Alright, everyone. Guess who's back? A conversation a few evenings ago encouraged me to finally get around to starting the rewrite of this story. This 'chapter' is really just an author's note, letting all individuals who have followed this story and enjoyed it know that I've started fixing it, and that the remade version is now available with one chapter thus far. It can be accessed from my profile, under the title 'Faded Ghosts' (Since FFN doesn't want me naming two stories the same thing, for some reason...Hm.) All below text is irrelevant - the draft of the eighth chapter that never came to be, published only to prevent this story from getting reported for infrigeing on site rules. Anyway, thank you so much to all of you who enjoyed the original version. If you choose to view the rewrite, I hope it will make you as happy as the original seemed to. You all are amazing, and I appreciate your loyalty. Maybe I'll run into you guys soon on the new version.

In Venice, we were all expecting this, the rocking of bombs exploding. But on the Nautilus, no one saw this coming, and the entire League is staggered by the blow. Nemo pushes one of his crewmen out of the way, trying to regain control of the ship while the rest of us flounder, struggling to regain our own balance.

I attempt to maneuver myself to a wall, something I can hold onto before I end up flying across the room. The rocking of the ship makes it tricky, and I fall, landing hard and painfully on my wrist. I make some unappealing grunt, grimacing before forcing myself to continue on. Finally making it to a railing, I cling for dear life to it, then look to see how the rest of the League is faring.

Nemo is still trying to right the Nautilus. "We're taking in water!" one of his men yells. "Controls are not responding! Primary engine room almost full. Aft bulkhead open. Pump valves jammed!" he reports, bringing in piece after piece of bad news. "

Seal it off!" Nemo yells.

"There are men in there!" the sailor protests.

"For the greater good, we must seal it!" Nemo responds, and I'm shocked. I feel bad for Nemo- that can't be an easy call to make. I grimace, feeling pity for the old sailor, and cling tighter to my rail.

At first glance, the remaining members of the League all appear to be alright, more or less. They're in the same state as I am, hanging on to the nearest object as if their lives depend on it (which they probably do) as the Nautilus tilts precariously. Except for Jekyll.

I look towards the redheaded doctor. "What are you talking about?" he yells. I look around, thinking for a moment that he's talking to somebody, Nemo perhaps, and I just missed it, but no one else is speaking. I watch Jekyll, trying to figure out what is going on. The doctor looks like he's thinking hard, then makes a decision, and, to my shock, he lets go of his hand hold and takes off to someplace else on the rapidly sinking boat.

"Jekyll!" Quatermain yells. "Where in God's name are you going?" he asks. But there is no response. I stare after him in shock, wondering where he went, certain that wherever it is, he won't be coming back. I'm almost entirely convinced that the Nautilus is toast, and we're all going to end up dead. I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that I had either finished reading the story before getting into a car accident or never found it at all, so maybe I could be stuck in a different story. Preferably one where we didn't all end up dead.

You coward, my mind taunts. I can't even dispute the label. I know it's true. As long as nothing goes terribly wrong and you're safe, you're content to be here. Whenever real trouble shows up, you want to run away.

Maybe if I had words, I could fight that claim like I wanted to. I could call for order, ask for something to do, act out against what made me afraid.

But I don't have words. My silence is the only thing I have.

I want to speak out and say something meaningful, or maybe ask if I can help rather than sitting here contemplating my imminent death, but, just my luck, I can't even use my improvised form of speech right now. My journal is already halfway across the room, and I'm trying not to follow suit. So instead I watch.

Sawyer tries to ask if there's something, anything we can do, but either Nemo doesn't hear or can't take the time to answer, because he moves on without answering, determination in his eyes.

"Are we going down?" Saywer calls over the mayhem. Even though I have nothing against the American agent, I can't help rolling my eyes. No, this is perfectly normal. Of course we're going down! There are huge holes in the Nautilus. Quatermain yells something back, but I can't hear it. I'm losing my grip on the rail. A few more seconds and I'll let go entirely, and that will be the end of me.

An icy calm sets over me. I'm going to die, drowned and sinking in the sword of the ocean in a story I never should have even been in. It's bitterly ironic, but not surprising. Still, if I'm going down, I'm going down doing something. I refuse to end up dying while clinging to a rail for dear life and worrying about my imminent demise. If anyone in this world finds my corpse, they won't find it hanging on afraid.

I let go of the rail.