Drawing himself along the steps into the cool air was more refreshing than he could ever describe. Water ran across his pale skin, calming the effects of the scorching sun. He had never had much of a tolerance for heat and it was a trait that hadn’t decreased much with maturity. Childhood had seen him called a ‘water baby’, but unlike the characters of Reverend Charles Kingsley’s classic – his actions had never brought him much closer to redemption. Villainy was a strong word that he had heard used to describe his activities but the man they had dubbed Aquaman disagreed. What they claimed to be villainy and terrorism was in his eyes justice. Greedy men on the land had often abused the resources of the ocean, drawing its natural oil reserves to the surface was a short-term solution to a permanent problem. It was a solution that would only damage the oceans. His mind shuddered back to the BP Oil Spill, and the number of deaths caused by it. Lives may not have been human but they had been lost all the same.

Aquaman boarded the deck. His frown only deepened as his eyes met with those of the armed guards. Jim Mason’s reforms on the oil rigs had led to a lot more trouble than when he had started his crusade, but he wasn’t willing to back down. Every life was precious to him, but he couldn’t save those who didn’t want to be rescued. Bullets fired wildly and he was again reminded that he didn’t face soldiers. Only men stood before him, guarding something they didn’t fully believe. Money was a powerful driving force for the weak. Many underestimated the maritime menace, his abilities were underwhelming when described in the media. Aquaman was not a god amongst men, nor was he a mouse. He was every bit as temperamental as the oceans that housed him, the very area he was determined to protect.

It was the truth to say that he had come a long way from the lighthouse of his youth, and the fishing boats on which he made a living.

Effortlessly the bullets snapped back from his skin, causing the men to flinch from their own attacks. From behind his domino mask, Aquaman watched the pathetic men who challenged him. He was a proud man. Still, as the green hued gloves crashed their balled fists into the man’s face until he stop moving. Unconscious but alive, and sooner or later all on board would be the same. Aquaman missed the days when he could burst through the rig and disable it from further use. He had never been faced with casualties because all of them were quick to flee – unless they needed him to evacuate them. Now someone had to be injured before he could even enter the door. Mason had only himself to blame for what the media reported. Aquaman was in a constant stage of reaction, he couldn’t remember a single time when he had made the first move.

His fingers slipped around the metal handle of the door, it crunched under the pressure of his grip, and when he pulled the door back – it collapsed from the hinges. Tossing it to the side caused the second assailant, who had begun to recover, to collapse for a second time. Aquaman didn’t look back but he never noticed what lay ahead. Stepping into the entrance, metal bars shut down around him. Normally, he wouldn’t have even paused but before he could reach out he found sweat beading across his forehead. It was quite a sight to see the handsome, all-American Aquaman collapsing to his knees amidst the blistering heat. Everything in his body seemed to throb and seize as his mind desperately searched for an escape plan. His throat was dry. He had never felt so dry.

“Is this the actions of a hero, upworlder?”

Aquaman struggled to turn towards the snide comments but when he managed too, he was at a loss for what he saw. It was a woman. Her full lips fell into an easy pout and furrowed brows alluded to her annoyance at the scene. Despite the earthly quality of her appearance, Aquaman could say she was like no one he had met before. Her body was held tightly by a wetsuit in varied shimmering shades of green; with the zip pulled down to seductively expose her cleavage. He noted her eyes to be deeper than anything he had ever seen on the ocean floor and her red locks fell messily in a bun onto her shoulder. Her appearance was haphazard and beautiful at the same time. Aquaman had never seen someone so effortless, and he had recently witnessed the rise of costumed heroes across America – and indeed the world. Her frown turned into a smirk as she moved towards the burning bars.

Her arms snapped ahead of her. Before Aquaman’s eyes, water streamed through the air in tendrils and swirled around her hands until they were completely obscured. She seemed to be mumbling something but he felt nothing until the rush of water swept over him. Aquaman’s strength returned through the cerulean haze and he turned his attention towards the cage, tearing it from the walls and freeing himself. She stepped forward with a subtle smile, throwing water above her as she moved through the heated doorway – protecting herself from the blaze. Her clothing and hair stood dried off, but she retained her composure amidst it all.

“You should be more aware of your opponent, fishbait.”

Aquaman’s response was curt. “Who are you?”

“You have such a way with women,” she retorted. “Is that anyway to respond to your saviour? I think not.”

“I–”

She brushed him off as if he were little more than a hindrance. Her touch wasn’t a simple graze; she was much stronger than that. “Forget it, fishbait. We both know why we’re here.”

“I know why I’m here.”

Mason had established this rig from his very own well-funded pocket and Aquaman had only been able to wonder for what purpose. The woman seemed to have understood what he meant but he wasn’t about to share his information with a stranger. Aquaman was a lot of things but trusting wasn’t one of them. He had discovered oil reserves weren’t the only use of this rig. Mason was using it as an opportunity to develop his own personal pharmaceuticals. He wasn’t interested in curing cancer or aids; instead he was concerned with exploring aquatic wildlife’s genomes in order to find a way and purpose in eradicating the threat that was Aquaman. If this woman was in anyway similar to him – she was just as much in threat as he was. Her involvement made sense; it was her sources that he questioned. ‘Upworlder’ alerted him to the fact she wasn’t from the land, but the sea. It reinforced what his father had left for him.

Atlantis is real, son

“I’m not here to challenge you,” replied the woman. “I’m just not here to save the world. I don’t care. I’m looking out for the oceans and myself.”

Aquaman wasted no time in jolting to his feet and following the woman as she descended the staircase into the inner workings of the rig. Mason had chosen a place far enough off shore to go unnoticed by the groups he moved in but very little went unnoticed to the keen eyes of Aquaman. Descending, Aquaman’s eyes no longer noticed the curvature of the woman ahead’s body but the mutilated sea life spread along the tables beneath them. Mason’s masquerade had been a cover for little more than a slaughterhouse, and he was still no steps closer to unlocking the mysteries of Aquaman’s physiology. Balling his fists, it took restraint for the mariner not to launch himself over the railings and destroy everyone who had laid hands on the tortured and broken creatures. Most were unrecognisable as a species, but faint lingers of the sorrow wept over the carcasses. It was an emotional gloom.

His costume left little room for the element of surprise. Unlike the woman who now accompanied him, Aquaman’s costume was regal and bright. His green domino mask was only one element, and the least regal of them all. His hands were clasped tightly in the similar shade of green but his chest shone like a beacon – shimmering oranges like scales across his body, and jagged edges reminiscent of a crustacean around his shoulders and thighs. An ‘A’ centred the gold on his waist, and held up the simple green trousers with crustacean kneecaps. Aquaman noticed her distain at his costume, but she hadn’t been much pleased with him to begin with so he found little frustration in her glares. Howls and calls from the floor beneath them for the maritime twosome into action.

Cerulean eyes watched the ‘little mermaid’ thrust herself over the railings as she fell through the air. Before he could follow suit guards stormed at him from across the bridge. Aquaman had fought many a man during his crusades but he found there was minimal opportunity for him not to cause serious injury to those charging at him now. The walkway they stood on hovered above the main working area – it was a sheer drop onto some seriously heavy-duty equipment. Still, he had to value his life above theirs if it came to it. Mason was a lot of things but he didn’t have the ability to mentally manipulate, these men where every bit as corrupt as the man they served so willingly. His hands caught the first of the men by the scruff of the neck, smashing him down onto the metallic floor and causing the entire bridge to sway.

He would have to re-evaluate or he would send them all hurtling to the ground. Hoping to direct them to sturdier ground, Aquaman flipped from the bridge and crashed into the ground – his fist reaching right through the metal floor into the open air.

Like he had expected, the men rushed down towards him. Aquaman braced him himself as they fired gunshots, each deflecting backwards and striking some of the men at the front. His eyes saw some of them lose hope, and others simply backed away. It was only the true supporters of this cause, the men who despised him, that now stood in his way. To his left, the woman was handling herself with an intense strength that was matched only by her grace. It was a grace that thinly masked her violent bloodlust. Her eyes exposed her all. His attention fell back onto the men ahead of him. Aquaman launched one of the tables that held the remnants of some poor creature towards the men. It was clear that they weren’t the brightest thugs in the world as they failed to scatter and watched it strike them down. Some recovered quicker than the others and attempted to trade punches with the mariner.

In the corner of his eyes he saw the woman finishing off her opponents, and she tossed them aside as if they were little more than trash. Her hands caught hold of the bizarrely positioned vault – he assumed it held the livestock of the experiments – as she tore it from the hinges. Her strength amazed him. Aquaman was less amazed by what confronted them from behind the fault. Mason had sent his men to the slaughter as a sacrifice in his hatred of Aquaman. Instead of rows of containment units, a bomb stood previously activated. Its countdown long set, perhaps from when Aquaman had been caught on the rig. That was the logical time when all securities measures would have been launched.

She stepped back. “Holy Poseidon.”

Without as much as a look back towards him or the other men, she ran for a corridor. Aquaman turned his attention to the bomb but as he rushed forward – it activated.

“No–”

RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

Part I

By Paige McMahon

Amnesty Bay

Arthur Curry was still reeling from the tremendous failure on his behalf as he sat on the stony garden at the foot of the lighthouse. Technically, Mason had been setback once again and that had been the primary objective but villainy seemed to run hand-in-hand with his alter ego, Aquaman. He could only remember as that woman activated the bomb and blew the oil rig apart. His durability was the only reason he had survived but his thoughts were with all of those who hadn’t made it through the blazing inferno. Men with families who would never understand what had really been happening or why they had lost their children, but who would always blame Aquaman. He had already heard some of the early news reports on the radio, none of which had been favourable.

He knew no-one who he could speak with. His father was gone and Kako had no idea about his double life, and he would have to keep it that way for as long as possible. Brushing his fingers through his blond hair, he watched the water. Apart from the island of Comstock, the view was nothing but beautiful, uninterrupted ocean. He had been born in Amnesty Bay, and he had never even travelled beyond its boundaries. Not on land at least. His father had been quiet, insular and pensive. This lighthouse had been their entire lives, their home and Arthur’s playground. It was even his father’s final resting place. Tom Curry wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

It was that one grave that anchored Arthur to the South Carolinian community. The small-world feel of school, and church festivals had never really been his favourite pastimes. Like most teenagers, he had felt misplaced despite his popularity. Amnesty Bay was the idyllic area most people dreamed of except those who lived there and found only boredom within the endless monuments to forgotten Confederate heroes, and sidelines of forests and sea. It had the duality of feeling like an island whilst being a smaller town in ‘Deep South’.  Tom had made a good life for his son, but Arthur had always wanted to be more than a high school swim coach and now that he had the opportunity, every step had led from one disaster to another.

Sliding from the rocks, he steadily made his way towards the headstone – each step carefully co-ordinated to prevent from collapsing into the sea. On the flattest part of land, facing towards the sea, was the specified area where his father had been buried. It was also where he knew he would be buried one day – possibly sooner than he had previously thought given his ability to get into dangerous situations. Arthur stood in silence, his back against the hard breeze, and wondered what to do. He could pray but that seemed disrespectful. He hadn’t prayed in so long he wasn’t sure if he had the right too. Tom Curry had been the last of his family; he’d never married and had only had Arthur to continue his legacy. He’d been shady about Arthur’s mother but he could only suppose that secret had died with his father.

“Dad–”

Arthur paused.

“Dad, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know what I’m doing at all, really.” His hands were folded and his eyes shut. “Things were so much easier when you were around. You were like some kind of moral compass. I killed those men. I didn’t set off the bomb but I’m part of the reason their dead.”

“Son, it’s okay.”

Arthur Curry stood over the body of his dog, Harold. Life at the lighthouse had been sheltered, and at the age of ten his only experiences of Amnesty Bay were as a student. He was left alone because of his father – ‘Mad Curry’. The town had always called him names that he couldn’t understand but he was his father’s son and little could tarnish Tom in his eyes. Even as he stood, tears welling in his eyes, he looked to Tom for comfort. His father was a man’s man. He had been a sailor and a fisherman in his time. He had never been good with his emotions. In most circumstances, he would have brushed his permanently grubby hands through his son’s golden locks as a form of comfort. Today was different. This was Arthur’s first experience with death. Tyre tracks still ran over Harold’s abdomen.

His hands ran around his son’s waist as he lifted him into his arms. Arthur would never forget the expression on his face. Tom often looked at him and told him it was because he reminded him of his wayward mother. Arthur had never known her but even at ten he had little love for the woman who abandoned him. He had once cried himself to sleep when he witnessed all of the others with their mothers but he had grown up since then. His grandparents had been dead long before he’d even been born – Tom had inherited the lighthouse before then too. His mother died when he was young and his father died of bowel cancer not long after. Tom was a man who always seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a retired fisherman who did some work along the harbour, nothing more adventurous than gutting fish but he missed the sea.

Tom scrunched up his face, his fingers rubbing his thickly covered chin. “Death isn’t something anyone can explain, son.” He breathed as they looked away from the dog. “I can’t say if he’s gone to a better place because I don’t know. I don’t know what waits for us when we go. Death happens to us all. People see it as an end to everything but sometimes it’s out of our hands and the best we can do is move on.” He looked into his son’s deep blue eyes. “You understand, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

“Good boy,” he kissed his son’s forehead. “We don’t cry for Harold. We celebrate the fun we had with him. Death isn’t the end because we’ll always remember.”

Death was always remembered. Arthur still remembered playing with Harold, his only companion, on the beach strands near the lighthouse. He still remembered the way the lighthouse smelled after his father brewed coffee in the morning at 5am. Those people would always remember their children, their husbands, and their fathers had been killed by the hands of Aquaman. Tom had never been supportive of his son’s activities but he had never loved him any less for them. He had offered guidance and that guidance wasn’t there anymore. Arthur would have to be the better man. He would have to decide what would take him on that path alone. The note his father had left, the dangerous world he found himself in, and the redheaded woman from the rig were all pointers in the direction he should take. He would find himself through them.

Arthur turned his face to the oceans as the breeze hit harder on his back. His orange tank top blew loosely around his muscular body and his face turned into a frown. He watched as the water surged high into the air and forced itself forward with a tremendous pressure. The oceans had claimed the life of his father less than six months ago, and they now seemed as if they wanted to claim the whole of Comstock and Amnesty Bay. Aquaman’s actions had been to save the oceans at the cost of human life but perhaps he could find a way to save both. Arthur turned back towards the lighthouse, climbing across the rocks as quickly as he could. He would have to defend his home somehow.

Aquaman would be a hero.

Next on Aquaman: Atlantis is all that his on his mind, especially that mysterious redhead. Yet, the tidal wave rushing towards Amnesty Bay may be a more pressing matter but who exactly is behind it all…and why?