Chapter Text
In 1945 the first of the chosen arrived; shuttled down deep below the rolling waves, through the blackest black and coldest cold, they sank. The reasons for their departure from the surface were many; some had come for freedom from persecution, others to seek their fame and fortune, and still some just for the adventure. Even with the range of their desires, these people did all have one thing in common: they all had faith in one idea, one man, and in that they would all share responsibility in their own demise.
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The harsh waves of the Atlantic rolled and crashed over John. Taking large gasping breaths, he tried again to clear his vision, but the minute he had another wave poured over him. Thankfully he could still see the blinking lights through the dark night. It was only a dozen or so more meters, John could make it. His shoulders burned from the strain, but he kept his strokes long, arms cutting through the icy water. The burning wreckage of the plane floated around him, fire leaping up into the night sky. As he drew closer to a piece of the wreckage, he saw what looked to be one of the seats from the cabin aflame; the heat radiating from the blaze warmed the side of his face.
The source of the lights and his destination, a large lighthouse on a small island, drew ever closer. The oscillating light blinking in and out of view ever few second drew him in like a moth to a candle. John had been lucky, damn lucky. Not only did he somehow survive the plane's deadly crash into the ocean, but going down so close to the island would be his salvation.
After what felt like an eternity, John's hand finally fell onto the bottom step of stairs leading up to the lighthouse. John couldn't help the relieved laugh that bubbled to the surface. He climbed up out of the water and over a few steps before collapsing in exhausting.
Closing his eyes and trying to calm his erratic breathing, John listened to the continued crackle and snap of the fires that were still burning and the angry crash of the ocean against the stone steps. As his body began to relax, the adrenaline finally wearing off, the agony of his injuries came rushing on to him in full force. The normally manageable ache in his left shoulder screamed at him, his whole arm now numb from the crash and the strain of swimming to the island. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, the rhythmic pulses made his head feel as if it was being squeezed over and over in a vice. A large gash on his leg was still bleeding. But those pains quickly faded away as the bone-numbing cold of the Atlantic air set upon his wet clothes. John's whole body began to shiver violently. He gingerly wrapped his arms around his torso trying to hold in as much body heat as possible to no eval. His shivering grew worse, his teeth starting to chatter loudly.
He needed to get inside and dry as soon as possible. With a long, low groan, John pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, taking a few deep breaths until a small wave of dizziness subsided. Finally crawling to his feet John took a moment and looked up the stone stairs towards the lighthouse. The tower loomed over him, it's walls stretching high above him, cold and bare.
John wrapped his arms around himself again and started slowly up the stone stairs. Small lanterns were placed on the short wall to his right, lighting up the steps. He winced with his first few steps, his injured leg sparking with pain. He'd have to bandage it soon, though the flow of blood had slowed while he rested the wound began to bleed again as he limped up the stairs.
As he turned the last corner, John saw the large metal doors of the lighthouse. Flanked by lanterns, the bronze doors were detailed with the figure of a man, reaching above himself to grasp at a large sphere. Looking higher, John saw a large circular embellishment with the letter 'R' at its center.
Grasping the door's handle firming, John gave a strong tug. With a groan, it slowly swung open, the small amount of light from the lanterns spreading in a line across the floor. The rest of the room remained darkened as John slipped inside. Just as he turned to open the other door to let in even more light, the second door slammed shut and a loud clinking noise caused John's stomach to drop. He blindly felt along the door's surface until he found the handle and pulled frantically. It wouldn't budge.
The sudden noise of a recorder player gearing up, followed by soft music filled the room as lanterns on the walls flickered a few times and then fully blazed to life. John turned and took in his surroundings. He stood in a large, rounded antechamber. The walls were decorated in the same fashion as the main doors he'd just passed through. Large plaques of bronze depicting churning and crashing waves littered the walls.
In the center of the room is a large bronzed bust of a man, his face stern, eyebrows knitted together in anger. Hanging just below the bust is a red banner with golden letters.
NO GODS OR KINGS. ONLY MAN.
Taking a few tentative steps, John found a small plaque on the railing below the bust.
Is there a country for men like me? - Mycroft Holmes
Still shivering, John moved around the central display and found a set of stairs leading down. The wet sound of his boots squeaked loudly over the music. The stairs curved behind the large pillar in the center of the room and as John made the last bit of the turn, he came upon a large sphere gently bobbing in the ocean water that surge up through a hole in the floor. A large rounded door swung out from the sphere, showing John it's interior of a dark red bench that lined the inner wall and a large golden lever in the center. To the side was a sign that declared in large bold letters "BATHYSPHERE INSTRUCTIONS."
Looking around, John noticed there are no other doors or passageways from the room. This bathysphere seems to be his only option for shelter and warm. John took a large steadying breath and climbed into the bathysphere, pulling the hatch door firmly behind him.