handle and giving it a hard shove. It inched reluctantly out of place with a sharp scraping sound⁠—slow work, but it looked as if it might give within a few more pulls. "Yeah, the door's busted: this, plus, what we've prepared to keep it closed, will probably be fine. 'Specially since no one's gonna wanna stick around to work on it if there's gas pouring out the cracks."

"Great. Sure. Fantastic. And I'm a secret agent, not a spy." Willow managed to get off her feet, staggering over and reaching for the doorknob to help; Sharkbait snapped her away and gave her an uncomfortably judgemental stare. Alright, sue her; she had dexterity, not strength.

"Aren't those the same thing?"

"It's⁠—it's like rectangles and squares, you know?" She set about instead cleaning up and hiding the materials they'd set up⁠—metal latches and rods for barricading the door, a jug from a water cooler, swiped scuba diving gear, and three separate gas masks, among other things. "A spy's a type of secret agent, but a secret agent isn't always a spy."

"Then you're pretty dramatic for a secret agent, huh?" A final wrench, and the door gave with a sound like nails on a chalkboard to reveal the shining linoleum and steel of the operational deck. MJ bowed low, holding it open for Willow with a shit-eating grin; Sharkbait followed suit with a squawky laugh. "After you, madam."

"Yeah, well, there's probably a reason I'm not a secret agent anymore." Willow bowed back theatrically on her way out, sending MJ a mock-salute with a tired wave of the hand as her friend closed and locked the door securely behind them. Around them, the metal of the Prospero groaned against oceanic water pressure; beyond the claustrophobic walls, freedom beckoned. International waters. She didn't bother biting back her grin. "Thank you kindly, cadet. Alright, back to doing our job now...and what was that, remind me again?"

MJ smirked⁠—all teeth, and not entirely pleasant. "Why, it's to give all our special guests an adventure on the high seas they'll never forget."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arnold Brown

When Arnold was young, he yearned for the day that the confines of a bedtime were no more, and he could stay up all night doing whatever he wanted. Jump around 12 or so years later and Arnie now hates himself for not having taken the chance to sleep, among many other reasons.

Now he wasn't allowed to sleep. Sleep is for good comedians who write a damn script, he told himself. He banged his head against the desk, cringing as he heard yet another creak from the weak desk of his room on the Prospero.

He had been on the boat for a total of 3 hours and still he didn't have any material for a set he would be performing tomorrow night, and all he wanted was a nap. He had spent the previous night writing a total of three sentences, but it had still taken him till early dawn to write it.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw his phone ringing. A distraction that didn't put him to blame was always welcomed with open arms.

"Mum! What's up?" he cheered, he and his mum had a very healthy and close relationship.

"I just wanted to check up on you, Arnie, we haven't talked for what? Six days? It's been so long!"

Arnie let out a slight chuckle, but he knew she wasn't joking. She had so much to tell him. What did Debbie from church say this time, did Arnie hear about her friends son who came out, who's also a doctor, followed by the monthly reminder of "Yes but if you were gay I would definitely be okay with that" leading to the defensive "I'm not saying you have to date him, you two could be great friends" and the grand finale of "Well you've never brought home any girls, what am I supposed to think?". All fairly routine by this point.

"There's a lot of noise, are you at a party, Arnie?" his mother asked.

"No, actually, I'm on a cruise ship."

"You took a vacation? Good for you."

"Actually, I'm on here for work. I got a last-minute gig for the Prospero."

"Oh" she said, her voice going a much higher pitch.

"What's 'oh'?" Arnie asked, slightly confused and concerned.

"It's nothing."

"It definitely didn't sound like nothing"

She paused for a moment.

"I just didn't think your career would end so quickly."

"Mother," Arnie cried. Of course he knew being a cruise ship entertainer wasn't amazing, but he didn't think that of it as his entire career ending. He was sure this wasn't his last gig.

"You know, I'm sure that English degree could still get you a nice job."

"This has been a nice call, but I've got to go," he stated. He loved his mother, but she could be very blunt sometimes.

"Be safe Arnie."

"I will, mum."

"I love you Arnie."

"I love you, too." And then the phone line ended.

Arnie took a seat, immediately banging his legs against the desk. He could've sworn his legs were large enough for this desk five minutes ago. The walls seemed to be closing in on him and the air felt stuffy.

He knew his room wasn't 5-star quality like the elderly gang, going on this cruise for their seventh time but it wasn't as bad as the motel rooms he would travel through, going gig to gig. There was no ominous smells or stains, just a plain room with a surprising lack of smells. The walls were plain and the single bed in the corner was a pleasantish pale green.

Still though, he couldn't stay in this room any longer. He took his leave, respectfully speed walking so as not to break the rules of running through the hallway, and although he did get lost twice, he managed to escape the sea of rooms and make his way outside.

Being outside felt starkly different. The air was salty and crisp, and the sky radiated a warm yellow and pink light. For a second he remembered the sky back in his hometown in Dublin, which shared this exact look and feeling. There was also an equal amount of old people here as there were back at home, which felt oddly comforting.

For some completely mysterious and unknown reason, Arnold gravitated closer and closer to the bar where there was a stool just calling out his name. He soon realised that sitting at the seat was the only thing that fit in his budget.

"You've been staring at our menu for a while, did you want to order anything?" a bartender asked him.

Arnold wasn't sure what to say. Something along the lines of "Got any alcoholic drinks? Perhaps the kind that don't cost the same as my hourly rate?". He didn't take the job of a cruise ship entertainer for the near minimum wage.

"Do you have any water?" Arnold asked, immediately cringing as he realised what he had asked. While on a boat.

"I'm not sure, I'll go check" the bartender smiled, serving him a glass of ice-cold water.

"Thanks" Arnold shyly responded, avoiding eye contact. Maybe he could blame this on the sleep deprivation.

Maybe he could incorporate that into his sketch tomorrow, that's what all the mediocre comedians do. He sat down, staring at his water and contemplated whether he would be able to make more than two jokes in the next 24 hours.

"This is from the lady over there," the bartender said, handing him a drink.

"Is this a Bloody Mary?" Arnold asked cautiously.

"It sure is. Courtesy of the girl over there," the bartender gestured to a very happy lady with frizzy blond hair tied up in a bandana

"Like the tomato drink?"

"It does have tomatoes, yes."

Arnold shuddered. He and tomatoes had a bad history. This was clearly an omen that disaster is afoot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Markus Fleur

     Perchance this is something we've never seen before. Perhaps it's a dream we'll never have again.

There's a man standing on the water, his shoulders exposed to the wind and the sea. His sleeveless shirt wrinkles as he leans on a railing, staring down at the waves crashing against the ship's hull. It's the beauty of chaos and order, solids and liquids, foam discoloring the paint and the cursive spelling of Prospero. Prospero is the name of this colossus.

He stays like this a long time. Watching the ocean. Waiting for the sun to set in anticipation of the blue moon casting its glow on the water. He doesn't forget to breathe. He doesn't forget to blink, to think about himself and his lovers. The man sways alone on this ship, and he wonders if the world knew this was going to happen.

Another hour passes, a man stuck on the deck. He sees a glimpse of the moon and then turns back, travels to the other side, to where he can see the coastline, and watches--watches still more. People are scattered, sunglasses beginning to slide up to the top of the head, tiny ants looking up at the Prospero and hoping to wave goodbye to their loved ones. The man waves at no one. Makes it seem like he's parting with a lover, or saying farewell to a family member. He stops. For a moment, he wants to smile.

The ship rocks. Just once, a vibration and a splash as it begins to move. There's a blare of a horn that the man flinches at, loud enough that him and plenty others look up at the sky. Clouds and the first hint of stars. A chance to sail out a be nothing. A chance to find someone new out at sea. A chance to be someone else.

The isle is quiet as the man rides the Prospero into the dark. Into the wild. Into the heavens.