Chapter Text
Gulls upon the sea fly east on gales then rest on towers
As night falls over water reflecting lights that lure and astound;
Lurking beneath those drouthy islands tall, metallic and refined,
Tim'rous beasties roused by their stir awake from within deep pits abound.
In harbours they were made by heavy toiling of shipbuilder hands
then towed out to sea by tugs shadowed in their wake
as waves part and make way under the island hulls
soon to be afloat.
At once did they descend upon the deep wells
when dark earth blood was first shed
and bled to mix with saltwater brine
after long resting in a bed of rock off the stormy shore.
Sounds echo and bellow from trenches far below
as the monstrous islands drill through a subsea ben
and as fishermen watch them stir the sea and its wee beasties from within their den;
Trog on towards the coast, and follow the oiled solan across the blackened fen
To witness the marvel of men that become monsters and monsters that become men.
— 'Monsters of the Deep' from Twelve Coastal Poems, by Craig Henry Campbell (b1893 – d1975)
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NORTH SEA
26 DECEMBER 1975
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Ewan Muir was a man.
He was a man who loved, laughed, cried, smiled. He lived like anyone else, loved like everyone else.
But as a man, his fate was sealed from the moment his heart first started to beat. And in his heart he knew he would die someday, a thought that didn't often pester him as he chose to live in the moment and embrace what he had, not fear what would become of him. But when the day finally came that he thought he would surely die, Ewan didn't leave the world peacefully in his sleep like he had always hoped.
No, Ewan Muir left the world screaming as his body mutated before his very own eyes.
What took his place – or, rather, what was left of him – was something so grotesque, so visceral and unimaginably frightening that his colleagues, men who were once his good friends, no longer saw the man that he was under his new flesh.
They saw a monster.
In truth, Ewan didn't exactly 'die' that day, at least not in a way anyone could ever hope to comprehend. Where minds and bodies cease to work after death, Ewan's mind and body instead changed into something else entirely. It was almost a metamorphosis of sorts, a shift that forced him to undergo horrific, albeit extraordinary changes against his will. It wasn't wanted, and it certainly wasn't welcomed, but still it happened and there was nothing he – or anyone else for that matter – could do to stop it.
But when everyone around him saw a monster, even as he screamed and begged for help like any man would in his sudden and agonising transformation, a man named Terry Innes found himself hesitant to run like the rest of his co-workers, even when he knew his life was in danger.
And as he watched them flee the scene as Muir grew and grew still, Innes stayed behind, unable to break away. Even as Muir's body convulsed and contorted, even as he writhed and screamed in pain, Innes still held out in hopes that he would see the man Ewan was somewhere in the monster.
But as Muir only continued to grow, twisting and sputtering and crying as his bones broke and body became engorged with flesh, Innes realised with a heavy heart that he couldn't wait forever.
Not when Muir's body kept rapidly growing out of control.
And so when Innes did finally run, with no other choice but to give in to his terrified heart as adrenaline flooded his body and kicked his instincts into gear, it wasn't what he wanted to do.
Even as he ran, he still couldn't help but keep looking back as the monster erupted into deliration.
Each glance, every brief pause and fleeting stare, was a risk made out of hope. Although there was nothing he could do, Innes was still hopeful that the man he knew would be there even as the monster that had become of Muir wrecked havoc on the deck and mindlessly slaughtered their friends.
Where once the man named Ewan would've looked back at him with an intoxicating smile and maybe even a quip at his expense, now the monster named Muir gurned and screamed, crying out Innes' name. All memory of who he was – who he had been – was now gone.
Lost to the atrocity that was his transformation as the man named Ewan became the monster named Muir.
~ I ~
The air was heavy and thick with fog, and the wintry sky had fallen ill with an overcast of pale, sickly grey.
Blood steamed off metal. Breath billowed into clouds. The wind carried the roaring echo of crashing waves, and in it was the faint smell of putrid sea foam, rising from below and lingering in the winter's frigid voice.
It was as though the North Sea itself was ailing under the blight. The waves were off-colour and rough as the sea enshrouded the Beira D in its foggy breath, the offshore haar overcasting the rig until all that remained was the dim blink of the derrick's signal light – a light so faint that even the closest vessel, be it in the sky or on the sea, would miss it.
And above the waves was a scene just as grim. The sea air was still with an eerie gloom, surreal and spectral as thick clouds suffocated the rig. Time slowed to a painful crawl, losing all meaning as the sun vanished into the haze that swathed the Beira D in dread and despair.
The once loud and bustling deck was now a silent scrapyard. Noxious fumes and the stench of burning fuel choked every corner of the rig, with drilling equipment laid out in heaps of broken disarray. Shipping containers were dented from being thrown impossible distances, with their mangled boxes now creating an industrial labyrinth. Bodies were slouched over against them, lying limp and lifeless as warm blood pooled beneath them in dark puddles, with a smear of red staining the containers they were propped up against like some artistic expression of brutality.
And there in that fog above them lurked the monster, a terrible dread lingering in the air around it as its dark shadow hovered above the deck like a watchful sentinel, its shape the mutilated gore of a man whose body had, by all definition, exploded.
Even now, in the atmospheric wake of his transformation, Muir was still screaming. Still undergoing changes as he struggled to settle into his pain.
But when he screamed, what sounded instead was a monstrous yowl that changed from a human groan into a bellowing wail until, at last, what was left of his pitiful voice echoed through his bestial roar as he rose into the air.
What had once been a friendly, cheerful sound was now nothing more than a memory of what once was. Muir was crying, whimpering. In his new body he knew only agony and despair, and his wails, as inconsolable as they were lamenting, echoed across the deck of the Beira D like a ghostly siren as he stumbled and staggered on legs that were not his own, his once joyful song now pained and weeping.
With a sudden lunge, Muir threw himself forwards, swinging his distended body as his voice bellowed out into the silence, still begging for help that would never come.
'Please, make it stop!'
There was pressure everywhere. His sides throbbed, his ribs ached, his skull cracked. He could feel something hot and wet trickling down his body, and his head felt like it was seconds away from exploding into a gory mess. He garbled on his own tongue and gasped, chasing a breath he felt he could never catch as he gulped down mouthfuls of air.
And then he choked, a deep, vile gurgle rippling through his throat as he lost control of his own breathing and seized, almost as though he had forgotten how to take a breath. He wheezed and panted as his wind escaped him, and then he moaned and growled as a surge of pain crashed through his body like a tidal wave.
'It hurts so much!'
His body was burning up. He was sweating, his body feeling impossibly hot; and, much like the rest of him, his eyes were inflamed and feverish. Hot tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and flowed down his face like little cascades, leaving behind slick trails that quickly dried against his balmy skin. He threw his arms up in irritation, but no matter how hard he tried he could never wipe nor blink his tears away – his hands having become clawed and useless, and his new eyes being lidless as they bulged out of his swollen head.
Yet even in his constant agony, Muir's confused mind could only focus on one thing as his heart ached and panicked from somewhere inside the affront that was his body. And as he stalked and moved through the fog, as he scoured the deck even in his blindness, Muir cried out the name that he had become so hopelessly obsessed with in his final moments as a man, his voice still echoing as he sobbed, hoping he could still be saved.
'Innes?'
And then he mumbled, his heavy head hanging low in defeat as the cruel reality came over him once again, yet another wave in his sea of misery.
'No one wants to help me...'
~ II ~
But Innes did.
He just didn't know how.
Muir's voice struck the air with a deep, terrible sadness as Innes, staying low and out of sight, kept himself hidden. He was watching in horrified awe as Muir's shadow moved through the mist, and as he crept quietly below Muir's bloated body, still listening to his pleads for help, Innes felt his heart break at the miserable sound that was Muir's pain and suffering.
But there was nothing he could do for him. Not now, not later.
There was nothing to be done.
A few moments later and Innes found himself nestled underneath a bolted platform, one that held up heavy equipment as storage. On any other day, Muir would've told him just how unsafe it was to hide underneath something that could collapse and crush him without so much as a moment's notice, only now such a dangerous spot felt like the safest place on the deck – and, all things considered, it was. The cruel irony being that Muir, once a proud safety representative (if not clumsy and mischievous), was now the very danger Innes had to be cautious of.
The platform offered a small crawlspace Muir himself would never be able to fit into in his new form, no matter how hard he might've tried. But Innes fit perfectly, and it hid him just as well as he tucked himself away beneath the stack of pipes. He was crouching as Muir prowled just above his head, the monster's disfigured shape mercifully veiled by the fog. For a moment, Innes wondered if the platform would collapse if Muir were to set his body down on top of the equipment above him, wondering if his new weight would be enough to finally break its steel legs after carrying one pipe too many for so long.
He turned his attention forwards. Just ahead was a shipping container full of unloaded supplies that had proved too heavy for Muir to lift, and as Muir moved away, Innes crawled out and peeked from around its corner, still staying as low to the ground as his weary legs would hold him.
He watched and listened. As much as it seemed like luck was on his side at this point, Muir had nearly found him once before. But as his shadow grew distant, Innes felt yet another wave of relief wash over him, a hot sweat replacing the chills that danced up and down his spine as a heavy dampness soaked through his overalls and into his clothes.
It wasn't his first close call by any means. Just minutes ago Muir had wandered over to the container Innes had first taken shelter in – the same one he had stashed himself inside of as he waited for help to arrive. He knew now that, although he had first spoken to Caz in a soft whisper regardless of the circumstances, Muir had still heard him even without his voice to guide him. The terrible revelation had come upon them both as Muir, stumbling over to their location, blurted out with a mindless confidence that he could hear sounds as quiet as his own heartbeat.
With that, Innes' odds of survival had changed in an instant, and in his frustration everything felt almost hopeless. Especially now, when he knew they were running on borrowed time as the helicopter above readied itself to abandon the rig and, by extension, everyone who failed to make it up to the helideck on time.
But then again, Innes was well-accustomed to surviving the impossible at this point in his life, having survived all of his past injuries even when every odd was stacked against him. And as frustrating and confusing as everything was in the moment, Innes was still a stubborn man who wasn't going to give up out of doubt. He never had before, even when his legs had once lied in front of him without an ounce of feeling.
But that didn't change the fact that Muir was still hunting him.
In his hunt, Muir had effortlessly killed the others; first Sunil, then Banky, and now Dobbie and McLurg. One by one, Muir snatched the men up as Innes was forced to stand by to either witness their deaths with morbid curiosity or turn away in horrified sickness. But every crunch, every crack from their breaking bodies was enough to turn a hardened man like Innes away as he realised with horror that he had just seen a man be killed.
But Innes also recognised the fact that he was as helpless as Muir was, capable of doing nothing but stand by and watch as the men around him were whipped through the air and thrown against the hard environment, each of them meeting the same fate as the man before them until finally they all stopped screaming.
Now Innes was alone – alone with this monstrosity that still called out his name.
He could only hope that Caz – wherever he was – would evade Muir's keen ears as they both slowly made their way across the graveyard that was now the Beira D's lifeless deck.
Through the fog Innes watched, patiently waiting to seize his next opportunity to move as Muir's body drifted through the air like a balloon astray in a breeze, his tendrils pulling him along as though tangled in a puppeteer's strings. Even as his legs threatened to stop supporting his weight, Innes kept his focus strictly on his breathing, keeping it slow and steady as to not overwork his already terrified heart, knowing that Muir was listening...
...and was listening closely.
His lungs ached in his chest, each organ quivering with discomfort as Innes fought back the need to cough. He was used to the sensation of hot smoke from a cigarette when under stress, and the cold winter air was torture in comparison to his usual habit. And his throat, dry and sore, begged for some kind of alcoholic relief, longing to feel the comforting sting of whisky as he felt it tighten and close up.
He'd never admit it himself, but his anxiety was at its highest in years, and it had done wonders in waking up his old, worn-out senses.
Innes held his breath, stifling an addict's needy cough. No sooner had the sound been muffled was he met with the reality that was his mistake.
At once, Innes saw Muir swing his body back around again, this time turning to face his direction as Innes quickly, instinctively, returned to his hiding spot just behind the container, much like a badger would retreat into its sett at the first sight of a goshawk. And, like prey, he slinked back into the shadows and quietly vanished from sight.
Struggling to shift his weight to kneel on his aged knees, Innes turned and rolled instead onto his belly. For the first time, he thanked the layer of pudge that lined his middle for providing him with some padding against the hard ground. He crawled in further, keeping low and looking out from beneath the toppled drill pipe that lied across the platform, making sure his yellow helmet stayed out of the dull light that shined in through long horizontal beams. Through them he watched as Muir contemplated investigating the sound even closer, with Innes mentally cursing himself as he stared back at him, his eyes wide and focused and his helmet concealed by darkness.
Muir moved in closer just ahead, lurking as he sniffled and sputtered, the sight of which almost looked like he was hovering in the air. His dark shape was reminiscent of a buoy seen from below the water's surface, with his legs and tendrils being the very chains that anchored him.
Innes inhaled sharply with an involuntary gasp and covered his mouth, afraid he would cough as he gazed upwards. His heart was pounding in his chest, an uncontrollable beating against his ribs as blood rushed through his ears, the sound as loud as though he were standing next to a mountainous waterfall. Above him Muir stood alert and wary, his body swaying with an uneven rhythm before he finally turned back and started moving towards the Accommodation module again, snarling and huffing as he sniffed the air and snorted, and went about his way.
Wind blew across the deck, and with it Innes sighed; a long, quiet breath quickly escaped him, knowing the sound would be lost to the wind as he watched Muir move away, oblivious at just how close he was to finding him. A boost of adrenaline hit him at the thought, almost thrilling him as Innes realised he had once again narrowly escaped Muir.
As the wind carried on, Innes let himself lie flat for a few seconds, feeling his ribs press against the cold deck as his heart thrummed behind them. He gathered his strength with a deep inhale as he tried to flush the tension from his joints, and then with a huff he dragged himself back up and crawled out from underneath his safe haven once more, his brows furrowed with determination.
Looking around the container again as a means to keep Muir's shadowy form in sight, Innes watched him as he calculated his odds of being snatched up from the distance Muir was currently at, wondering if his tendrils could reach him from that far away.
That distance only grew further as Muir continued to unknowingly move away from him, and as Innes looked up towards the helideck his eyes wandered across the deck and caught sight of the crew lift.
It was closer than ever before.
Just as he readied himself, something fell in the distance and Muir yelped at the sound in sudden alarm, which in turn startled Innes into a panicked pant as he lost his footing and slipped, falling forwards before he caught himself on open palms.
'Huh?!' he heard Muir cry out, just as Innes caught himself and slammed his side up against the container. Thankfully, Muir's alarm muffled the otherwise loud bang.
The hollow sound had abruptly slammed against a distant container somewhere across the lower deck, breaking the silence entirely. Suddenly Muir was determined to find it, and then a few seconds later Innes saw something silently fly through the air.
It was the familiar shape of a spanner, now on a collision course with whatever debris or equipment it would eventually hit.
And when it did hit, Innes watched as Muir abandoned the previous sound and leapt in this new sound's direction.
And then he smiled.
Of course.
'Aye, that's it,' he whispered, his harsh voice now a delicate murmur that broke out into a gentle chuckle. 'Heh. Good thinkin', lad.'
Innes could hardly believe just how well Caz's distractions were working. Then again, Muir had always been if but a bit gullible. As much as the man loved playing pranks on others, Muir had often been on the butt end of a joke played by another colleague. This was no different than the time Gibbo had told him to go find the V-door key, but now his simple naïveté evoked a deep sadness rather than the good-spirited hilarity he was once known for.
But as smart as the idea was in the moment, and as much as it had bought Innes time to plan his next move as he wiped down his knees and patted his gloves together, Caz's distractions were, unfortunately, a short-lived solution.
Muir quickly descended upon the spanner, his body swooping low so that he could inspect the area in closer detail, his breathing almost bearing hopeful excitement. But when he realised nobody was there, he reacted viciously, rising and shouting out his frustration...
'Nothing!'
Before throwing himself away in agitation.
'Junks!'
Even though he wasn't the one who tricked him, Innes still felt a twinge of guilt hit him as though he had been the one who threw the spanner. But he couldn't dwell on that feeling now. Not for long, at least, as a few seconds later and the cracking, splintering sound of wooden crates exploded from the other side of the debris pile. Innes cringed at the sound, tensing up as he watched Muir turn towards the sound and scream out with alarm. His voice was a deep, booming demand as much as it was a terrifying, overawing roar...
'Where are you going, I need help!'
Innes' heart kicked itself into an anxious jumpstart, racing as he heard Caz's faint curses as he ran for his life a distance away, a loud, breathy 'Fuck fuck FUUCK!!!' erupting into the air. In any other situation, Innes might've just found it comical.
He turned, looking back at the lift again.
It was now or never.
Taking a deep breath, Innes threw himself into the open, nearly tripping over his feet as his tired legs woke up beneath him.
He immediately made a dart for the lift as best he could, his run still capturing his old injury's limp as Muir charged across the deck behind him, unaware of how close he was to Innes. Muir's shape was a horrifying mass of flesh and tendrils, and as Innes ran the monster disappeared behind the portacabin on his right. Seconds later and Innes heard a metallic bang from the other side of the structure, recognising the sound as being yet another container flipped by Muir with his newly profound, inhuman strength.
Innes looked over his shoulder in response, still limping as he ran, his back slouching him over into a hunch. Muir screamed from the opposite side, his voice now a sharp, wavering shriek that ended with a long gurgle in his throat. Then Innes saw the edge of Muir's dark silhouette slowly emerge from behind the portacabin, with one of his antler-like protrusions spearing the fog like a harpoon would a whale before the bulk of his body slipped back into sight.
And as the crown of bony protrusions on his body re-appeared, Muir snorted and cursed out everyone in an anger unfamiliar to – let alone unlike – him.
'You're all cruel bastards, you ken that?'
Innes' heart fell into his stomach.
He was vulnerable now.
Innes slowed his pace, softening his footing as he returned to crouching low, hoping that Muir hadn't seen him yet as he was forced to move through the open space. His eyes darted from one place to the next, searching for somewhere – anywhere – to hide just as Muir turned his attention to him, his horrible gaze washing over Innes like the sea would a trawler in a storm.
The feeling knotted his innards and nearly made him hurl, and as Muir's gaze fell upon him Innes froze in response, his body refusing to move. He felt like a stag nervously standing in a clearing, like a deer waiting to leap into a run at the first sign of danger.
Although fleeting, the moment was terrifying and dragged on longer than he would've liked as they stood still and stared each other down, both of them wondering if one had noticed the other.
A second later and Muir started for him, but where Innes was once locked in place from fear he was now enthralled by the horrific sight that was Muir, now a massive, swollen monstrosity of a man. He caught his face in the fog, and the memory came back to him at once in horrible detail, of Muir's face breaking and stretching as eyes popped into existence, as his head grew in both shape and size. The sound of bones cracking flooded his ears, muting the sound that was Muir's legs as they came down in a trampling beat that vibrated through the ground beneath them.
Muir charged at him like a bull no sooner than he had seen him, catching his shape out in the open as Innes realised Muir was yet again drawn to him by the sound of his own heart.
Once again foolishly betrayed by himself, after all these years.
Fuck.
Just his luck.
Even though he was caught in an eldritch trance and hypnotised by the outcome of the horror he had witnessed, Innes' instincts suddenly kicked in to save him at the last possible second. He stood upright and darted into a sprint – the fastest he'd run in recent years – as he ran for the lift, only to hear Muir's powerful legs quickly gaining on him before suddenly going quiet altogether, the rhythm dying.
Daring to take the risk that was looking behind him, Innes turned his head and peered over his shoulder, hopeful that maybe Muir had realised what he was doing and had stopped chasing him...
Only to meet Muir's bulbous mass as he literally came soaring at him through the air, his legs now tucked into his body as his tendrils pulled him along and reeled him in closer.
His momentum thrusted him forwards at a startling, albeit remarkable speed that forced an unwilling scream out of Innes, who cried out with alarm at the terrifying sight.
Innes now knew what death had looked like for the other men who had fallen before him, and what terrible sight they saw before they met their end.
Before Muir could ground himself, Innes slid and turned into an open container, throwing himself inside before sealing the doors behind him. He gasped, coughing and panting for breath as he heard Muir land outside with a loud thud, his legs slamming against the deck as his tendrils reached out and clung to the nearby chainlink fencing.
Muir's momentum, however, quickly proved to be much stronger than they both thought, and as he landed his thrust caused him to swing into the fencing before he bounced off and crashed into the container. The impact threw Innes into the wall as the small receptacle was bumped sideways, his back hitting against the corrugated steel with a hard strike.
'Argh!' he groaned, grimacing as a hand rushed to support his back, his tense shoulder cracking in response.
His spine ached and throbbed. A dangerous pain.
Muir, lurking just outside, heard Innes' pained moans as he got back up on his spindly legs, the hit having dazed them both momentarily as the nearby cargo hoist screeched to sudden life. Not only did the strike knock them both back, but the impact had interrupted the hoist system, destabilising the heavy platform on its own track as its gears failed to brake.
As Innes struggled to get back on his own feet, he heard the hoist begin sliding down its mechanical railing, coming to stop just outside the container's doors to both his relief and utmost horror. He then realised that he was now effectively trapped. Just like a tinned kipper, only there was a ravenous Muir dithering on the other side of the can who was desperately trying to think of a way to get to him as he looked the container over. But Muir's impact had shifted the container into a perfect wedge, and the hoist – now landed on the deck – had locked it in place.
There was no way Muir could get to him now.
Knowing he was trapped with no other choice but to wait out his new predicament, Innes slid down the wall and gave himself time to breathe. His chest heaved, rising up and down as his heart climbed up from his stomach and into his throat.
He was safe for now. Safe as long as Muir couldn't get inside.
Innes sighed.
He could only hope that Caz would find him – that is, if the man was still alive out there. For all he knew, Muir might've caught him back there, throwing both him and the container into the sea far below and leaving just the two of them now in this terrible dance between life and death.
The thought made him anxious.
What if Caz was dead, and now, with the helicopter on the brink of deserting the rig altogether, he was going to be left behind?
Would Muir eventually get to him, or would he die by other means?
All of these deathly conclusions raced through his head, worsening his thoughts as he worried, nearly breaking out into an instinctual panic no different than an animal would when caught in a trap. A wild part of him wanted to start banging his fists against the walls, try to claw at the doors in a feeble attempt to force them open, scream for someone to help him even though he knew everyone else was dead.
But his logical mind also knew better, even if he was facing a certain death now.
As his mind spiralled with worry, as he felt panic creep over him for the first time in ages, Innes lifted a hand and placed it gently over his heart.
And then he breathed, focusing his thoughts as he calmed himself back down.
Aye... You're alright.
As he slumped against the wall, Innes heard Muir weeping on the other side. The slick sound of his tendrils made for an appalling reaction as they slithered along the metal box, searching for even the slightest opening that might provide him with an entry. And as he searched, Innes' vision became obstructed by strange patterns and colours that bubbled and popped to life in his eyes, distorting his thoughts. He tried blinking them away, to no avail.
'Innes?' Muir asked, a hopeful ring in his voice. 'I ken you're there, Innes.'
Innes, however, remained quiet. Even if he wanted to, he knew fear would prevent him from answering.
'Please...' Muir continued, desperate for a reply. He sounded a lot less threatening now, somehow; almost as though he thought he could lure the man out by using a softer voice. 'Please, come out. I can hear you in there... Why are you hiding from me?'
Even as he heard him sobbing and crying his name between gasping, bubbling whimpers, Innes stayed quiet. It wasn't against his better judgement by any means, and it was as stubborn as he had always been, but it was against his weak heart which ached and, admittedly, longed for Muir.
'Please, Innes...'
He was distraught now.
'I just need help...'
The visions in Innes' eyes distorted further, flashing horrific imagery into his mind. He saw Muir lurching, hunching over as his back exploded, as his very spine erupted from his skin in bursts of blood. He shook his head, trying to throw out the memory that was Muir screaming for help just as he had started to change. His eyes grew hot as the colourful lights continued to obstruct his sight, and as he looked around he almost felt tears sneakily fall from his eyes.
Muir's tendrils continued their search, running along the edges of the container until at last they found something promising, and as Innes waited he suddenly heard a strange squelching sound and looked up just in time to see a tendril slip in through a crack at the top of the doors.
The tendril could only wriggle in so far before its bulk prevented it from sliding in any further, the fleshy mass building up into a fat, blubbery knot behind it. But Muir persisted, just as he always had – his dedication almost as determined as Innes was stubborn. The tendril moved like a worm breaching soil, its padded head blindly feeling around the space. It was nowhere near close enough to be able to reach in to feel around anything but the air inside.
But just when Innes thought Muir would retract the tendril in defeat, the appendage suddenly coiled and tightened, its form seeming to harden into a firm grip as it tried to grab hold. And then, to Innes' horror, he watched as it gradually began pulling back on the door as Muir reeled it in the same way that you would peel the skin off of an orange.
Christ, no...
The container groaned, the metal creaking as Muir's strength overwhelmed its thin walls. The door slowly gave, threatening to burst under the pressure that was Muir's tendril relentlessly pulling away, slowly creating an even bigger hole as the door buckled and bulged outwards. More tendrils slid in as the hole opened, and then Muir moved in to observe his work as he continued to pull.
Innes slowly moved away from the doors as a long, clawed finger reached in to help break the container open like an oystercatcher would an unsuspecting mussel. But with the hoist in Muir's way and preventing the doors from being torn off let alone be forced open any further, the monster's frustration only began to brew, simmering before soon erupting into a boil.
Muir swung himself back around to the side of the container, his tendrils slipping out with a series of sopping, wet pops. The door, despite being still attached, was now bulging away from the container, and along the edge was a weakness Muir quickly found and exploited in a last attempt to force his way in.
Innes could hear Muir's tendrils anchor themselves to every nearby structure, rattling the fencing and pounding against metal as they found their positions. And then, shoving what was left of his mutilated hands into the opening, Muir pulled back with brutal strength and ripped the side of the container open as though it were made of paper.
Innes instinctively jumped back, horrified as light flooded the space, piercing the darkness. Muir had torn through the container like a child would a gift on Christmas, creating a long, rugged hole in its side with sharp, serrated edges. His claw-like hands pulled away, fresh blood staining them from the effort. In their place Muir peered through the opening and into the container, his head blotting out the light.
Fog swirled around him and poured into the space as blood dribbled down his swollen lip glazed with saliva. Innes became disorientated as the lights in his eyes worsened with a sudden burst of colour, stumbling backwards until his back hit the opposite end of the container.
There was nowhere else for him to go.
'Innes!' Muir shouted, excitement in his voice as he turned his head towards the sound.
Suddenly each and every single one of Muir's many eyes were now on him, and Innes could almost swear he saw the remnants of his smile appear in the dim light; a sight that broke him.
'Oh, Muir...' he whispered, choking up as his voice quivered and his emotions threatened to pour out, his eyes sparkling.
Then, with a violent lunge, Muir threw himself at the opening, trying to shove his body inside as Innes tried to back away deeper into the container, helpless to stop Muir as his back pushed up against the cold steel. Only it wasn't long before Muir shrieked an awful sound, letting out a horrific, high-pitched screech that not only startled Innes but temporarily deafened him. And then Muir pulled away, his sudden pain interrupting the severity of his desperation.
And as the light spilt back in, Innes saw blood sliding down the hole's sharp lower edge, painting the blue metal red both on the inside and outside.
Moving into the light, Innes watched as Muir's shape vanished into the fog, leaving a trail of blood on the deck behind him as he wailed. And then he collapsed against the container, overwhelmed by a fit of dry, airy coughs as he lied up against the warped door, his legs finally giving out. As he panted, he caught view of his cloudy breath and noticed a stream of mist rising into the air, realising then that Muir's blood wasn't just warm. It was steaming.
It took him a few minutes to recuperate after the ordeal, but as he huffed he heard Muir's legs return to trampling across the deck again.
And that's when he heard the scuffling of boots as someone stealthily approached from somewhere outside.
'Caz,' he sighed with relief, leaning back to look through the open tear as Caz's face appeared out from underneath the shadows, creeping low.
'Thank Christ.'
~ III ~
All he needed was help.
Muir continued his hunt, his aching eyes piercing through the fog as best they could as he scanned the deck for life. He carefully explored every crevice, every tight, narrow space he passed by in hopes of finding someone. He knew he wasn't alone anymore; knew that someone else was out on the deck with him, and so he searched for them as he waited for Innes to come out from hiding.
Which he would.
He knew he would.
Innes didn't hide anything from him, so he knew Innes would never hide from him.
He just needed some space for a little bit, some time to think and relax and be on his own. Then everything would be okay again, just like it had always been before.
He reassured himself incessantly, his own internal voice telling him not to panic even though his pain had him teetering on the brink again, especially now when a new pain had been sliced into him.
Even in his horrible pain he felt this new twinge strike him, and he moved his arm towards his chest, running his hand along his bare skin as he unknowingly smeared his own blood across thinly-stretched tissue. He tried looking down to observe the area, but he just couldn't find a good angle let alone a comfortable position that would let him look himself over.
How frustrating, he thought. His body was so stiff, it refused to bend in ways he wanted it to.
He tried scratching at his side where his uniform had been torn open, feeling the sharp chill of the bitter North Sea air as it bit and nibbled at his skin. Why there was such a huge tear, he couldn't remember. He must've caught it on machinery, must've pulled and ripped the fabric apart.
A sound echoed out nearby. His head swayed like a heavy pendulum, tilting his ears ever so slightly so that he might find the exact location of the other person making the sound.
'Who's there?' he asked, his voice sounding like a whisper.
It was a strange sensation, being able to hear a sound in two places at once, and then in three. He moved across the deck, swiftly lowering himself down to check a pile of rubble but finding no sign of life besides the organic beat that drummed through his ears and into his aching head.
Only as he listened to the deep throbbing of his legs and the faint fluttering of hearts, he was quickly surprised by the startling sound of metallic screeches and at once roared as a whole new pain came over him like a flash flood. He clenched his teeth, snarling at the sound as spittle escaped his mouth and flew into the air. He tried throwing his hands over them, but again, he found that his arms were too stiff to bend.
He turned quickly, his ears screaming as the sound deafened him, obstructing his thoughts and interfering with his focus as his eyes finally caught sight of distant movement.
In the fog was a large, bulky shape slowly moving up the side of the rig, and in a wild frenzy Muir threw himself at it in a fit of sudden, uncontrollable rage. He snarled as his face contorted, screeched as he spat and hissed, recognising too late that the shape was just the cargo hoist settling into its maximum height. But before it could stop, Muir reached out and tried tearing it off its rails – anything to get the sound to stop just short of the second level because the pain he was in because of it was unbearable.
And then it did.
With a snort, Muir slowly came down from his heightened anger, and slowly he lowered himself to look the hoist over.
Someone had started it, that much was certain. Even in his delirium he knew and remembered that the hoist was always controlled manually by an operator. They would be posted inside the fenced storage unit where the hoist's controls were stationed, working no differently than a crane.
And so with a sharp gaze he peered into the room, looking for whoever was responsible for causing his pain...
...and yet again he found nobody.
Where once he had caught someone before and had (quite literally) torn the fenced door open, now there was nobody. It was as though the hoist had turned itself on, somehow...
But he thought that was impossible. Dalgleish had reassured him once that the hoist had to be operated to move up or down, that the machinery wouldn't budge otherwise. He remembered how he told his crew that it was still smart to avoid walking beneath it, just in case its braking system suddenly failed. Dalgleish would be sure to uphold that for him in his absence.
And where the hoist's brakes had finally failed, it begged the question...
How could it ever rise on its own, and how were its brakes suddenly working again?
It was too much for him to think about.
His mind was confused enough as it already was, and trying to solve the sudden mystery of the moving hoist only put more pressure on his aching brain.
Someone had to move it.
How cruel, he thought, for a friend to hurt him when he was already hurting; for someone to trick him when he needed help.
'Why is no one helping me?!' he growled, yelling out into the air. 'I wouldnae do this to you!'
And then he turned, looking back at the busted container as he realised he had the space to squeeze in now.
At least he thought he did.
He peered through its broken door first – which was now slightly open – before moving to look in through the tear, confused as to how the container had sustained such damage.
'Innes?' he asked, his voice now sounding like a record scratch. A hopeful trill escaped his throat as he peeked inside.
But the container was empty, and Innes was gone.
'Where's Innes?'
Muir's mind was spiralling. Nothing was making sense anymore. Why was Innes hiding from him? Did he do something wrong? Why was he missing now when he had just been stuck inside the container, and where did he go?
Come to think of it, where did everyone go?
He rose back up, standing tall as he looked over the barren deck. Innes could've gone anywhere.
'I just need help, eh?!' he called out, mocking Innes' verbal quirk with a desperate cry. 'Why won't you help me?'
His body ached. He groaned, snarling as he tried to fight the pain away as squeals slipped out, and then anger replaced his pleading, remembering how his friends were once so welcoming and supportive, and how they had felt like his second family.
Only now it felt like they had betrayed him, that they had backstabbed him.
'Supposed to look after each other, eh?!'
Muir lifted his head upwards, his irritated, teary eyes feeling relief as the moisture in the air misted them. The sky was a solid murk, unyielding and unchanging, and the infrastructure of the rig was but a complex of dark and muted shapes rendered blurry and faint in the fog. He could hear Archie calling out from the helideck high above him, his straining voice familiar even against the sharp chopping of the distant rotor blades.
His shouts were confused, frightened, panicked; and in Muir's disorientation Archie's disembodied voice echoed throughout the air freely, so far away and yet sounding so, so close at the same time.
Hot tears streamed down his face. Even Archie, someone he had grown rather close to over time, was leaving him behind, leaving him to die. After everything, after every shared moment of laughter, every memory photographed and given to him as small mementos from his time on the rig, Archie hadn't the heart to wait for him let alone come to his aid. Even as he screamed, Archie ignored him.
No different than anyone else now, it seemed. Archie, too, had turned his back to him, leaving Muir to wallow in his miserable desperation, to cry out for help when nobody would come because they chose not to hear him.
Now it felt like Innes was an ocean away, but unlike everyone else who seemed to ignore him with intentional ignorance, Muir was unable to hear him over the rushing, crashing course of the waves, his voice drowned by the swelling sea that hid away the island Innes was waiting for him on.
But maybe Innes was already up there, boarding the only helicopter out of hell.
Muir tilted his head back and screamed.
And he screamed, and screamed.
Crying all the while.
What had he done to deserve such treatment? He had been nothing but friendly with them, a source of lighthearted jokes and encouragement. This wasn't them. This wasn't the crew he knew. This had to be a mistake, a misunderstanding, something. Everything about this was wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
'What did I do?!' he squealed, another question yet again answered by the silence.
Muir felt like slamming his head into the nearest wall. He even contemplated doing it, if it weren't for his head already throbbing under the absurd tightness that clung around it. Overwhelmed with confused frustration and emotional turmoil, Muir threw up his arms and tried to loosen his helmet so that he could rub at the tension in his forehead, but he just couldn't seem to grip it well because he couldn't reach it.
Then he heard it, the sound of boots running on metal sheets which was then followed by the unmistakable sound of the crew lift's gears beginning to move.
And then he erupted into a frenzy, hurriedly making a last-minute dart for the lift.
'Don't leave me!' he cried out, running as fast as he could to catch up with them as the beating of his own heart overwhelmed all other senses.
Fog parted around him, blown away by his speed and swirling into clouds in the wake of his feet as a dark shadow followed beneath him. He stumbled forwards, tripping over himself as tears poured down his face, the familiar beat echoing through the metallic symphony of gears.
Even in his panic, Muir's face quivered into a smile.
He was almost out of this nightmare.
He was almost home.
They were already just about to ascend by the time he found them. Gears shifted into position, and as the lift began to creak to life, Muir was left with no other choice but to fall back on desperation as he caught the yellow blur that was Innes' helmet.
As much as he didn't want to believe it, that was the moment when he knew Innes was leaving him.
As he came swinging in from around the corner, Muir quickly planted his legs firmly against the surrounding structures to steady himself. His tendrils shot out in every direction and grabbed hold for support, and then, just as his legs slipped in up against his body, Muir braced himself and thrusted forwards, ramming his body straight into the crew lift as Innes tried closing the gate. He crashed into it with a force strong enough to send both men inside falling backwards as the entire shaft shook, staggering all three of them at once.
Muir balanced himself again as he shook out the feeling of what felt like a concussion in his body, and then he reached out, unknowingly sending a tendril into the lift. The appendage made contact with Innes' leg and quickly wrapped around it like a tight line, and then he slowly started to pull, dragging Innes' body out through the open gate.
But Innes wouldn't budge.
As Muir pulled back, he realised then that Innes was still hanging onto something, still holding onto someone other than him. Even without Innes' heart and helmet to tell Muir that it was him he had in his grasp, Muir knew he had caught him because Innes had always been a stubborn man at the best and worst of times.
But why he wouldn't let go this time was beyond him.
Against both of the men's protests, Muir braced himself again and tugged, reeling himself back, his force becoming stronger the more Innes resisted him. Yet still the lift slowly began to creep up the shaft, and Muir, still spiralling through his emotions, panicked at the thought of being left behind by the man he cared so deeply for.
In that moment he feared for his life, afraid he would be left behind to die.
Alone.
Tightening his grip, Muir heaved, and with that he ripped Innes out of the lift and the distance between them closed at last.
It was only when Muir heard his name did he have some sense of self come back to him, the sudden realisation causing him to loosen his hold which, in turn, sent Innes helplessly flying through the air. And in that brief clarity he had, momentarily lifting him up out of his misery, Muir saw Innes twirl in the air as he let go of him, and his heart panicked at the sight.
But that didn't change the fact that Innes had tried leaving him, and he still couldn't understand why the man he cared for so deeply was leaving him after everything they had been through together.
That thought enraged him unlike any betrayal ever could.
And then Muir, in his deep, monstrous voice, screamed as Innes cried out his name, as the man the monster cared for disappeared into the fog.
~ IV ~
Innes was falling.
But the feeling was so... familiar this time.
He had fallen once before, long ago, and remembered it with regretful dejection. As it turned out, the feeling had never left him, even after his feet had once again been planted on solid ground.
From that day on it felt as though Innes had never stopped falling, unable to grab hold of anything, anyone, in his descent. Nothing could save his life as he plummeted into the abyss that was his endless tragedy. He was a constantly unfurling sail on a ship desperate to make way with the wind. He was a ship that refused to accept the fact that it was sinking.
And as he watched the world spin through tired eyes, he saw the monster lurking in the fog, caring not that he was falling.
His momentum carried him on featherless wings. He was hopeless to stop himself from spiralling out of control as he flew through the air as he fell.
His hips ached against gravity's pull. His leg throbbed after being tugged on so violently. Blood rushed to his head and then to his limbs. His spine was screaming and his back was on fire, and yet as his voice called out Muir's name, Innes still held out in hopes that Muir would save him...
Even though he now knew that he could never hope to save Muir.
The impact was hard, the realisation even harder.
His back slammed up against a container, his head banging against the metal with shattering force. His wind was knocked out of him, and he fell to the ground limp and in catastrophic pain, lying as a man who had finally accepted the fact that he was broken – and always had been.
Innes was still screaming, even though his voice was now beginning to fade and trail off into silence as his reality washed over him like a changing tide. He coughed and gagged and was left stunned as he stared up at the sky through the fog, his eyes squinting against the sharpness of the sick, grey light that enveloped what felt like the whole world.
He hoped to see blue again, as hopeless as it was. But like any shipwreck, Innes' story was ending with leaden skies left in the wake of a storm.
For a moment he was sailing the sea, weightless on his feet and carried by the wind.
In the next he was drowning on a damned oil rig.
He had loved and admired the sea for the better half of his life, remembering how he listened to it swell and part, how he respected it as he fell asleep on it at night. He remembered how he once rocked in a hammock on a small warship, the scene as peaceful as a rough sea was violent.
But in the end, as much as he had always wanted it to take him, he knew the sea would eventually take his life just as it had almost done so once before.
Long before he ever ended up on a rig.
Long before the sea ever bled oil.
Maybe this had always been written in the tragedy that was his life.
To take from the sea meant that the sea would take its own.
His focus blurred, his vision struggling under the heavy, lulling guise of sleep. He was tired; his body even more tired. He had worn himself out after years of overworking himself, trying to prove something to anyone who so much as believed in him even a little bit. He was tired of running, tired of hiding.
He couldn't fight against the current any longer as it pulled him out to sea.
And so this broken man accepted the fact that he was sinking. Should the sea have him, then at least he would die where he was meant to be, even if this wasn't how he wanted to go.
Innes stared, his expression dull and weak, wearing the face of a dying man whose acceptance finally offered him peace in his last moments. Memories of home sparked to life, a surge of emotions swelling in his chest as his heart ached and mourned for the life he was leaving behind. As much as it had been cruel, it had still been his life.
His story.
And as he lied there, he lifted his arm and placed his hand over the left pocket on his chest, lying it once again over his heart as he slowly breathed, calming himself with those comforting memories even though he knew he would've called himself a failure even in death.
He blinked slowly, his eyes heavy as he heard the monster's sobs gurgling in the distance, Muir's groaning voice echoing as he searched for him in the fog.
This was it.
No matter how he met his end, his fate stayed the same.
The sea would have him at last.
He wouldn't try to fight it like some doomed hero would in an ancient tragedy. He wouldn't defy nature in a feeble attempt to survive. If this was meant to be his time, then so be it.
He had once narrowly escaped fate before.
But not this time.
Sure, there were worse ways to go, all things considered. He had seen it with his own eyes, seen how young men returned home in pieces to families that would mourn their son's and fathers' deaths en masse. He was one of the lucky ones, to still be in one piece even though he had once returned home with mangled legs and a broken spine.
Even now he couldn't blame Muir. Not for this, not for anything. Even if he had've found him help in time, there was no saving a man whose body had begun betraying him. He could only watch as Muir grew into something else, into something enormous and inhuman. Helpless to do anything but listen to his screams, able to do nothing but apologise for something that wasn't either of their faults.
And Innes knew that, even if he did survive, those screams would've haunted him for the rest of his life.
He knew it was impossible for Muir to survive, so for him to carry on living, remembering him screaming as his humanity was cruelly stripped away...
That was no way to remember him.
Not Muir.
As his vision faltered, as his memories flickered and eyes watered with tears, Innes saw the monster's shadow swoop in over him, plunging him into darkness as Muir blotted out the faint sun. Through the haze he saw Muir's face, his very being merging with the strange lights and images that flashed in his eyes as he faded in and out of consciousness, the rig seeming to melt all around them as Muir whimpered and whispered his name.
After all these years, Innes was falling again.
But this time he was picked up and lifted by someone other than himself.
Between his shaky breaths and failing body, Innes became lost in wondrous bioluminescence. Past sights flashed across his eyes like a montage of photographs in a scrapbook, the images overwhelming his senses with awe.
First he saw the sights of Dundee from up on the hill, the sky a vibrant strawberry colour as he looked across the Firth of Tay at the lights across the water. He saw Aberdeen next, that marvellous granite city that he had become so enamoured with, as it grew distant on the horizon. He saw the sea crashing at the bow of the scrappy little warship, admiring the vessel as it glided through the dark waves that slammed up against her hull and parted at her bow.
But then there was a gentler memory, one that brought him both immense comfort and great shame as he remembered lying in front of the fireplace back in his grey home, his arm slung over the person who lied next to him in mindless bliss and rested up against his chest, against his very heart.
And then he saw the memory he held so fondly in the beating locket that was his old, wounded heart.
His mind sparked awake, but just as he started to fade again he raised his arm, weakly reaching out at the monster before him as Muir's image distorted. What would've otherwise been a terrifying sight was instead one full of marvel, with Innes watching as the horrific disfigurements he saw seemingly fell off, shedding and dissolving into specks of colourful light until all that remained was the man he had come to know as Muir, his face as beautiful as ever.
If Innes didn't make it back from where he was going, then at least he knew he was dying where he belonged, where he wanted to.
He smiled. A face he rarely wore, let alone openly showed.
At least that's how things were before Muir, and how they were without him.
'My beautiful Ewan,' he spoke, his voice as soft as it had been so many nights before, caressing Muir's face as he had once with intimate passion.
Muir melted into his hand, his eyes closing as his freckled cheeks flushed a delicate pink, a gentle smile on his face. Innes couldn't tell what was real anymore as he watched him sink into his palm, an image so familiar in both sight and touch. It was a memory for them that would live on until they both carried it to their graves as their perfect secret.
'My beautiful Muir.'
At last, basking in the embrace of the sea, Innes closed his eyes and fell back upon the island, knowing not if he would ever wake up from the dream he was slipping into as his tragedy finally came to an end, the curtain drawing to a close with no encore to bring him back.
At the heart of the monster there was a sea, and on that sea there was an island...