Drowner: Becoming Defekt

Kai

"Sorry, what?" I ask, praying to every higher power that I misheard her.

"Defense Force Against Drowners. I'd like to ask you some questions," she repeats, her tone clipped and deliberate, like she's recited this line a hundred times before.

Fucking hell. This has to be about my blackouts. But I can't let her know that.

"Okay, alright. So… what are these questions?" I ask, forcing myself to lean casually against the doorway, feigning indifference.

"Not here. Come with me. I'll send someone to gather your things," she says with a sigh, like she's already tired of dealing with me.

"No, thank you. Say what you have to say—I'm not going anywhere," I reply, my voice firm despite the unease creeping into my gut. Something about her—the way she carries herself, the calm, unshakable authority—makes me feel cornered. And I hate feeling cornered.

She steps closer, her boots clicking softly against the floor, until her face is mere inches from mine. Her voice drops to a whisper, low and sharp, as she leans in. "I'd advise you to cooperate. Unless, of course, you want everyone to know what you've been doing at night."

What I've been doing at night? Hell, I'd like to know that too.

She's bluffing. She has to be. No one knows. Sure, people think I'm weird, but weird isn't a crime. Still, her words hit me like a sucker punch, cold and precise.

Everyone already suspects something's off about me. And she's right. If she starts talking, they'll start asking questions, and I can't afford for anyone to figure out what I don't even understand myself.

I give her a stiff nod, my throat too dry to form words.

Her stern expression shifts in an instant. Without warning, she grabs my hand and bolts, dragging me along like we're reenacting the climax of some cheesy rom-com. She's laughing—laughing—like she's having the time of her life.

The absurdity of it all doesn't escape me. I can feel every pair of eyes in the office glued to us as we sprint past, her long golden hair flying behind her like a flag in the wind.

We turn a corner, cutting off the gawking stares of my coworkers. Before I can even begin to process what's happening, she takes a sharp turn and shoves me into the back of a van. The door slams shut, and I stumble, barely catching myself before hitting the cold metal floor.

"What the hell was that?" I demand, glaring at her as I steady myself.

She sits down across from me, perfectly composed, her calm demeanor slipping back into place as if the last thirty seconds hadn't happened. "Just making sure no one suspects a thing," she says casually, like it's the most obvious explanation in the world.

Her smirk tells me she knows exactly what she's doing. Meanwhile, I'm left trying to figure out if I should be more concerned about the van or the fact that a small, traitorous part of me actually enjoyed that.

Something tells me I'm in way over my head.

The van jerks forward, and silence falls over us like a heavy curtain. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the van's frame.

I glance at her, trying to read her expression, but she's staring straight ahead, arms crossed. Her calm, unbothered demeanor only makes me more uneasy.

"So…" I start, breaking the silence, "what's your name?"

She doesn't respond, doesn't even flinch.

"Alright, awkward silence it is," I mutter, shifting uncomfortably. I toy with the buttons on my jacket, trying to distract myself from the growing pit in my stomach.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks. "Put that over your head," she says, pointing at my tie.

I blink at her, confused. "Why?"

She fixes me with a cold stare, her smirk replaced by something sharper. "Because I said so."

I sigh, pulling the tie loose from around my neck. "Fine, whatever," I mutter, tying it over my eyes. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," she replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

The van continues its journey, and with my vision gone, the other senses take over. The faint smell of saltwater creeps into my nose, and the subtle vibrations of the road beneath us feel amplified. My mind races, trying to make sense of what's happening. Defense Force Against Drowners? What could they possibly want with me?

Minutes pass—though they feel like hours—before the van finally lurches to a stop.

"Give me your hand," she commands, already pulling the door open. I hesitate for a moment but ultimately let her guide me. Her grip is firm and unyielding as she pulls me along.

I hear the sound of a heavy door creaking open, then slamming shut behind us. Her hand lets go, and I stand there, disoriented, my hands instinctively fumbling at the tie over my eyes.

"You can take that off now," she says.

I rip the tie away, blinking as my eyes adjust to the light. What I see stops me cold.

The room—if you can even call it that—is stark white. White walls, white floor, white ceiling. Everything is blindingly clean, sterile, and eerily quiet. The only splash of color is her, standing in front of me with her golden hair catching the light like a halo.

"You mean to tell me this guy's the one?" a booming voice breaks the silence. The accent—Russian—cuts through the air like a blade.

I turn to see a massive man, built like a tank, with fiery red hair and a beard to match. He's dressed in military-style clothing that only makes him look more imposing.

"Jesus," I mutter, taking an involuntary step back.

The girl rolls her eyes. "Vlad, enough," she says, unimpressed.

But something feels off. The smell of saltwater is stronger now, clinging to the back of my throat. And she looks… tired. Exhausted, even, though she's doing her best to hide it.

It clicks.

"You're using your power on me, aren't you?" I ask, my voice low and laced with disgust.

Her eyes widen, just slightly, but it's enough. Gotcha.

"How did you—"

"Call it a hunch," I interrupt, stepping back further.

"Fella, I suggest you calm down. We just want to talk," the giant—Vlad—says, his tone gruff but surprisingly calm.

"I am calm," I snap, though the words come out sharper than I intended.

They exchange a glance, something unspoken passing between them. Then, without warning, Vlad charges at me.

His fist connects with my face before I can react. The impact is like getting hit by a freight train. Pain explodes in my skull as I'm sent flying backward, the air knocked out of my lungs.

The last thing I see is the sterile white room spinning around me before everything goes dark.