Bilgewater: Burning Tides

Act Three - Part Four: Red Sky, Chumming the Waters, Reconciliation

I've thought a lot about the ways I'd wanna go out. Chained up like a dog at the bottom of the ocean? That one never crossed my mind. Lucky for me, T.F. manages to pop the lock on my shackles just before he drops the dagger.

I scramble out of the chains, thirsty for breath. I turn toward T.F. Poor bastard's not moving. I twist my hand around his collar and start kickin' toward the surface.

As we go up, suddenly everything lights up bright red.

A shockwave knocks me ass over ears. Chunks of iron sink past us. A cannon plunges by. Then a charred hunk of rudder. Bodies, too. A face covered in tattoos stares in shock at me. The severed head then slowly disappears into the darkness beneath us.

I swim faster, my lungs set to bust.

An age later, I'm at the surface, coughing up salt water and gasping for air. But it's damn near unbreathable. Smoke chokes me and claws at my eyes. I've seen things burn in my time, but never like this. Looks like someone set the whole world on fire.

"Damn me..." I hear myself mutter.

Gangplank's ship is gone. Bits of smoking debris are scattered all across the bay. Fiery islands of wood collapse all around, hissin' as they go under. A flaming sail falls right in front of us, nearly dragging T.F. and me back down for good. Burning men desperately jump from smoldering pieces of wreckage into the water, quietin' their own screams. It smells like the end of everything – sulfur and ash and death; cooked hair and melting skin.

I check on T.F. I'm strugglin' to keep him above water. Son of a bitch is a lot heavier than he looks, and it ain't helping that half my ribs are broke. I find a piece of scorched hull floating nearby. It looks solid enough. I pull us both on top. It ain't exactly seaworthy, but it'll do.

For the first time, I get a good look at T.F. He ain't breathin'. I wail on his chest with my fists. Just when I'm worried I'm going to cave his ribs in, he coughs out a lungful of seawater. I slump and shake my head again as he slowly comes to his senses.

"You stupid son of a bitch! What did you come back for?"

It takes him a minute to answer.

"Thought I'd try it your way," he mutters, slurring his words. "See what being a stubborn ass felt like." He hacks up more water. "Feels awful."

Razorfish and even meaner sea critters are startin' to gather around us. I ain't about to be anything's chow. I pull my feet away from the edge.

A mangled crewman bobs to the surface, grabbin' for our raft. I plant my boot in his face and shove him off. A fat tentacle wraps around his neck and drags him back under. Now the fish have something else to keep 'em busy.

Before they run out of fresh meat, I break off a plank from our raft and use it to paddle us away from the feedin' frenzy.

I pull at the water for what seems like hours. My arms are heavy and hurtin', but I know better than to stop. Once I've put some distance between us and the massacre, I collapse onto my back.

I'm spent like an empty shotgun shell as I look out over the bay. It's stained red with the blood of Gangplank and his crew. Not a survivor in sight.

How am I still breathing? Maybe I'm the luckiest man on Runeterra. Or maybe T.F.'s carrying enough good fortune for the both of us.

I see a body floating by, holding something familiar lookin'. It's Gangplank's little inbred bastard, still clutching T.F.'s hat. I take it off him and toss it to T.F. He ain't even a little surprised, like he always knew he'd get it back.

"Now we just need to find your gun," he says.

"What, you itchin' to go back down there?" I say, pointing to the deep.

T.F. turns a funny shade of green.

"We ain't got the time. Whoever did this, they left Bilgewater without a boss," I tell him. "It's gonna get ugly here, fast."

"You're telling me you can live without your gun?" he asks.

"Maybe not," I say. "But I know a really good gunsmith in Piltover."

"Piltover..." he says, lost in thought.

"Lot of money flowing through there right now," I say.

T.F. figures hard for a moment.

"Hmm. Not sure about having you as a partner again – you're even dumber than you used to be," he finally answers.

"That's alright. I'm not sure about havin' a partner called Twisted Fate. Who the hell came up with that?"

"Well, it's a damn sight better than my real name," T.F. laughs.

"Fair enough," I admit.

I grin. It feels just like the old days. Then I go stone faced and look him dead in the eye.

"Just one thing: You ever have mind to leave me holding the bag again, I'll blow your goddamn head off. No questions."

Fate's laugh dies down, and for a moment, he glares back at me. Then, after a while, he just smiles.

"You got a deal."