PROLOGUE: What the Water Remembers
Recovered fragments from the decades before the final floods. These documents were found in sealed containers, archived servers, and waterproof cases salvaged from the drowned world. They speak of what was lost, what was ignored, and what humanity might have prevented.
Fragment One: The Geneva MeetingUN Climate Emergency Session, Private Recording
Date: August 15, 2035
Location: Conference Room 7, Palais des Nations
[This audio was recorded without authorization by Dr. Keiko Tanaka and recovered from her personal archive after her death in 2051. The session was classified until 2042. Present: Lead climate scientists, finance ministers from G20 nations, and UN officials.]
[00:14:23]
KEIKO TANAKA (IPCC Lead Author): "—and that brings us to the central finding. The ice sheets have passed the point of no return. Even if we stopped all emissions today, we're committed to 4.2 meters of sea level rise by 2100, with another 2 to 5 meters beyond that."
[Silence. Papers shuffling.]
MINISTER CHEN (China): "Dr. Tanaka, when you say 'committed,' you mean—"
TANAKA: "I mean it's happening. It's baked in. The ice is melting right now, and there's no way to stop it. We're just arguing about how fast."
DIRECTOR OKONKWO (UN Emergency Response): "Four point two meters. That's... fourteen feet?"
RASHID (Bangladesh Climate Envoy): "Fourteen feet is the end of my country. You understand that? The entire delta. Dhaka. Chittagong. Eighty million people."
MINISTER WEBER (Germany): "Surely there are adaptation measures—"
RASHID: "With what money? Your report—" [sound of papers] "—your report says managed retreat would cost $400 billion for the Bengal region alone. My country's entire GDP is $450 billion. You're asking us to spend nearly our entire economy to move people inland while also, what, building new cities? New infrastructure? Where does that money come from?"
SECRETARY MARTINEZ (US Treasury): "I think we all understand the financial constraints—"
RASHID: "Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like the countries that caused this crisis are asking the countries drowning from it to pay for the cleanup."
TANAKA: "If I may—the report identifies three scenarios. Managed retreat is the most humane but most expensive. Defensive infrastructure is cheaper but only protects urban centers—"
MINISTER WEBER: "How much cheaper?"
TANAKA: "Eight hundred billion over twenty years. But that's just seawalls and pump systems. And it only works for cities. Rural areas—villages like Sonapur, fishing communities, agricultural zones—they can't be defended economically. The cost per capita is too high."
DIRECTOR OKONKWO: "So in this scenario, how many people are we... not protecting?"
RASHID: "Say it. How many people are we abandoning?"
TANAKA: [pause] "In the Bengal region alone, approximately 50 million rural residents would be displaced over twenty years. They'd need to relocate to camps, to cities, to higher ground. Without managed resettlement programs, we're looking at spontaneous mass migration—"
SECRETARY MARTINEZ: "The third scenario. What was it called? Unmanaged collapse?"
TANAKA: "Yes."
MARTINEZ: "And the cost of that one?"
TANAKA: "We listed it as incalculable. But realistically, you're looking at complete destabilization of the region. Mass casualty events. Disease outbreaks. Regional conflicts over resources. Refugee crises that make Syria look like a practice run. And that's just one region. Miami has 6 million people. The Mekong has 30 million. The Pearl River Delta has 50 million. This is happening everywhere."
[Long silence]
MINISTER WEBER: "Dr. Tanaka, what would you do? If you were in our position?"
TANAKA: "I'd tell the truth. I'd tell people that their homes are going to flood, their aquifers are going to turn salty, and their cities are going to become uninhabitable. I'd tell them we have fifteen years to organize the largest planned migration in human history. And I'd tell them we're going to do it together, because the alternative is watching hundreds of millions of people die."
MINISTER CHEN: "That's political suicide. You're asking us to go home and tell people they need to leave their homes, their jobs, everything—"
TANAKA: "No. I'm telling you that the ocean is going to tell them that. I'm asking you to give them time to prepare instead of time to panic."
[Crosstalk, multiple voices]
DIRECTOR OKONKWO: "Gentleman, please—"
RASHID: "You want to know what this looks like on the ground? I'll tell you. My cousin is a fisherman in Sonapur. Small village, maybe 3,000 people. They've built three seawalls in the last ten years. Each one bigger than the last. Each one fails during the next big storm. They rebuild it anyway because what else can they do? Give up? Watch their children drown?"
SECRETARY MARTINEZ: "That's tragic, but we have to think about feasibility—"
RASHID: "Feasibility? You want to talk about feasibility? Here's what's feasible—" [sound of papers being thrown] "—nothing. None of your scenarios are feasible because they all require one thing we don't have: political will. This report will sit in a filing cabinet. You'll all go back to your capitals and do nothing. And in twenty years, when the water comes, you'll act surprised."
TANAKA: "Dr. Rashid is correct. I've been writing these reports for fifteen years. Every year they get more urgent. Every year the numbers get worse. Every year I think, 'This is the one that will make them act.' And every year—" [voice breaks] "—I'm sorry. May I have a moment?"
[Sound of door opening and closing]
DIRECTOR OKONKWO: "Perhaps we should take a recess—"
MINISTER WEBER: "This isn't productive. Dr. Tanaka is clearly emotional—"
RASHID: "Of course she's emotional! She's been screaming into the void for fifteen years! We all have! And you—" [voice rising] "—you sit here with your cost-benefit analyses, your political considerations, your feasibility studies, while my country drowns!"
SECRETARY MARTINEZ: "Dr. Rashid, I understand your frustration, but the economic realities—"
RASHID: "The economic reality is that you're willing to let eighty million people die because saving them is expensive. Just say it. Just have the honesty to say it."
[Long silence]
MINISTER CHEN: "I think what we're all trying to say is that the scale of intervention required exceeds the current capacity of the international financial system. Even with full cooperation—which we don't have—the numbers simply don't work."
RASHID: "Then we're done here."
OKONKWO: "Dr. Rashid—"
RASHID: "No. We're done. You've made your choice. Now I have to go home and look my cousin in the eye and tell him that the seawall he's building—the one his whole village is investing in, the one they believe will save them—is pointless. That the international community knows it's pointless. That we've known for years. But we let them hope anyway because that was easier than telling them the truth."
[Sound of chair scraping, footsteps, door slamming]
[Long silence]
MINISTER WEBER: "He's not wrong."
SECRETARY MARTINEZ: "No. He's not."
TANAKA: [returning] "I apologize for my outburst. I—"
OKONKWO: "Dr. Tanaka, you have nothing to apologize for. The report will be published. The findings are clear. What happens next is not your responsibility."
TANAKA: "Then whose responsibility is it?"
[No response]
TANAKA: "That's what I thought."
[Recording ends]
EXCERPT FROM IPCC SPECIAL REPORT AR7-EMERGENCY, PAGE 847:
"Scenario C (Unmanaged Collapse) is currently the most likely outcome based on international response patterns to date. The scientific community has fulfilled its mandate. We have measured, modeled, and warned. The remaining barriers to action are not technical, but political and economic. Every year of delay increases the ultimate cost by an estimated 15-20% and reduces the window for managed adaptation. The time for debate has ended. The time for action is now, and it is already late."
Dr. Keiko Tanaka continued writing climate reports for another sixteen years. Each one was more urgent than the last. Each one was filed and forgotten. She died of a stroke in 2051 while watching news footage of the Bengal floods. Her last words were reportedly: "I told them. I told them everything."
Fragment Two: Social Media ArchiveRecovered from Dhaka Servers (Partial)
Date: July 3-8, 2048
@SultanaDhaka:
the water is in my street. third day now. not draining. tastes like chemicals and sewage. children getting sick. government says "temporary flooding" but my grandmother says this is it. this is the thing we were warned about.
@FariaTeacher:
@SultanaDhaka same in my neighborhood. school closed yesterday. they said one week. everyone knows it's not reopening.
@SultanaDhaka:
@FariaTeacher where will the kids go? my daughter keeps asking when she can go back.
@FariaTeacher:
i don't know. i don't have answers anymore. i'm supposed to be the teacher and i don't know anything.
@RahmanFisherman:
harbor is gone. just gone. been fishing these waters forty years. now the boats are in the market square. my grandfather's boat, floating past the mosque. this isn't a flood anymore. the sea decided to stay.
@SultanaDhaka:
@RahmanFisherman where will you go?
@RahmanFisherman:
same place as everyone else. inland. to camps. my brother went last week. he says there are millions already there. says they're calling it "the long march." no food. no medicine. just waiting.
@YounusEngineer:
@RahmanFisherman how long does your brother think before they set up proper infrastructure? schools? clinics?
@RahmanFisherman:
he laughed when i asked that. said to bring everything you want to keep. said it's not a camp. it's a city made of mud and desperation.
@DrAyeshaHasan:
working at the emergency clinic. seeing diseases we thought we'd eradicated. cholera. typhoid. something new they're calling "the red lung" - respiratory infection, spreads through crowded conditions. we're out of antibiotics. out of clean water. out of time.
@SultanaDhaka:
@DrAyeshaHasan my neighbor has that cough. the wet one that sounds like drowning. should i keep my daughter away from her?
@DrAyeshaHasan:
@SultanaDhaka yes. keep everyone away if you can. it's spreading faster than we can track. mortality rate in children is... just keep her away.
@FariaTeacher:
@DrAyeshaHasan you said mortality rate in children is what? WHAT?
@DrAyeshaHasan:
@FariaTeacher i can't. i'm sorry. i can't put that number where parents will see it. just keep your kids dry. keep them away from crowds. and pray.
@RahmanFisherman:
my brother just messaged. red lung is in the camps. spreading through the tents. he says it sounds like a storm at night. everyone coughing. everyone drowning on dry land.
@YounusEngineer:
this is why we needed the seawalls. the big ones. the ones the dutch engineers proposed in 2035. remember? $800 billion they said. "too expensive" the government said.
@RahmanFisherman:
@YounusEngineer and how much is this costing? how much to move 80 million people? how much for all the dead?
@YounusEngineer:
@RahmanFisherman everything. it's costing everything.
@SultanaDhaka:
my daughter is eight years old. she asked me today where we'll sleep tonight. i had no answer. our home is underwater. the relief center is full. the school is full. there is nowhere left.
@FariaTeacher:
@SultanaDhaka try the old market district. i heard they're setting up emergency shelters in the warehouses that are still above water.
@SultanaDhaka:
@FariaTeacher that's five kilometers. through water. with an eight year old.
@FariaTeacher:
i know. i'm sorry. i don't have better answers.
@DrAyeshaHasan:
someone please tell me the international aid is real. someone tell me the supplies are coming. i just watched a mother choose which of her two children gets antibiotics. i can't do this anymore. i can't keep making these choices.
@YounusEngineer:
@DrAyeshaHasan saw on the news that the UN is "monitoring the situation" and "coordinating relief efforts." which means nothing is coming.
@RahmanFisherman:
@YounusEngineer the rich people from the high districts got evacuated yesterday. military transports. my cousin works security there. said they've known for a week. didn't tell anyone.
@SultanaDhaka:
@RahmanFisherman they built walls around THEIR neighborhoods with OUR taxes. and now they abandon us?
@RahmanFisherman:
not abandoning. escaping. there's a difference.
@YounusEngineer:
where did they go?
@RahmanFisherman:
singapore. australia. anywhere with high ground and closed borders. anywhere that isn't here.
@SultanaDhaka:
update: found space under a tarp at the aid station. maybe 200 people here now. supposed to hold 50. someone said boats are coming. someone said the military will evacuate us. clinging to rumors like they're life rafts.
@FariaTeacher:
@SultanaDhaka are you near the medical tent? my sister is there. maya hasan. can you tell her i'm looking for her?
@SultanaDhaka:
@FariaTeacher i'll try. it's chaos here. will post if i find her.
@FariaTeacher:
@SultanaDhaka thank you. tell her i love her. tell her i'm coming.
@SultanaDhaka:
@FariaTeacher found her. she's helping at the clinic. she's okay. she says don't come here. the red lung is everywhere. she says go to the camps while you still can.
@FariaTeacher:
she's my sister. i'm not leaving her.
@DrAyeshaHasan:
@FariaTeacher this is Dr. Hasan. maya's colleague. she's right. don't come. we're quarantining the whole district tomorrow. anyone who comes in isn't getting out.
@FariaTeacher:
[ACCOUNT DELETED BY USER]
@RahmanFisherman:
water is rising again. third surge this week. my boat is the only home i have left and it's taking on water. the pumps can't keep up. nothing can keep up.
@YounusEngineer:
@RahmanFisherman the seawalls in sector 9 collapsed this morning. water came in fast. hundreds of people trapped. this is the cascade failure the engineers warned about. one wall fails, pressure on the others increases, they fail, more pressure, more failures. it's all coming down.
@RahmanFisherman:
@YounusEngineer how long?
@YounusEngineer:
@RahmanFisherman until what?
@RahmanFisherman:
until it's all underwater. how long until the city is gone?
@YounusEngineer:
[MESSAGE DELETED]
@YounusEngineer:
months. maybe a year. depends on the storms. but it's not coming back. even if the water recedes, the saltwater destroyed everything. the aquifer. the soil. the foundations. this is permanent.
@SultanaDhaka:
they're making us leave the aid station. too many people. too much sickness. they said go to the camps inland. they gave us a map. a paper map. to walk 40 kilometers with a child.
@SultanaDhaka:
my daughter just asked me if we're going to die. what do i tell her? how do i explain that the world ended and nobody stopped it?
@RahmanFisherman:
@SultanaDhaka you tell her what my grandmother told me. the sea gives and the sea takes. we respect it, we adapt to it, but we don't give up. find the camps. find people. survive.
@SultanaDhaka:
@RahmanFisherman your grandmother lived in a world where the sea had limits. this isn't the same.
@RahmanFisherman:
no. it's not. but we're still here. we're still talking. we're still trying. that has to count for something.
@DrAyeshaHasan:
last post from the clinic. they're shutting down the generators to save fuel. evacuation in the morning if we can. lost sixteen patients today. red lung, mostly. i became a doctor to save lives. instead i'm witnessing the end of a civilization.
@DrAyeshaHasan:
to whoever reads this years from now: we tried. we really did. we built walls and pumps and shelters. we treated the sick and fed the hungry. but the water kept coming and the world kept turning away. remember us. remember we were here. remember we mattered.
@SultanaDhaka:
[FINAL POST] we're leaving tomorrow. walking inland. they built walls to protect their districts. used our tax money. now those walls just make fancy tombs. water doesn't care about walls. water doesn't care about wealth. water doesn't care about anything. goodbye dhaka. i'll miss you even though you drowned us.
@SultanaDhaka:
[ACCOUNT INACTIVE - LAST POST]
@RahmanFisherman:
[ACCOUNT INACTIVE - LAST POST]
@DrAyeshaHasan:
[ACCOUNT INACTIVE - LAST POST]
@YounusEngineer:
[ACCOUNT INACTIVE - LAST POST]
@FariaTeacher:
[ACCOUNT DELETED BY USER]
ARCHIVE NOTE: An estimated 2.3 million social media accounts from the Bengal region went permanently inactive between 2048-2052. This represents a data shadow—the digital ghosts of those who had connectivity long enough to document the beginning of the crisis, but not its continuation. The silence is its own testimony.
The above thread was one of thousands recovered from archived servers. It represents a complete microcosm of the collapse: denial, fear, solidarity, loss, and finally, silence. No one in this thread survived to reactivate their accounts.
Fragment Three: Coastal Defense Solutions, Inc.Internal Memorandum (Leaked 2054)
Date: March 22, 2052
From: Jennifer Walsh, VP Regional Development
To: Executive Board
Re: Bengal Contract Valuation and Risk Assessment
CONFIDENTIAL - DO NOT DISTRIBUTE
Colleagues,
Following our site visits to Dhaka, Kolkata, and Cox's Bazar, I must provide a realistic assessment of our proposed seawall and pump system contracts in the Bengal region.
The Good News:
The Bangladesh government is desperate and has committed $12 billion USD over five years—our largest single contract. The World Bank is backing the loan, which means payment is guaranteed regardless of outcome. This is the "too big to fail" principle working in our favor.
The Bad News:
The project is impossible.
I don't say this lightly. Our engineers have run the numbers six different ways. To actually protect the entire coastal population (80+ million people) would require:
2,400 kilometers of seawalls (8-12 meters high)400+ industrial pump stations (capacity: 500,000 gallons/minute each)Electrical infrastructure to power those pumps 24/7Maintenance crews, spare parts, fuel supplies in perpetuityRedundancy systems for when (not if) storms breach the walls
Real cost: $400-500 billion USD over 20 years, plus $20 billion annually in maintenance.
Their budget: $12 billion total.
What We Can Actually Build:
With $12B, we can protect approximately 8-10 major urban centers. This will save perhaps 15 million people—the wealthy urban core. The other 65 million in rural areas and smaller cities will receive nothing.
The Recommendation:
We take the contract. We build what we can. We document everything to protect ourselves legally. When the rural areas flood (2055-2060 projected), we are not liable—we delivered what the contract specified. The government knew this was a triage solution. They signed it anyway because refusing to act was politically untenable.
Ethical Considerations:
I'll be frank. Several members of my team have moral objections. They argue we're profiting from disaster while knowing we can't save everyone. My response:
If we don't take the contract, another firm will, likely with lower standards15 million saved is better than zero savedThis is the market solution to a problem governments refused to address when it was solvableWe employ 40,000 people who need these contracts
The perfect is the enemy of the good. We build what we can, save who we can, and history will judge us by our actions, not our guilt.
Recommendation: Proceed with contract. Secure liability waivers. Begin construction Q3 2052.
Jennifer Walsh was later tried in absentia by the Dhaka Emergency Tribunal for "criminal negligence and willful profiteering during humanitarian crisis." She did not attend. Her last known location was New Zealand.
Fragment Four: Field JournalDr. Amira Patel, WHO Relief Coordinator
Location: Sonapur Relief Sector, Bengal Coast
Date: May 17, 2057
Day 47
They built another seawall today. The third one in five years.
I watched from the clinic as what seemed like the entire village turned out for the dedication ceremony. The wall is impressive—8 meters high, reinforced with concrete and salvaged steel. The local engineer, a man named Kapoor, stood on top and gave a speech about resilience and endurance. The crowd cheered.
They don't know. Or maybe they do know, and this is their way of fighting back. Sometimes hope is more powerful than engineering.
The WHO projection I'm not supposed to share with them: This wall will fail by 2059, possibly 2060 if they're lucky. The storm surge heights are increasing faster than the models predicted. Last month's cyclone in Myanmar generated a 9-meter surge. These walls were designed for 6-meter maximum.
But what am I supposed to tell them? "Don't bother"?
I met Kapoor's daughter today. Anja, maybe seven years old, bright eyes, already asking questions about how the pumps work. She handed me a jasmine flower her mother had grown. There's still a jasmine bush here. Somehow, despite everything, there's still beauty.
Day 53
The inland camps are full. I mean completely full. We're designed to handle 50,000 displaced persons. Current population: 247,000 and growing daily.
A new disease is spreading. The medics are calling it "Red Lung"—starts as a cough, progresses to fever, ends with bloody sputum. Pneumonia complicated by malnutrition and contaminated water. Mortality rate: 35% in adults, 60% in children under five.
We're out of broad-spectrum antibiotics. Geneva says the next supply shipment is in three weeks. It might as well be three years.
I'm watching people make impossible choices. A mother came to me today, two children, both sick. She asked me which one I would give medicine to if I only had one dose. I told her I'd find medicine for both. I lied. We only had half a dose left, and I gave it to the local militia commander's son because if we lose security, we lose everything.
I used to believe in universal human dignity. Now I believe in triage.
Day 71
Kapoor died today. Red Lung. He was 43 years old, strong, healthy last month. He built that wall believing it would save his family. Maybe it will buy them a few more years.
His wife is in shock. The daughter—Anja—is taking care of her younger brother now. Eight years old and she's already the adult in the family.
I wanted to tell her something hopeful. That help was coming. That the international community was mobilizing. That her father's work mattered.
Instead, I showed her how to purify water using the solar still. Practical knowledge. The only honest thing I could give her.
Day 89
We're evacuating. Not because the situation is improving, but because it's hopeless. The camp infrastructure is collapsing. Disease, overcrowding, and violence have made it unmanageable.
Geneva is recalling all non-essential personnel. Apparently, I'm non-essential. The local medics I've been training will stay—they have nowhere else to go.
I passed through Sonapur on the way to the extraction point. The wall is still standing, but the village is mostly empty. Most families have gone inland. A few holdouts remain, including Kapoor's family.
Little Anja waved to me from their rooftop. I waved back, knowing I would never see her again.
This is how civilizations end. Not with a bang, not even with a whimper. With a wave goodbye.
Dr. Patel's journal was recovered from a sealed container in the remains of the Chittagong medical depot. Her fate is unknown.
Fragment Five: Emergency Broadcast SystemIndia National Network (Archive Transcription)
Date: September 8, 2061
Time: 04:17 GMT+5:30
[Static. Three-tone alert signal. A woman's voice, professional but strained:]
"This is the Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. This is not a test.
A category 6 storm system, designation Cyclone Vayu, is making landfall across the Bengal coast. Sustained winds: 280 kilometers per hour. Storm surge: 11-13 meters anticipated.
All remaining residents in the following coastal districts must evacuate immediately: [list continues for 47 seconds]
This is a catastrophic, unsurvivable event. Seawall systems in Sector 7 and Sector 11 have failed. Repeat: Seawalls have failed. Water is entering residential districts.
Emergency services are suspended. All personnel have been recalled to high ground. We cannot reach you. We cannot help you.
If you are hearing this message and cannot evacuate, move to the highest possible ground. Secure yourself to fixed structures. Prepare to—"
[Signal breaks. 17 seconds of static.]
[Different voice—male, younger, unprofessional:]
"Fuck the script. This is Ahmed, tower control. If anyone's still listening... the storm isn't the problem anymore. The ocean is just... staying. The water from the last three storms never receded. This is permanent.
The government's gone. Evacuated three days ago. Didn't tell us. Didn't tell anyone. The rich folks from the protected districts left on military transports. Left us to figure it out.
If you're still here, if you're listening... there are supply drops happening at GPS coordinates 22.3—"
[Signal terminates abruptly. No further transmissions recorded.]
ARCHIVE NOTE: This broadcast was the last official government communication from the Bengal coastal region. All mainland communications infrastructure ceased operation between September 8-14, 2061. The silence that followed lasted for two years.
Fragment Six: Personal Letter (Recovered from Sealed Container)Author Unknown, addressed "To Whoever Finds This"
Date: June 4, 2063 (Estimated)
[Written in careful, precise handwriting on water-damaged paper. Sealed in plastic wrap inside a metal box.]
To whoever finds this,
My name is Priya Kapoor. I am writing this from the roof of our house in Sonapur. The water came three days ago, during the night. Not a storm—just a tide that rose and never fell. The house is under 30 feet of water now. Only the roof remains.
My husband built the seawall. He was so proud. He believed we could stay, could adapt, could endure. He died two years ago, sick from the camps. The seawall held for four years. That's something, I suppose. Four years longer than we would have had.
My daughter Anja is with me. She's 13 now. Strong. Smart. Practical like her father. Her little brother Sami is here too, but he's sick. Fever, cough. I recognize the symptoms from the camps. I don't have medicine. I don't have clean water. I don't have time.
This is not a cry for help. No one is coming. I know that. I've known it for years. This is a record. A testament. Proof that we were here, that we mattered, that we tried.
To Anja, if you're reading this after I'm gone:
Your father loved you beyond measure. He built that wall not because he was foolish, but because he was brave. Because giving up was unthinkable. Because loving you meant fighting, even when the fight was lost.
I am so sorry, my darling. Sorry for the world we're leaving you. Sorry that your childhood was stolen. Sorry that you had to become strong so young.
But I am also proud. You are brilliant. You are capable. You see how things work, how to mend what's broken. That mind, that gift—it's your inheritance from your father. Use it. Survive.
The blue aid barrels sometimes float by. Your father said they're from an international relief program, but they stopped coming years ago. If you find one, follow the map inside. There are others out there. Communities. People who chose the water instead of the camps.
Find them. Live.
To whoever else reads this:
We were not refugees. We were not statistics. We were teachers, fishermen, engineers, mothers. We had jasmine gardens and market days and children who deserved futures.
You—whoever you are, whenever you are—remember us. Remember that this was a choice. Not an act of God. Not an inevitability. A choice.
People chose profit over prevention. Comfort over change. Denial over action. And when the waters came, they chose to save themselves and leave millions behind.
Remember that when you rebuild. Learn from our deaths. Do better.
There's still beauty here, even now. A bird sang this morning. The sunrise was gold and crimson. Anja found her father's old toolkit, and her eyes lit up like they used to. Even drowning, even dying, we are still human.
Don't forget that. Please, don't forget us.
Priya Kapoor (1st April 2030 - Unknown)
Anja Kapoor (13th March 2050 - )
Sami Kapoor (8th October 2052 - )
We lived here. We mattered. We were loved.
[This letter was found in a sealed container tethered to the remnants of a rooftop structure in the drowned village of Sonapur. The container also held a photograph of a family of four, a small carved wooden bird, and a child's mathematics textbook. No human remains were found at the location.]
Fragment Seven: Automated Weather Station LogBay of Bengal Monitoring Station Delta-7
Location: 21°47'N, 91°22'E
Final Transmission Date: October 13, 2064
[This is an automated transmission from an unmanned research platform. The data was recovered from archived satellite backups. No human interpretation has been added.]
STATION STATUS: AUTONOMOUS MODE - DAY 847
SOLAR POWER: 67% (PANEL 3 OFFLINE)
TRANSMISSION: CONTINUOUS BAND 7.335 MHz
SEA LEVEL DATA (24-HOUR AVERAGE):
Current: +4.73 meters above 2020 baseline
Change from last month: +0.18 meters
Change from last year: +0.92 meters
Rate of change: ACCELERATING
WATER TEMPERATURE: 31.4°C (ABOVE HISTORICAL MAX)
SALINITY: 34.2 ppt (NORMAL)
pH: 7.89 (DECLINING - ACIDIFICATION TREND)
WEATHER CONDITIONS:
Wind: 15 knots NNE
Barometric Pressure: 1012 mb
Precipitation last 24h: 0 mm
VISUAL LOG (AUTOMATED CAMERA):
Frame 10847: Horizon clear. No vessels visible.
Frame 10848: Horizon clear. No vessels visible.
Frame 10849: Debris field visible, bearing 047°. Composition: Structural materials, vegetation, unknown objects.
Frame 10850: Horizon clear. No vessels visible.
[FRAMES 10851-12304: IDENTICAL PATTERN]
COMMUNICATION LOG:
Attempted contact with mainland stations: 0/24 successful
Attempted contact with satellite relay: 1/3 successful
Data transmitted to archive: CONFIRMED
Human response to transmissions: NONE (DAYS SINCE LAST CONTACT: 1,129)
ECOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS:
Plankton bloom detected (coordinates logged)
Large organism detected on sonar (classification: Unknown - likely cetacean)
Seabird population observed: 47 individuals (species: Sooty Tern)
Evidence of human habitation: NEGATIVE
STATION NOTES:
I am alone.
I continue to record.
I continue to transmit.
No one listens.
But I remember.
The water remembers.
[TRANSMISSION ENDS]
Final communication from Station Delta-7. The platform continued transmitting automated data for another 14 months before solar panel failure caused permanent shutdown. When salvage crews reached the station in 2068, they found it empty except for hard drives containing four years of uninterrupted data documenting the drowning of a coastline. No human had witnessed it. The machines watched alone.
Epilogue to the Fragments
These seven fragments span 29 years—from scientific warning to automated silence. They represent thousands of similar documents recovered from the drowned world: reports unread, warnings ignored, voices silenced by water and time.
The collapse was not sudden. It was not unpredictable. It was a slow catastrophe, visible from decades away, that humanity chose not to prevent.
Eighty million people lived in the Bengal coastal zone when the crisis began. By 2065, fewer than two million remained, scattered across floating communities, inland refugee settlements, and exodus ships to higher ground.
The rest are counted only in fragments. In data logs. In photographs sealed in plastic. In letters no one will ever answer.
But some survived. Against all odds, against all reason, some chose to stay with the water. They learned to build on it. To live with it. To remember those who didn't make it.
This is their story.
This is how the world ended.
This is how it began again.
For Anja and Sami, and all the children of the drowned world.
End of Prologue