Start here: a bright, loud, sun-drenched adventure on the water. The kind of breathless escapism that makes you feel like a kid again, reading under the covers past your bedtime. A crew of salvagers and runaways who have completely forgotten the apocalypse, building a vibrant, messy, gloriously alive world right on top of the haunted, rusting bones of the old machines. The sun is warm. The water is bright. The Red Cedar is fast.

Don’t trust a second of it.

The further out from shore you sail, the colder the water gets. The vaster. The stranger. The adventure thins the way the light does at the edge of a deep bay in October. By the time you notice, you are no longer reading an adventure at all. You are staring down the throat of something ancient and patient and still breathing: a techno-cathedral that was here long before the kids who sail past it, and will be here long after.

Four parts, one per issue. A single voyage that opens in sunlight and ends somewhere I am not going to spoil. I want someone to captain this comic across the entire run of the magazine. The crew is yours to fall in love with. The cold thing at the end of the water is yours to make me afraid of.

I have the charts. The full script for Part One is ready the moment you say you want the wheel.

Read the vibe. Feel the pull of the water. If your hands are already reaching for a pen, send a transmission and I’ll tell you what’s really out there.

R.H.