Prologue: The Ultimate Deception

There’s a certain allure to vanishing completely - the idea of stepping out of your life and reemerging as someone untraceable, free. As I sat in the dark, the shadows of passing cars slipping like phantoms across my walls, the midsummer heat mingled with the sharp burn of whiskey in my throat, I fantasized for the thousandth time about how I’d fake my own death.

It’s the deepest kind of deception, isn't it? A final betrayal against everyone who ever thought they knew you. But more than that, it’s a promise to yourself: to forget everything, forsake everyone who ever loved you, and start anew. Clean. Unmarked. The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

What does it mean to disappear completely, to sever all ties and become someone who no longer exists in the eyes of society? Would it be the ultimate freedom, a release from the prison of your past? Or would it be the ultimate prison - solitary confinement of the soul, where the only company is the shadow of who you used to be?

And what of those left behind? The family who would mourn, the authorities who would search, the life left in ruins. What would it feel like to watch from afar as my old life continued without me? Liberating? Or tormenting, a reminder of a life I could never reclaim?

These thoughts spun in my mind like dark threads, pulling tighter with each pass. The more I considered it, the more I questioned the very nature of identity. What does it mean to be “yourself”? Is there even a true self, or are we just the sum of our roles and relationships? Faking my death would mean rejecting all the expectations and definitions others had placed on me. But in doing so, would I also be losing a part of myself?

Take John Darwin, the man who faked his death with a canoe, hid in his own home, and listened to his wife lie to the authorities. The plan was almost perfect - until the internet unravelled it. Digital breadcrumbs and a passing glance were all it took. If your life has been lived online for years, can you ever truly escape?

Even as I considered these thoughts, I noticed myself wiping my fingerprints off my glass, treading lighter than usual as I made my way to bed. The more I dwelled on it, the more I realized how small the world has become, and how impossible it is to truly escape. Yet, the idea seduced me, pulling me deeper into its grasp.

When I awoke to the bright sunlight, already making me sweat under my linen sheet, I recalled a dream. I was on a large, empty ship, floating in the middle of nowhere - a vessel with a soul, creaking and groaning, a reminder of the vastness of the ocean and the insignificance of man.

It wasn’t just a ship; it was a living myth, a mother waiting in the ocean’s depths to cradle those who sought to leave everything behind. A cold, emotionless sanctuary that neither judged nor condemned.

Still naked, I wandered to my desk and opened my laptop, diving into research on ghost ships - giant hulks that had drifted into the unknown, forgotten by the world. There was something about those stories that resonated with me, something that felt like freedom.

If you were to disappear, then possibly the best place to do that is someplace that's already vanished. The ocean hides many secrets, and some of them should never be found.

And there it was - the SS Leviathan. An abandoned tanker that vanished without a trace fifty years ago in the deep Indian Ocean. It must still be there somewhere. And I had to find it.

But as I sat there, staring at the screen, a part of me knew that faking my death wasn’t something I’d ever seriously consider. Yet, the thought stirred something deep within me - a desire for escape, reinvention, and a life free from the chains of my current existence.

I dismissed the notion for now, but the seed had been planted, its roots twisting into the depths of my mind. The fantasy of disappearing was no longer just a fleeting thought; it was becoming a part of me, a dark, seductive whisper that I knew would haunt me, subtly influencing my decisions and actions, whether I wanted it to or not.