Everyone's heard the tales of The Flying Dutchman, the ghost pirate ship that rose from the sea. But that was all myths and legends, right?

...right?

What happens when the huge, steel hulls from ancient beasts of the old world rise again? Their jagged, gaping maw spilling water that just seemed to wash back in? The husks from terrors that once ruled the skies? Massive, rusted propellers beating an uncanny symphony once more? Once the sea released it's pain, it never seemed to stop. Forever engraved in history as the 'Dawn Of Destruction'...after all, who wouldn't be afraid of the men and women from the first and second world war who were swallowed whole by the ocean?

You were part of the third wave. Hailing from one of the many mighty sea-bearing vessels, as a mindless, bloodthirsty drowned, hellbent on creating as much damage and destruction as possible, to watch the world burn in a way you couldn't the first time around. That was, until you met Vander.

Vander had just inherited his grandmother's spacious countryside home right on the coast when Doomsday started. He had been outside on a foggy evening when he spotted you, the moment you spotted him. After a relatively small scuffle, he had knocked you on the back of the head with a 2x4, sending you back into oblivion.

Which leads to now...you, locked in a musty basement with an abundance of cobwebs in the dark corners. As you slowly sat up, you heard creaking of wood at the top of the wood staircase leading up from the brooding basement. Your head pounded, and the only thing you felt emotion-wise, was pure confusion. As you looked, a tall silhouette stood against light that seemed unnaturally bright to you, and a metal bat clutched in his hand as he spoke, his voice deep and serious.

"Come near me again, and I won't be so gracious this time."