“What happened to the last fisherman?”
Such question is introduced as a mystery in Dredge. The first of many, that is. As you spend the first few days of your new life as the current fisherman, however, this enigma erodes. The pay sucks. The conditions are inhumane at best. You become endangered if you stay after hours. The sunset, a stop sign for those not at sea, scares you during the first handful of shifts. Until you realize there’s not enough time during the day. With a powerful enough lightbulb, you can make it to sunrise in the same trip. A longer trip means better pay. The cost is in blood, not coin.
Everybody you come across warns you not to get carried away by the sea. Even if the conditions demand otherwise. Nobody wants you to go out at night. Yet you’re asked to, time and time again. A rare fish that appears under the moon light can net for a hefty sum back at bay. Enough to make your boat faster. Sturdier. Increasing the production that a one person crew can do. Improving the efficiency of the gig. It doesn’t matter if you get hurt in the process. Or if you lose a little bit of yourself with each wave. As long as the ship sails again.
And sail again he does. Not to unravel a mystery. He’s aware of his status as an urban legend in the making. An anecdote for the people safe from the sea, about to reach its conclusion. Marooned in a routine that has damaged him in the past. His body isn’t a machine. Flesh and bone cannot be augmented to provide a better service. But as long as there’s some grip left in his hands to maneuver the wheel of the machine that does, he’ll march on. Until the water breaks. Until the shore calls his name no more — and the next replacement sails in.
