#adventures!au

It wasn't the first time he'd found himself here after he closed his eyes. It'd been months since the incident that gave rise to the scene playing over and over again in his dreams, but time hadn't dulled any of his emotions concerning it.

"I must say, your fear scent is... unique. Fishy and tart."

Confusion, horror, shock, disbelief.

"Don't worry your little head there. I respect you and, strange as it may seem, I do find the need to fear you."

Yes, fear there too.

"Funny ain't it?"

And who wouldn't be scared?

"An Alphian fearin' a human."

When they were faced with an alien of unknown magical abilities?

"Don't see that every day."

The scene wobbled and fizzled at the edges, like staring at a reflection on the surface of a stormy sea. The secrets surrounding the scene trapped deep in its depths, unreachable even if one tried their hardest to grasp the answers.

Allan Thompson walked through the scene, removed from his own actions as if he were just on autopilot. He couldn't change the scene, no more than someone watching a reel on a screen.

He sat at the table, across from the half-human, half animal woman that watched him like a hawk. Dark stripes cut through her light skin like thick shadows across a moonlit patch on deck, a black and white tail flicked behind her, and piercing eyes the color of glaciers scanned him inside and out. She was a head shorter than him, yet power radiated off her like heat from an open flame.

His voice reached his ears, muted and distant.

His own and yet... not, in a way.

"Kid... I'm sorry about Turtle."

The alien looked up at him, the furry ears on the sides of her head flattened against ginger hair.

"Thanks, man."

Those cat-like eyes shifted to the side, as if searching for any other threats.

He knew it was a dream. Knew what was about to happen.

It did not ease the churning of his stomach.

"Actually," she continued, mouth moving but voice coming from the very walls surrounding them. "I kinda wanted to ask you about something related to that."

Allan knew what was coming. Knew what she was going to ask.

Knew how badly it would go, how swiftly the scene would turn dangerous.

But he was helpless to do anything but follow the script. Follow the events as they unfolded.

Eyes on her hands, waiting to see those thorn sharp claws, Allan again heard his voice from far away.

"Aye?"

He wished he could change course. Wished he could prevent what came next. Perhaps, if he could, then things would be different.

But no.

"Let me go after that short slaver with the dark brown hair. I want his head for orderin' me to kill Turtle."

There it was. The request that shattered everything. The request that would leave Allan with gaps in his memory that no amount of pondering or searching could ever fix.

He felt the shock course through his body, felt his spine stiffen and his heart skip a beat.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say. "But I can't allow that."

Ears shot up, a tail bristled, sharp teeth bared, and anger blazed in those icy eyes.

"What?"

If only he could alter his words. Explain more, explain better.

Save himself.

If only.

His voice came again. "I can't allow you to kill him."

He had dreams. He had nightmares.

This hell was something else entirely.

Pupils narrowed to slits across from him, jagged scars streaking down the table as wicked claws dug into the old wood.

"Is that your final answer?"

There was red now, deep in those eyes.

He could only watch, silently scream in his head as he fought with all his might to change the memory.

"Aye, I refuse to let you go after him."

Futile. The scene would play out as it had many nights before this one.

The woman stood, ears low and tail lashing.

"Whose side are you on, Allan? Huh? The slavers?" A snarl curled her lip, the temperature around them plummeting as ice snaked out from her hands across the table. "How disappointin'."

The edges of the scene corrupted, bleeding red and black.

He wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to hide.

Hide from the devastation bearing down on him like a hurricane at sea.

But there was no refuge. No escape.

"There will be another time to kill him."

He had to witness the event that would alter his fate.

Words came faster now, a distorted echo to them that sent chills down his spine.

"But I heard the other slavers talkin'! He's goin' on patrol tonight! I can't pass up this opportunity to claim revenge for what he did."

"Look, kid. I said no, and that's final."

"Nobody's gonna stand in my way. Not even you. Stand down now, Allan. I don't want to hurt you."

He got up.

Walked over.

"I told you no, kid! That's an order!"

"Give it up, Allan. I'm doin' this my way. I'm killin' him tonight and you can't stop me. Don't even try to."

He got close.

Too close.

It was over fast. She winded him with a headbutt, driving him back into the wall hard enough to stun him. He didn't even have a chance to rise to his feet, weight pinning him to the floor. A rag clamped over his mouth and nose, drowning the world in a sickly-sweet haze.

Darkness followed swiftly after, a growl echoing in his ears.

"You brought this on yourself. Sweet dreams."

And those were the last words he ever heard from Scarlett Hyde.

Allan sat up in his bed with a gasp, cold sweat pouring down his face as he fought for breath.

Was that her now, hiding in the dark corner?

He flicked on the light, fingers struggling to grasp the knob.

Nothing, just his trenchcoat.

It was too hot. Too stifling.

Air.

He needed air!

Staggering to the porthole, he yanked it open. Cold, salty air and the distant chime of harbor buoys greeted him and he leaned against the wall, eyes closed as he fought to catch his breath and soothe his racing heart.

Lifting his eyes and scanning the docks, Allan found them still bathed in the warm glow of the harbor lights with the inky black sky above devoid of stars thanks to the light pollution from the nearby city of Antwerp. The Karaboudjan sat desolate in her berth, undisturbed and peaceful with her own lights turned off and the crew inside her still sleeping.

Utterly lifeless.

A relief to Allan, for no one had seen him fling open the porthole and gasp like a half-drowned man starving for air.

No, Allan realized with a flash of irritation. There was a person standing near the bow of the ship, Allan could see them from the corner of his eye.

Must have been that damn FBI agent that had been sniffing around the past few days.

Allan told that aristocratic fool Sakharine to be more subtle rather than just strolling about like he owned the place. His insistence on dressing fancy all day and probably night instantly set him apart from the dockworkers, drawing unneeded attention, but he just had to let his pride and ego get in the way of keeping a low profile.

Great, he thought. Not even dawn and I already need to deal with...

He nearly fainted when he finally turned his full attention to the figure.

That was not the FBI agent.

In fact...

It wasn't even a human.

Is... Is that an Alphian?!

Certainly looked like one, there on the street staring up at him from under the amber cone of the street light. For a tense moment, Allan thought Scarlett had come back; a long black tail covered in silver stripes, tall pointed black and white ears sticking out from holes in a dark hood, and bare lower legs covered in the same markings from the knee down.

But... no, Scarlett's ears were rounder, fluffier. Her tail was thick and furry, not sleek with a large black spade at the tip. She also had thinner, longer stripes cutting through the black base. Not thick, broken spots.

And the glowing green eyes gleaming from beneath the hood most certainly weren't Scarlett's.

An ally, maybe?

Allan hesitated, gathering breath to call out but uncertain if he should or if the Alphian was even there.

A work truck trundled by, sputtering as it struggled with a load of crates.

After it passed, the Alphian was gone.

Mad.

Allan Thompson was actually going mad.

He could hardly be blamed.

First his old boss starts trying to get him to return to his fleet with his temptations slowly mutating into threats that grew more vicious every time.

Then a new man in a fancy suit and tie presents his own offer of money in exchange for Allan's aid in a treasure hunt of all things while also being far too interested in Allan's drunken captain who couldn't even piss straight let alone remember his ancestors.

Then he started having flashbacks of a hijacking that brought him into contact with not only slavers, but fucking aliens, one of which joined forces with him only to knock him out to go slaughter some of the slavers...

What was even worse...

After that fight with Scarlett, any and all memories of the Alphian ceased. He couldn't even recall what happened once he woke up, which alarmed him greatly because there was a significant event he just could not remember. Because they sure as hell didn't go from being overrun by slavers to being back at their home port without any sign there was even a hostile force occupying the ship.

Only one man had memories of Scarlett that went past Allan's; Tom Anders.

His friend and trusty right-hand man. The closest person to Scarlett on the ship prior to her mysterious disappearance.

Allan hoped he could have shed some light on Scarlett. Maybe Scarlett somehow drove off all the slavers after knocking Allan out, accessing some type of beast mode or something. She was an alien, and could shapeshift, so it wasn't entirely implausible.

But no.

Tom's last memory of her was Scarlett heading off the ship into the woods. Tom went after her, only to find himself face to face with the same slaver Scarlett was after. The slaver attacked him, but Scarlett showed up in some animal form and attacked the slaver. She won the fight but was stabbed in the process. Tom tried dragging her back to the ship after she shifted back to that half-human form, but then his memory too went dark.

That was it. The trail ended. Went cold. With no hope of recovering the fractal memories.

Maybe Scarlett was around longer, and had some alien way of wiping their memories. Why, then, did he have any memory of her at all? If she truly aimed to wipe all memory of her existence, he should have forgotten her in totality.

Instead he was left with only partial memories and no explanation that could even remotely make sense of the event.

Every port they stopped at, every contact he knew, he asked. When Scarlett Hyde rang no bells, he tried the false name she gave at first; Shadow. Still nothing.

He tried her description, her species, her family name, everything.

Nothing.

As if neither she nor her species even existed in the first place.

But now, after months of searching and dealing with intermittent nightmares, an Alphian just shows up outside his window only to vanish into thin air.

If it was even there to begin with.

"Get a hold of yourself, old boy," Allan laughed nervously, running his hand halfway through his hair before gripping it tightly in a feeble attempt to ground himself in reality.

He was seeing things.

Yeah, he...

He was just seeing things.

A knock sounded on his door, and Allan turned away from the window to stare at the clock by his bed.

05:00 am.

His port watch wasn't due for another few hours, so it couldn't have been someone calling him for that.

"Al?"

Tom. What was he doing up this early?

Passing through his dayroom, Allan opened the door and found Tom looking almost as disheveled as himself. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Allan asked, taking in Tom's bare feet and backwards shorts.

Tom rubbed his arm. "It... happened again."

Allan's eyes widened. "Scarlett."

Tom nodded.

Allan stood to the side to let him in. "You too, huh?"

Tom straightened, looking slightly more alert as he sat on the couch in Allan's dayroom. "Same dream?"

"What other dream would it be?" Allan growled.

Tom wasn't put off by his tone, but then again he never was. "What are the odds, huh?" he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, a weak smile accompanying the joke.

Allan wasn't amused. "Real funny." He leaned on the table, pushing his hair back. "This is the fifth time in two weeks," he growled. "I do not need this. We got that proud peacock prancin' 'round like he owns the damn ship, orderin' us to and fro like damn dogs. I don't need this headache on top of it."

"At least the cap ain't givin' us any issues."

"Don't think that old man would notice if I scuttled the damn ship," Allan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Probably not." Tom tilted his head. "Don't think the dreams mean anythin', do ya?" he asked, somewhat desperately.

"Concurrent dreams about an alien that we both know had the power to alter dreams?" Allan said. "It's fishy."

"Think she's comin' back?"

Allan shrugged tiredly. "Hell, Tom, I don't know." He glared in the direction of the door. "At least Sakharine finally tracked down the second ship. Then we can be back at sea, and I'll have other things to keep my mind on."

"Yeah, can't wait to have that guy off." Tom shuddered. "Gives me the creeps."

"Feelin's mutual."

Allan wondered if he should tell Tom about the... apparition on the docks. He quickly decided against it, not wanting to wrangle Tom when the man tried to hunt the ghost down.

It would be his secret.

Just get through the day and you'll be back at sea. No more FBI agents snooping around, no more headaches from watching Sakharine waltz through the docks like a blind idiot, no more...

Whatever the hell that just was on the docks.

Allan stretched. "Guess I may as well get coffee, not like I'm gettin' any more shuteye today," he said gruffly. "Want some?"

Tom nodded, stretching too. "Won't say no." He shuddered. "Anythin' to keep awake after that nightmare."

Allan understood his hesitation with going back to sleep. Tom's dream was far worse than his, with the man being hunted down in dark woods by a slaver bent on murder. Scarlett's animal form wasn't exactly comforting either, Tom describing it as a large feline with saber teeth that was a third again the size of a normal tiger.

"Alright, I'll be there in a minute. Maybe Vinny or Yanny have somethin' already."

Tom nodded. "I'll wait outside."

As Tom left, and Allan headed back to his room, the first mate mumbled under his breath.