Chapter Text
Dylan
Monday, February 18, 05:30:00
An shriek ripples through the room, jolting me from my peaceful sleep. I let out a groan and lug my arm off the bed to turn off the alarm. Running my hand over my eyes, I sit up and stare out the window to see the gloomy city. Gotham.
I moved here for college, got a job, and —regrettably— never left. So now, I wake up to occasional gunfire and the constant smell of urine and garbage. It would be a tad nicer smell if I could afford to live uptown, but to do that I'd need to make a much better salary.
The scent is one I've grown accustomed to. It doesn't seem to bother me anymore. There's hints of rotten egg and fish, bringing such joy and happiness to my life. Really… yeah no. Quite the opposite actually.
I slide the comfort of a blanket off of my lap and stand up to the chilling reality that is my room. It's a mess. There's clothes everywhere and makeup all over my dresser. That's a problem for another me. Not this morning.
I scatter over to my bathroom and turn the nob of the shower. The screeching noise of water escaping the shower head, and the plummeting of water onto the hard bath has no effect on my mood. I am pooped. Nevertheless I strip down out of my makeshift pajamas — an old t-shirt with numerous holes and some red-stained granny panties. The cold of the water shocks me to a more awakened state. This only pisses me off further.
I go through the normal getting ready activities. Clothes on, hair done, lunch packed —which is really just a granola bar and an apple—, a piece of toast for breakfast —so I don't end up vomiting thirty minutes into work—, and then I brush my teeth. I head out the door with the cheeriest smile Gotham has ever seen!
haha… You thought.
_ _ _ _ _ _
08:13:24
I walk into the building, somehow thirteen minutes late. I swear I left earlier than usual today.
I toss my bag into the corner of my cubicle. Ew…, cubicle. If my teenage self ever knew she would live a life surrounded by three walls and a desk, she'd kill herself before that opportunity ever arose.
A familiar perky voice echoes behind me.
"Dylan!! Dylan!!" She pierces
I roll my eyes and turn around in my chair.
"Did you see…" She waves a magazine in the air excitedly "Dick Grayson is shirtless — fucking shirtless, Dylan — on the cover of Wayne Weekly." She squeals
I nod my head in an annoyed cooperation, my lips pressed thin.
"Wow Lexie… that's cool..!" My mind is too tired for pleasantries right now, but Lexie is sweet — most of the time — so I push through.
"He's sooooooo hot." She fans herself with the magazine dramatically.
I giggle then shoo her away so I can get started on work. She invites me to lunch on the pier during our break. I accept
_ _ _ _ _ _
12:34:19
After I've read so much I feel my eyes are about to fall out of their sockets Lexie knocks on the wall of my cubicle.
"Knock knock Dylan," She literally says 'knock knock' as she knocks. "Wanna drive with me to the pier? We can take my car?" She jingles some keys animatedly.
I roll my eyes, slap my hands to my knees, and sit up.
"Lets go." I whine. Though I don't entirely despise this moment.
Lexie and I walk to her car as she mindlessly blabs about how hot she thinks Dick Grayson is in the new issue. I guess he is like the definition of socially attractive, with the wealth and muscles, but I don't think he's 'all that'.
I sit in her grey Toyota that looks like pinkie pie from my little pony barfed all over the inside. The steering wheel is covered in a fluffy pink cover and the rear-view mirror holds three dangerously distracting charms. The smell is warm though, comforting. The smell is sweet. Sweet like strawberry candies and milk. She plugs her phone in and starts the car.
"Do you like Olivia Rodrigo?" She asks as — I assume — she ques up Olivia Rodrigo on her phone.
"She's chill. I listen to a couple of her songs. I haven't really listened for a hot second though; not really my vibe lately." I reply as I buckle my seat-belt
Lexie smiles and nods, shifting the car into drive after she hits play on her phone. Suddenly the nostalgic lyrics of 'good 4 u' beam through the car. Lexie is nodding her head and tapping her finger to the beat. She drives as if its second nature to her. Her pinky-pink car interior is gleeful compared to the street outside and it creates an odd feeling in my gut.
We park a block away from the pier. Not too far that its a long walk to and from, but not close enough that we can just 'hop back in'. Why? I don't know. I think Lexie is a little safety paranoid. Makes sense. I can't comprehend how a cheery girl like her stays so happy-go-lucky in a place like Gotham.
We walk over to a little fish-and-chip food truck right off the peir. Lexie insists she pays for my order, since she's the one who invited me. I push back a half-hearted argument, but let her pay. I could use the money. Gas money for traveling to and from work has been a pain in my ass.
The ethereal smell of the ocean drowns my nose as we sit at a little table on the edge. I feel the wind push my hair around me and I feel magical. I feel powerful. I feel like I'm not here with Lexie. I feel like I'm in the ocean, swimming like I should be. However I push that feeling aside once Lexie starts a conversation with a question I cant quiet catch.
"Huh?" I ask lethargically.
"I said, 'Did you hear Noah got laid off recently and is supposed to be replaced with some stupid AI bot?'" She enunciates
"Really? Thats so not cool! I mean we all studied years at college for this shit." I raise my eyebrows in exasperation.
"I know! It's dystopian honestly. I'm scared for my own job, and I just organize the text boxes and stuff." She gestures with her hands to deepen emphasis on certain words.
She speaks almost like a 'Regina George' type character from some two-thousands chick-flick. I think Lexie was far opposite from that type of person — still is — but from what I can remember from blurry conversations, is she was kind-of a loner.
I giggle. And not just a courtesy giggle, it's a genuine giggle. Not a full laugh, yes, but it is truthful, which feels rare lately.
I give an understanding 'yeah' and nod my head. I look to my side and gaze at the ocean. I take a deep breath, letting the scent of fish-and-chips and the calming ocean fill my nostrils. Lexie seems to do the same, as her gaze shifts with mine.
Thats when I hear it. A song. An eerie layered song. The voice sounds familiar — I can't put my finger on it. It has me entranced. I feel like a cartoon character with their nose in the air following the scent of fresh pie. Only its my soul. Confusing, I know. But it's something I feel deep within me. The voice sounds so distant, but also it sounds like its playing right into my ears. There's something ethereal about this voice. It doesn't sound directly human. Sure you could do some Garage Band shit and make a woman's voice sound similar, but this sounds like there's layers to it. It almost feels like the ocean itself is singing to me. Through a shell, like some mighty matriarchal warrior depicted in a painting.
That's too silly though.
Another voice echoes through the enchanting one.
"Dylan? You okay?" Lexie asks. Her hand rests on mine on the table, showing genuine concern.
I shake my head cartoonishly and give a simple "Yeah, just zoned for a second."
"Yeah, I get it. AI is scary." She tries to empathize
Of course that's why I was zoning out. AI is scary, dystopian society bullshit, scary —and very much true— stuff I was definitely thinking of. Yeah…
We switch the topic to something more cheery, and I let Lexie fangirl over Dick Grayson some more before we head back to the car.
"He's just so dreamy." She dramatically leans over onto me as we walk, pretending to faint in admiration.
I push her off of me a bit harder than I should have. There's no lasting effects though, so it just adds to our laughter.
Lexie pulls out her keys and her car makes a tiny beep. As we head back to work she offers me the aux. I contemplate, but the only song I have in my head is that matriarchal voice. I cant get it out of my head. I shake my head and give a polite 'no thank you.' She puts on her playlist instead.
It's a mix of Harry Styles, Olivia Rodrigo, Clairo, and surprisingly Adele. No hate to Lexie or Adele though. Adele is amazing. It just shocked me. I thought only millennial moms of three listened to that.
Lexie jams out, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. I nod my head to the beat occasionally, but overall our ride is in silence outside of the music and Lexie occasionally bursting into song alongside it.
_ _ _ _ _ _
15:57:49
As I'm finishing up an email, Lexie bursts into the room. Well by room I mean my tiny-ass cubicle. Fuck I hate that word so much.
"I'm heading out early!! I'll see you tomorrow Dylan!" She waves enthusiastically. She rushes in to give me a quick neck hug, kisses me on the head —platonically of course, that's just how Lexie is— and wishes me another goodbye before heading towards the elevator.
After that interaction I just sit still for a second. I don't know why. The interaction wasn't new or surprising. It's just that voice. It keeps getting to me. I can't stop thinking about it. I just zone out for another five minutes. All I think about is that voice; I keep imagining the shore.
I try to shrug it off, get back to work, but it keeps lingering. It's hard to focus on anything. I decide to call it quits and head out thirty minutes early.
_ _ _ _ _ _
17:08:33
I didn't even put music on when I got in my car. I've been driving for twenty minutes in complete silence. No radio, nothing. I didn't even start driving immediately after entering my car — which is odd for me. I just sat in my car, in silence, for like fifteen minutes. I didn't even start my car. All I could think about was that song. My brain didn't even have any dialog to it. Which is —again— odd. I'm constantly thinking, constantly narrating my world.
I pull into my little parking space, secluded enough that its not out in the open for everyone to get to, but out in the open enough that people aren't tempted to break into it. I park here as if my car is worth anything. It's not.
I grab my bag and head to my apartment. The voice still lingers, it feels like its embedded into my brain. I can hear the sounds of a couple fighting in an apartment above the sidewalk. I ignore it. Its typical.
The latch to my door clicks and I enter my apartment. I sigh in relief and throw my stuff down on my couch. My place feels so different compared to the rest of my area. The area is shitty. There's trash everywhere and the smell of urine floods your nose every block or two. My place —though it may be messy— is a safe haven. Since I live in such a shitty area, my rent is cheaper. With cheaper rent I was able to afford better stuff for my place. So though my place is cluttered it is not dirty. I try very hard to keep it separate from the nastiness outside.
I walk over to my fridge. The faint blue light bathes over me. I shut it. I don't have an appetite when this voice is consuming every inch of me. I unintentionally start humming the melody. Once I realize I hit my palm to my face and sigh. I drag my hand down my face and groan at myself.
I turn around to look at the rest of my apartment. The old photo's of my dad and I at the beach. The quilted blanket my grandma made my hung on the couch. The shells scattered around the side table as decoration. The albums hung on the wall of my favorite artists. It's a reminder that I am me.
"Just go to bed loser" I say to myself.
Complying with my own demand I head towards my bedroom.
The sun catches on the bunched up comforter, casting a large shadow onto the ground. I kick some clothes that have been tossed on the floor to make an unnecessary path to my bed.
I flop down, then roll off of my bed again. I groan, complaining to the empty room around me and rummage through the piles of clothes of the floor for something resembling a sleep-wear. I change, but once my chest becomes exposed I freeze. I feel the air on my bare skin and it feels natural. It feels right. I take a deep breath and push down yet another odd feeling that has come up today and put on a dirty t-shirt. I should do the laundry, but that requires going all the way up the block to the laundry mat. Vulnerably carrying my clothes to and from, and even when I arrive back home I still have to put them away.
Laying on my bed I toss my hair above my pillow, so it doesn't scratch at my neck. I lay and stare at the ceiling, trying my best to push that melody out of my head. I lay there for what feels like hours until I finally fall asleep. No food, unbrushed hair, makeup still on, and I didn't even brush my teeth.
_ _ _ _ _ _
02:56:58
I jump awake and the voice is practically shouting into my ears. My head hurts and everything feels dizzy. I cant feel my legs. I must've fallen asleep in a weird position. The voice though, it's so so loud. My whole head aches. Between my eyebrows like a dull pressure from inside my skull, pushing out. Around my temples like a giant has me picked up by the head, pressing too hard. And worst of all, at the top of my forehead, like somethings pulling the skin away from my skull and up.
Then it snaps. I need to go back to the shore. It's not even really a thought, more like an instinct. I don't register it in my mind at all. There's no words in my brain saying "I need to go to the shore." I just feel it deep within me.
I dangle my feet off the side of my bed, and in an effort to ground myself, I glance around my room. I look at the books on my shelf, the TV on my wall, the posters above my bed, I glance at a jewelry box sitting on my dresser. The box sparks a thought in me. It reminds me of what it contains. I mean, jewelry obviously, but there's one specific necklace in there that starts a pattern of thoughts in my head. Something I've shockingly lacked in the past day.
I open the box and lift an old locket from within it. Memories come rushing back to me. Memories of my fathers fairytales. He would always tell me that my mother was a siren who left the sea to fall in love and make a family with him. However she grew ill from being out of water and passed away just months after my birth. I always believed the latter part. That she passed away months after my birth, but the whole 'siren thing' just felt like some kids story my dad kept up for way to long.
I peek inside the locket, welcomed by a cozy photo of my mother with a newborn me in her arms. On the opposite side is a photo of all three of us, my mother, my father, and me. I hold this locket up to my heart, dreaming of the life I could have had if she had lived.
That dream lasts mere seconds. It's wiped away by the screaming melody in my ears.
My instinct saturates through my body. As if uncontrollably I head for the door to my apartment, grabbing my car keys on the way out.
The locket remains in my hand as I start my car. The voice screams through my ears, ricocheting through my body. I blaze through streets, ignoring any speed limit. It's late, so the only people awake are people who try too hard at their jobs, or people who try to work around other peoples line of sight. It's mostly the latter.
Thankfully I don't think I'm seen by any cop, and if I am they just don't give a shit. However I do constantly feel a strange presence —like I'm being watched. I brush that aside and park right by the stairs down off the peir. I rush out of my car so fast I almost forget to lock it. The familiar and refreshing smell of the ocean. The wind blows my tangled, sweaty hair back. Bits of it cling to my nape from sweat.
Then I feel it. The mud and sand engulfing my feet under my sandals. I toe each shoe off and let my feet sink into the mud. I feel natural. Like I am a part of nature and not some cruel human seeking out the abuse and malnourishment of the earth. It's cold. A bitter cold. And if I were a man, my ball sack would be up inside me so far it reaches my head. But thank the gods I'm not.
It's the end of winter and the water is freezing. Nonetheless I dip my toes in. I feel like Ariel, getting lifted and spun around by prince Eric. A thought enters my head. Not entirely one of my own, it belongs to someone else. Yet it's in my head. I comply with said thought and strip my clothes off. I do not care if there are people who could be watching, cameras on buildings above me. I do not care. I am too in the present to worry about the reactions of those who may perceive me.
I delicately fold my clothes, wrapping my car keys within them. I set them on a nearby rock, hidden enough they wont be swooped. The locket, the one that never left my hand. I clasp it around my neck. I stand to admire the wind, and how it pushes against me, for a moment more before I step foot into the water. And in that brief moment I contemplate if maybe my dad's whole siren thing could really be true.
I bring one foot in front of the other, again and again. My feet feel heavier the deeper I go. I keep walking, even though every inch of my body is freezing in the water. Once the water has reached my chest it hits me. A sharp, shrieking pain throughout my whole body.
My legs feel as if they're on fire, yet I simultaneously can't feel them at all. It sounds like bones crunching, and there's a burning from between my fingers and on my forearm. There's a sharp, painful pressure through both of my legs. The innards of my thighs burn and feel like they're melting off. My legs are what hurt the most. It's excruciating. My eyes are sealed shut in pain, I'm not watching a thing that's happening to my body. I'm screaming in pain, surely someone has heard it.
I feel it. There's these things sprouting from my forearms and between my fingers. At first it felt like a nasty ingrown or pimple, but like ten times worse. Now it feels calmer, flowy like hair in water, but more stiff like an ear.
Once the pain starts to subside I finally build up the courage to open my eyes. What I find makes me want to vomit.
My legs are no longer there. My fingers, webbed. My forearms have webbed spikes coming out of them, and there's slices near my ear. Fucking gills. I've turned into a fucking fish. A fish. I guess dad's stories really were true.
My reaction to this is far from pretty. I scream, now in more horror than in pain. I feel around my body and I'm scaly and slimy all over my lower half. But the scales fade around my breasts and continue again distal to my elbow.
I'm in shock, frozen. I don't know what to do. In my head I start counting.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
As I count I tap each scaly finger of mine to my thumb. A nervous habit I've always had.
Sometime in the last five minutes I've become fully submerged in the water. I haven't drowned though. Oh right, that's because I'm a fucking fish. Fish can breathe underwater genius. I am scared out of my mind. So I do what any sane person would do and crawl out of the water.
Once I've fully exited the water, I go through that same painful process again, yet in reverse. It stings and burns and makes me shriek in pain all over again.
I'm laying supine in the mud, nude. I catch my breath and start frantically feeling around my body for anything fishy. Thank god, its normal skin.
As I'm re-dressing myself I look up. It looks like there's somebody watching me from a rooftop. But this shadow of a person has two horn like triangles atop their head. It's a double unicorn person for sure. I mean if sirens are apparently real —and I am one— then unicorn people have to be real.
The figure notices me looking and it takes them a half-second longer than it should to turn away. I mean I guess that's reasonable if you just saw me as a fuck-ass siren. It's odd though. Who just lurks on rooftops at four in the morning. Oh right. Those guys. The one's in masks.
I enter my car and turn the radio on. I think I'm too pooped to go through the effort of plugging in my phone— shit I don't think I even remembered to grab my phone. Guess I'll have to actually try to find my way home.
The radio is some news station that I treat as background noise to my thoughts. There is one thing I hadn't noticed until now. During that whole endeavor, the voice stopped. I didn't even notice it because of how much pain I was in.
The radio echoes with random crime reports. Something about Nightwing and Blackbat saving the day somewhere nearby. I'm starting to hate those guys with how much I have to read about them during work. I do work at a news agency after all. I think it might have actually been one of those guys watching me all freaked out. I don't dwell on it, it's late and I'm done.
By the time I arrive back to my apartment it's time I get ready for work. So, the routine starts again.