Some shoals, a pair of sandbars and a mostly sunk container ship woke to rain and surf. It took them a moment to blearily remember it had a name, and that her name was Taylor. A massive shark whined at her blinking eyes as she sat braced against a tree in the shallows. The water was halfway up her stomach, but the waves were gentle amidst the shallow shoals of the lagoon. She tried to remember a dream about some lights, it seemed important, but it was slipping away fast.

Itchy, the name floated up to her, the I-class destroyer dwarfing her in the flesh, while she towered over it in spirit. It had ran itself nearly half aground and was still wiggling closer. “Itchy,” she croaked, “where is your brother?” The idea that the two were inseparable was firmly etched in the front of her mind when she looked at the whining black shark. A large tongue reached out and gave her a firm lick she was in no position to refuse as her body was laden and her engines empty. The last wisps of sleep slipped away as she focused on the present. Empty engines were worrying, but not an immediate concern.

Taylor was ravenous without any reserves, but she was a ravenous ship. It was manageable. A loud splash announced its brother’s arrival, like an eager cat that had caught the canary. Taylor absently checked her batteries and found them dismally low, but turning on her radar and transponder replaced that problem with another. She couldn’t tell much among the swarm of contacts, but after over a week in close proximity to Shinigami she could recognize her signature at a glance, even if she’d been half blind at the time. A group of dots she led turned her way.

Scratch came in smug, carrying a half torn dolphin carcass and promptly lobbed it at Taylor. Seeing how she couldn’t move, that was something of an issue. Her eyes fell on the remains of multiple large fish, clams, crabs and other seafood, a veritable garbage patch that reeked to high heavens and would no doubt be much worse if not for the waves and rain. Her surroundings were covered in it. From what she could tell, only the destroyers tongue baths had ensured she wasn’t covered in offal as well. She certainly felt like she had plenty of fish bones and other nasty stuff stuck in her many teeth.

How? She shouldn’t have asked. The moment she opened her mouth Scratch regurgitated half chewed dolphin all over her. Damn it, she swallowed instinctively, feeling the sweet chum go down the hatch and feed her jolly band of nightmares. “I’m awake, I’m awake already! Stop that!”

Scratch just rolled around in the shallow water, splashing foam everywhere and nosing his brother in the side. Which was sort of helpful since she was covered in gunk. She had to order Itchy not to lick her again, because she was awake and while her skin was steel she was still far too fucking naked for a tongue bath!

“No!? Hallelujah! Praise the fucking Abyss!” she thought as she noticed the change. Her rigging had finally, finally kicked in. Sure she was still a rust bucket and her rigging was a torn mess, but guess who wasn’t roleplaying a nudist anymore? That’s right, this girl, Taylor Fucking Hervert. Herbert? Hebert. Taylor Hebert. That was her name and she wasn’t forgetting it again. The Imps came in last, but still long before her Oneesama’s leisurely stroll got her here.

Bruce, Judy and Bentley fussed over her, the PT boats happy to see her awake, if not moving again. Two of them climbed on each other’s shoulders while the third scooped up handfuls of seawater in his claws. Bentley would hand it off to Judy on top who’d release it above her head, creating a bucket chain shower for her. It was sweet of them, Taylor would be at least a bit presentable when her boss came in.

Blowing open the existence of her minions wasn’t great, but from how hungry her inner demons weren’t it was a worthy sacrifice for surviving whatever the hell the transition that knocked her out was. From the teeth marks on her leg, they’d dragged her here and cared for her. That was loyalty to be treasured.

Taylor Hebert was dead. Long live Taylor Hebert. Like fuck she’s giving up.

Now to take her lumps for being a fainting slowpoke. Anything’s better than being brought up before the Princess in her current state. There’d be time to grieve when she wasn’t a bad day away from being eaten by a crazy cannibal.

***

Shinigami found her wayward freighter near the outer edges of the lagoon. Fat Bertha had pets, wasn’t that sweet. The two I-class destroyers were obsolete for a place like Midway, but they’d been among the first and had never truly failed. Their first mission had been to guard the isle from subs and other enemies, and to this day they still did. By the time they weren’t worthy of fielding, they weren’t worth scrapping either.

But they’d participated in the only battle in which the Enemy had dared to encroach on these waters and survived it, so still they stayed. Their upkeep was negligible by now so the Princess tolerated them. She dismissed them, they were beneath her. Now how to do this properly?

Shinigami held her hand back and one of the escorts promptly presented her with a drink. She dipped two fingers into the thick oil as she neared Bertha, giving her a delighted smile.

“Oh you poor thing, you must be so hungry imouto.”

She made sure to put the right amount of purr, special for her little sister. Those dead eyes snapped to her, before quickly dropping to the sea. A plink of a black drop drew them like artillery coordinates to her fingertips. “Yes! Not a waste after all. Newsgirl is back.”

“You want this Bertha? Aren’t you fat enough already you greedy girl?” she asked as the pets scattered, clearing a path and all but sent running. The shadow of a frown crossed her face before she replied. She was even getting the simpering right, oh she must be sorry.

“I’m sorry Shi-shi-Oneesama. Your imouto is a greedy girl. May I please have some?” she asked with a forced smile, her cheeks burning.

“Oh that was just precious.” Shinigami thrilled, generously letting the lump of iron lick her fingers clean. Because she could, because the sharpness of her teeth didn’t matter. She was in charge here and this little uppity bitch better not forget it.

There was a moment of silence as she tried to decide what new game to play. Oh she knew just the thing. She lifted the girl by her favorite handle. Bertha was always so compliant when you had her by the hair. It was nice. And Shinigami felt it. A faint hum beneath her fingers, under the plates.

Just a back up. A back up generator, but even with the girls eyes turned to her feet Shinigami could see it. In the dark, just a faint hint of light shining from her no longer dead eyes. Because she’d just given her fuel. She laid her ear on the other girl’s chest and could hear the pumps start. Well now… that changed things. Something in her long sleep had finally gone right.

Maybe Bertha could come out of the water to play with the rest of them. She’d been lazing about on the bottom of a sandbar, only her bridge and parts of the superstructure sticking out for too long. This was going to be fun. There was a betting pool in her camp, between the ships that mattered, on just how sizable Fat Bertha was.

***

At the first taste of oil, something in her screamed and she tried to hide her reaction. Her skin was steel and her heart silent but that could change, that needed to change. Maybe this new life came with nasty roommates and some pretty insistent instincts. But she turned inward as the bitch grabbed her by the hair, again. She saw her merry band of Halloween rejects and ordered; “What the fuck are you all looking at?” she whip-cracked, voice ringing with something from beyond the depths. “Get to work!”

Deep inside her, with a lot of groaning and protest, her nightmares scattered, manning their stations. Reserve generators sputtered to life for the very first time, groaning and grinding away. Soon, power poured into her systems, enough for her bridge and for the pumps.

When her eyes opened, a flicker of a familiar dark fire rested in them. Taylor was promptly buried in pale abyssal flesh. Her Oneesama loved trapping her smaller sisters against her chest and squeezing until they squeaked. She looked so happy, genuinely happy for the first time when looking at her. Which instantly put Taylor on guard. She was half carried half dragged to shore and sent back to her duties. Her work was onerous and petty shit, the barbs still flying. Since it was wake up time, breakfast was to be served soon. Thus, she was shortly escorted to the kitchen by a Heavy Cruiser with a penchant for pinching. It was better than fists.

Of course the muzzle was there waiting for her. The kitchen remained a trial, one she did her best to ignore. It didn’t work, much. With so much food so close and her reserves non-existent she couldn’t resist. Taylor didn’t even have enough fuel to pump empty all her decks! Which is why she had a muzzle and got pinched. No pilfering in the kitchen. Finally the first half of the ordeal was over and she brought out the communal pot, setting up plates and pouring for everyone, starting with their brave leader. She wasn’t to have any, of course, but was to stand to the side and wait on any requests, like every time.

Yet as Taylor took her place by the Heavy table, one of the Lights stood up and started removing her muzzle. A whistle brought another girl who pulled up an extra chair, up by the escorts table. She’d miscounted in the routine pouring. There, waiting for her, was an extra serving. Not as big as what the Heavy’s got, but generous for a mere freighter. Slowly, half sure this was some mean trick, she sat down, looking around. The First Pacific East Division went back to their meals, ribbing each other, ordering their lesser and so on.

A particularly lazy heavy cruiser called her over to fetch her some extra crab. When she came back the plate was still there. And she knew there were scavengers. She’d seen them previously. Girls who’d lurk after eating, hoping to catch a discarded plate or steal some extra food from anyone whom they figured they could get away with it. Yet her plate was still there, untouched. She was owned, but so was her food. Hers.

She sat down and started eating. It tasted like heaven. The oil sliding around like fine jam, warm and gooey, while munching on the metal was like bits of chocolate with nuts in them. All seasoned with some fish, adding a bit of a sour tang, like oranges or tangerines. Warm and soft and nothing like cold scraps she dug out of the sands and washed in the sea. It wasn’t scraps, but a full meal. More than she could dig up in a day, two days, in a single serving.

She didn’t cry. That would be showing weakness, like blood in the water. But the sheer relief as howling, insistent warning klaxons quieted and every dial in the red stopped screaming at her was incredible. There would be expectations for this. She was still held here, trapped and abused, in unwilling servitude. But this too, she would remember.