From the Ritz to the Rubble

09:55

The dinghy barely stayed afloat as a light breeze filled the air. The smell of smoke overwhelmed the atmosphere as they sat next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, not a hair’s width of room between them.

The silence was loud.

One of the Russians dragged a wet cigarette out of his pocket, placing it between his hard, dry lips. His beard discolored in an off-yellow hue from constant smoking.

Tired, he kept trying to light his cigarette with his broken lighter—over and over again, relentlessly. The sound of the wheel spinning, sparking uselessly, echoed across the battlefield.

Max sighed loudly, then lifted his multi-tool to the cigarette, lighting it in a second with its torch.

The old man inhaled deeply, then spoke in a rough, hardened voice:

"Спасибо."

It meant little to Max, yet he still nodded.

Silence settled again as he stared at the horizon, his mind completely empty. He had faced dire situations before—but never alone. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t worried.

He was just… confused.

For the first time, he was truly alone.

Then, a familiar sound rang out—another man fiddling with a lighter.

Now, eleven wet cigarettes stood tall.

The small boat drifted slowly through the night.

The kid started humming low, barely audible over the crackle of Max’s worn-out headphones.Pointing toward the stars, reaching for them like they were just a grasp away.

Bobby chuckled.

-"Hey, little one," he spoke softly. "That right there is the sea monster known as Cētus. It means divine judgment. Quite ironic, don’t you think?"

The child ignored him completely, still enamored with the stars.

Fred snorted.

-"The fuck you mean divine judgment? It’s clearly a fish."

Bobby sighed.

-"Fred, please, I’m trying to teach him something. At least let others be educated."

Fred scoffed.

-"Educated, bruv? You’re teaching the wrong bloody stuff. It’s a damn fish. That means.. well… fish.

-Fred, it’s clear as day that it’s a sea monster."

-"Clear as day? You’ve never seen the fucking sun, mate. It’s a fish."

-"Bobby, don’t do this right now."

-"Do what? We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, stuck on a dinghy with a punk and twelve smoking Russians. My mother taught me astrology, and she said that’s a fish."

Fred smirked.

-"With all due respect, your mother was a whore."

Bobby shot back.

-"Yeah, and she slept with sailors who, wouldn’t you know it, knew how a fucking fish looked like!"

-"When have you ever seen a fish like that?"

-"Well, maybe if we didn’t eat shrimp every fucking day, I might have seen one."

-"Oh, so it's the cooking's fault, is it?"

-"You know, maybe there even was one, exactly like that, buried beneath the mountain of salt."

-"WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU HAVE ME PUT OVER THE FUCKING FISH?!"

Twinkle toes’ hum evolved into a song as the two bickered on.

…

Max, lost in the thickening cloud cigarette of smoke, coughed lightly as his eyes watered.

He muttered softly, "Where are you?"

…

The door rocked beneath her, cradled by restless waves. Her ears dipped below the surface, drowning the world in muted echoes—metal groaning, wreckage sinking, distant screams fading into the abyss.

The warm water rose up and down her face.

Above her, the stars stretched endlessly, cold and indifferent.

Helplessness overwhelmed her—a feeling far too familiar.

She hated it. She had been running from it her whole life.

The idea that she had no control, no say in her own fate—it terrified her more than any danger ever could.

If she was going to die, it would be on her own terms.

And that thought—that single, burning thought—drove her insane.

Her blood boiled. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Pupils blown wide, her face flushed red as she shot to her feet—

-"FUUUUUCKKK!"

Richard flinched.

-"Jesus, woman, calm your nerves."

Her glare cut through him like a blade in a blast of rage, she screamed.

-"I'll fucking calm down once I put a bullet in that little fat fuck who can't grow a beard. And then I'm gonna put a couple dozen in that degenerate who calls himself a president. So until then? I’ll be as fucking pissed as I want to be—you got that, Captain?"

He nodded, horrified by the sheer rage radiating off her.

She looked up at the sky again, a glimmer of a smile forming as she gazed at the moon, slowly getting lost in the smoke.

"It's way past midnight... Get ready. Our ride is coming."

Richard looked around, baffled.

Then—

The calm of the waves was shattered.

Engines roared. Metal clanged. Voices shouted in the distance.

A dark shape loomed over the horizon, growing sharper with every second.

Richard’s breath hitched.

-"The Edge Seekers..."

A malevolent group made up of savages and bandits, they sailed on the very edge of the rising sun—considered the vultures of the sea, coming for anything and anyone left behind or unfortunate enough to be too slow. Covered in rags from head to toe, primitive in their own behavior, they struck fear into all who dared sail the sea.

He turned to Maeve.

She stood tall, unwavering. Her smirk stretched into a wicked grin.

She was ready.

She was waiting.

And she was enjoying every second of it.