Fortress Pip Ash was a marshy pile of mud that rose out of the murky waters of the Delaware River near the approach to Philadelphia. Originally holding a small village colonized by the Swedish, the colony of New Jersey had built a small fortress and town on the island, which was used to justify its claim to half of the Delaware Bay when it applied for statehood in 1778. The newly minted supreme court upheld New Jersey's claim to the waterway due to the presence of Fortress Pip ash. Two hundred years later the island was home to nearly eight thousand residents living in tightly packed row houses on tight historic cobbled streets. The island was mostly self-sufficient, though most residents had a car in the parking garage near the ferry for use off the island. Most people in Pip Ash made their living either serving the tourist industry or working as fishermen. There was also a small but growing industry of technicians working on large wind farms that dominated the Delaware Bay. The original fortress is still the center of town, surrounded by a moat and holding the cities offices, police department, and other important facilities. A ceremonial unit of soldiers remains on the island mostly for recruiting duty, residing in the fortress.
Dean Paul was walking home from school alone. While it was hot on paper, the location of Pip Ash meant that a cool breeze always whipped by the narrow streets and alleyways of the city. Dean sighed as he walked along the cobbled streets, passing by the other students who were with their friends. He figured that he would have been able to overcome his social anxiety after high school, though now that he was in college, he was even more isolated. There was just something off about him, and he knew it. He struggled to make friends of any kind, and the people he usually did get close to typically would stop talking to him after a while. He planned on getting his degree in mechanical engineering so that he could work at the wind farm, though honestly the struggles of school and lack of stability were taking its toll on Dean's GPA.
He wasn't the most unattractive person to ever cross Pea Patch, but he wasn't exactly stunning either. His hair was somewhat receding already despite being just 24 years old. He wasn't obese, but certainly he had a bit of a gut on him and could stand to work out more often. No, it was his mannerisms more than his looks that doomed Dean to a life of loneliness. Having no idea how to talk to people after being neglected by his own family, his early life consisted of repeated social blunders that ended up with the whole town thinking him to be some kind of freak. Deep down inside, Dean himself felt he was a freak. As early as high school he had started learning about his own sexuality. Some people were into boobs, some ass, Dean was into crushing, brutal and gory crushing of other humans shrunk to tiny size. Of course, such a thing was impossible, but regardless Dean thought himself as a monster, and never dared tell anyone of his obsession. Dean's social frustration and anxiety were made even worse because there was simply no outlet for him, at best there were some basic Youtube videos that would probably be deleted as quickly as they popped up or a handful of stories on a website that were updated infrequently.
Dean continued towards the docks, it was no use going home at this time of day, he hated seeing his stepfather and his mother would be too busy drinking to talk to him. Dean would do what he always did to pass the time, magnet fishing. There were a large number of wrecks in the bay, some dating as far back as the second world war. Dean made short pocket change by taking his boat out into the water and dragging a heavy magnet along the mud for anything of value. The docks weren't too busy as most of the boats had gone out for the day and wouldn't be back until the late evening, giving Dean the chance to sail off into safer waters away from the unwieldy fishing boats.
A small aluminum bodied dinghy bobbed in the water waiting for Dean to get in. He tossed in his backpack, which had a small snorkeling kit and flippers. Undoing the line holding the boat to shore, Dean gave the cord on the engine a quick tug. The motor sputtered shortly before humming to life, smoke billowing out of the overtaxed and ancient engine as Dean pulled out of the harbor into relatively open water about a hundred meters from shore, not far from where the old military dock on the rear of the fortress used to be. This was his spot, and almost everyone in town knew it. There wasn't a whole lot to be found here and the authorities never gave him any trouble anyway as long as he steered clear of the cables that lined the bottom of the bay. While he had always hoped that he would find something interesting like a helmet or perhaps even a rocket, typically the days catch would consist of a few rusted bolts or a small tin if he was lucky.
A large steel cased magnet was tossed overboard with a thick chain attached. The magnet rested on a small sled that make it easier for Dean to drag it around. The chain unwrapped a few feet before striking the muddy bottom, Dean left a few feet of slack so that it would trail well behind him as he pulled forward slowly with the motor. He paired his phone with a small speaker he brought onboard, playing a podcast to pass the time as he lazily patrolled with his weighted magnet in tow, careful to not veer too far into the shipping lane, which was very deep. While he used to check on the magnet nearly every hour, Dean knew better than that now. If he found anything of value it would stick to the magnet, besides it was heavy and pulling it back up was exhausting. As the sun started to set inland behind him, Dean prepared to pull up his chain and head back to the docks. Before he could do so, however, the chain pulled taut and then tugged at the boat, nearly throwing Dean over the bow into the water. Straightening his glasses, Dean walked over to the chain and gave it a tug, though it remained obviously stuck on something heavy. Dean was close to the drop-off, losing the weight entirely would have been a disaster though at least it looks like whatever it is caught on is near the surface. Excited for his first real catch in nearly three years of magnet fishing, Dean unbuttoned his tan shirt and tossed his hat to the floor of the boat. While not terribly familiar with snorkeling, Dean felt prepared enough with the short class he watched online a year ago and threw on his mask and tube. Before jumping over, Dean remembered to stretch the headlight band over his head, it would be dark down there.
The water was cold... extremely cold. Despite being nearly June, the water of the Delaware was still very cold. The chill nearly took the breath out of Deans mouth as he threw himself into the water, careful not to dive in extremely fast so as to not get stuck in the mud. Flipping on his light, Dean entered the darkness, following the chain down at least twelve feet. Down here he could still see the light above somewhat, but silt and mud had made the water in front of him very dark, the light penetrating like a sword into the darkness and yet still only illuminating about an arm's length away from his face. Through the brownish water the beam of light on Dean's head cut a shaft of visibility down the chain where it ended at the magnet sled. The sled rested on a piece of flat metal, extending into the mud. Already hurting for air but interested, Dean went just a little deeper, when he saw that the sled was caught on what appeared to be the handle to a door. Feeling the slimy and algae covered metal, Dean let go of the chain and swam towards the edge of the metal, finding that it was right at the edge of the drop off into deeper waters. Not wanting to lose more air, Dean started swimming to the surface, reaching the top and gasping.
Taking a moment to get his breath, Dean once again plunged under the surface, this time swimming straight towards the door to get a closer look at it. Through the darkness the door had appeared so fast that he nearly swam into it, he started scratching at the mud and debris on it, which clouded the area even more. Still, shining his light directly on the handle, he could clearly make out "US ARMY". Already starting to burn for air, Dean tugged at the handle, the heavy door lurching open revealing a pitch-black pit that ran deeper into the depths of the channel. Looking inside before the silt clouded it, Dean could see that this was an extended shipping container, which ran at least another forty feet. Currently it was half buried in the mud, crushed on the one side, and leaning at a nearly 50-degree angle on the edge of a cliff that ran into the middle channel of the bay. The interior looked mostly empty, but in the middle of the container held by chains was what appeared to be a single crate. Dean could wait no longer, and pushed off the metal, swimming for the surface for air. Breaching the water, Dean gasped for air and grabbed the nearby chain extending to his tiny boat, his head panged with pain as he deprived himself of oxygen.
Though the sun had nearly set, and clouds were rolling in, Dean just couldn't wait for his prize to be washed away in some current or be claimed by someone else. He stood onboard his boat, which now rocked harder as the wind picked up with the incoming clouds. Dean jumped and dived feet first into the water, piercing it like a bullet where he figured the container would be. Thankfully not just lawn-darting himself into the muddy bottom, Dean passed right through the open door, a blanket of silt and mud surrounding him as he entered and spreading out to fill the room. Now in the container, Dean could only see directly in front of him, the minimal light from the sun no longer present. He looked for the box but instead just saw more of the silty darkness that had engulfed him earlier. He tried to get his bearings, but up was down and down was up. Dean twisted and turned as he felt the oxygen in his lungs deplete. He thrashed until he found a chain, one that was holding the box in the center of the container. He tugged on it, his chest swelling as he demanded air. Instead of heading back up, Dean pulled himself towards the crate and gave it a tug, the thing cracking open with ease after being underwater for who knows how long. Through the encompassing darkness Dean could see a metallic object slip out of the box towards the bottom of the container. Panicking, Dean rushed towards it to grab it, himself getting caught on the chain as he did so. He did manage to get his hands on the metal, though with his trashing he bumped his head into the crate.
The pain of hitting his head was nothing compared to the panic of seeing the flashlight slip off its band towards the bottom of the container. Dean rushed forward again, ignoring the pain in his lungs, it was only a few feet deeper right? He lunged forward, kicking up more silt as the beam of light faded. Now Dean was left alone in the dark, the distant light of his headband shutting off entirely as it went beyond its rated depth. Still holding the metallic object, Dean started to swim towards the surface, his lungs nearly bursting as he had spent almost a full minute underwater. Instead, Dean smacked headfirst into the side of the container, though in his confused state he didn't recognize that he wasn't going up. In a panic and getting more and more confused, Dean thrashed around in the cloudy darkness of the container pressing against the walls. Dean swam along the wall in front of him, reaching what he thought must be the door of the container, only for a deeper kind of darkness to close in on him as he reached for the sky.