Swim Away

Ducklings Go with Fellow Ducklings

The rest of your drink gone in three gulps the moment Wheeljack's concert finally done. Unlike the last time, the only riot here is the cheers from the guests (including yourself). He only brought three songs (We Will Rock You, You Give Love A Bad Name, and Bad to The Bone), but Wheeljack pulled some stunts along and almost more than an hour was spent on those three songs alone.

The rocker threw off his cowboy hat at the last applause, and a hijabi literally jumped four feet into the air to catch it.

"Nice, sister!" a male voice yells from a distance.

"Phew!" Knock Out's voice is uncharacteristically scratchy and high, a result of singing along with a rocker and trying to rival the loudness without the same equipment, "An absolute throat wrecking performance! Thank you, Wheeljack and our beloved waiters!"

Their exit is accompanied by another round of cheers and applause, and Knock Out takes several seconds to clear his throat before the scratchy voice is back to the smooth one. "And that's the end of our opening. Here we're left with," he flicked his wrist with unnecessary exaggerated moves and continued, "45 minutes until the next session! Now, everyone, let's use all the time we have left wisely to prepare for volleyball and diving session. As for now; Shockwave, Soundwave—the stage is all yours."

The names were mentioned so close together your brain denied he called that damned person, but the fortune is not in your favor today because that guy, looking so out of character (at least the one you've built in your mind) with tosca t-shirt, black shorts, and black eyepatch—you don't think you could ever see that guy in casual outfit.

He should be 24/7 in suits, turtle neck, long mantles or lab coat to match the 'lawful evil' picture he is. Hell, those clothes make him looks even weirder than Soundwave whom, despite the model-like built, is wearing a diving suit with a visor on his face.

Knock Out backs out of the stage the moment Soundwave's ghastly pale hand receives the microphone. His voice, cool and deep like the Pacific Ocean, sounds a little staticky as it filtered through the speakers, "Good afternoon."

The crowd's noise died down in a moment. This guy would make a terrifying lecturer.

"As you know," he began, one hand on his back, "some of you have chosen to participate in volley beach session, and the rest decided to join me in the diving session. Both of the activities are going to start in, approximately, 45 minutes. Shockwave?"

You hope to completely ignore his utter being by busying yourself with the bubbles at the bottom of your glass, but it doesn't do anything to his voice.

"I will be supervising the volleyball session," the one-eyed man announced, "To avoid confusion, the volleyball participants are expected to gather at the west side of the beach, near the parking lot. While the diving participants are expected to gather at the east side," he pointed the big cruise ship, the same cruise ship that got you here, with laid-out staircase.

When the guests turned back to them, the mic is back at Soundwave. "We will be waiting for you at the mentioned spot. The waiter will be looking for your bags and tent, but we'd suggest you check your surrounding in the case for misplaced things. Thank you for your attention."

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"Are those... scooters?"

You pointed the yellow looking things, lined up at one side of the deck from the tail of lining guests. Breakdown followed your finger, "Oh, yea. The diving ducks."

"The what."

"Diving ducks. Soundwave was inspired by the underwater scooter tour after he's back from the Bahamas," Bulkhead added, accidentally elbowing someone's head, "he redraws what he saw and gave it to Wheeljack and Shockwave to copy the thing."

"I'm sorry, he redrew it?"

Breakdown shrugs, "His camera died and he forgot his phone."

You turned to Bulkhead, jaw slightly hanged, "And his handmade blueprint works?"

The bald man hums, "Well, that thing took me 45 ft. below the surface for two hours and still working for the whole testing week, so I guess it is."

Up close, the 'ducks' really looked like what you think underwater-moving scooter would look like. They stood just an inch shorter than you, with a bulbous transparent dome on top and no wheels. And then you looked at Bulkhead, who shouldn't weight less than 90 kg with all those muscles. If these plastic ducks can hold him for a week, I guess they're safe.

But you have no more time to inspect because Breakdown and Bulkhead are ushering you to the aft deck, to the lines of leaning chairs and relaxing couches.

"You remember how the participants are divided into groups back at the bungee jump event?" Breakdown asked, patting off the couch before leading you to take a seat. You nod, and Bulkhead continued, "Here we'll be divided into groups as well. And since there already three of us, we just have to wait for two more participants to join us."

As he says that, waiters started pouring out of the cabin to help the participants finding their group. You can hear the tell-tale distance noises of heavy plastic stuff being moved, getting far and farther away, into the ship itself. Bulkhead and Breakdown, each on your sides, are digging themselves into the couch, making themselves comfortable.

"So, (Y/N)," Breakdown started, using his arms as leaning pillow, "what do you think about global warming?"

"Humanity's attempt to move to Bikini Bottom."

Bulkhead snorts at your reply and it kinda reminds you on how dad would snort, "No shit. I hope they're ready when the poles melted."

"But seriously," you added, putting on your shades, "shit fucked up. We really need to do something about it. I don't have gills nor fins, therefore, I'm not ready to see the drylands getting drowned."

"Well, that's a shame cuz—"

"Is that (Y/N)?!"

Three heads turned to the feminine shriek, and Sonya along with Cindy are jogging to you, bouncing their sun hat and curly hair. You waved back, and the girls greet your hands like you're part of the same high school gang.

"Please, please say you still need more people!" Cindy begged, a little out of character of her Playgirl charm, and her partner continues.

"Maria found her old squad and the boys ditched us for these gym bros," Sonya spat, "The waiters are on shorthand and we don't want to nag them. Please accept us."

Your bodyguards glanced at you. You hum as you think.

"Aren't you a little too fast on proposing to me? At least buy me dinner first."