#egopats

The human at his side, like many targets or un-allied outsiders before him, had his head obscured by burlap bag adorned with strips of duct tape that formed a frowny face with Xs for eyes. Everything below the mask, however, was very…noticeable. He’d topped off his fluorescent red shorts with a floral patterned shirt full of greens and yellows and pinks that The Newcomer couldn’t help but mentally compare to the technicolor mulch of freshly-vomitted Trix cereal. 

They couldn’t help but give pause, staring as slight recognition weaved through the back of their mind. 

Axel Rentnik; they’d seen and heard him a few times before, but that had always been in the background, always before they were called elsewhere for a task or an update. 

Murdock was leading him, keeping his wings half-spread behind the two of them just in case he sensed any funny business. He planted one hand on top Axel’s shrouded head rather than either of his shoulders. Much like his feet, he had a clutch of gleaming talons jutting out from the base of each knuckle. He could’ve easily scalped this visitor through the burlap if he wanted, but for now, he was content to deliver periodic taps to the forehead and temples. 

Murdock glanced away from his cargo, squinting in The Newcomer’s direction. 

His free hand reached down to a pair of bulky goggles that rested around his neck. He tugged them up and onto his face, forcing his eyes to let him properly focus on anything that wasn’t five miles away. The Newcomer only had about two seconds to peer at his dark brown irises, which seemed a smidge too flat, and pupils, which seemed just a smidge too small. Then, they were hidden behind lenses tinted just as black as the hair on his head and the feathers shrouding his wings.

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted, tilting his head to the side in a manner that was quick and very bird-like.

“Here I am,” The Newcomer replied. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing too special; just a minor business proposal.” Murdock smirked at the offended scoff emanating from under Axel’s hood. “But I thought you might be interested. Maybe you’ll have some ideas about the bargain?” 

The Newcomer hummed. “I might. But that depends: what’s this bargain about?” 

Murdock chuckled, the sound oily and cold as it seeped into the air. “I guess you’ll just have to find out…” 

The Newcomer offered a fond roll of their eyes, then approached as Murdock shuffled one wing to beckon them closer. They stood on the opposite side of their mentor, clamping a firm hand on the guest’s shoulder. 

Axel flinched, then huffed as the three of them started walking, back-tracking the route The Newcomer had just taken. 

“I don’t get it. They’re human, just like me, and they can walk around here like it’s nothing,” Axel muttered, apparently having recognized The Newcomer’s voice as they had his.

“It’s not that they’re human,” Murdock mused. “It’s more that they’ve given us a reason to actually like their company.” 

The Newcomer ducked their head, smiling to themself. 

That smile, unfortunately, died a quick, brutal death. 

“What reason? Whenever I’ve seen them, they’re always doing the small stuff,” Axel challenged, speaking as though they weren’t right beside him. “Just fetching things or dog-paddling around the cove. You don’t even know how much space their boat takes up by the boardwalk. I bet they haven’t even killed anyone for you yet—”

His critiques devolved into a guttural yelp as The Newcomer halted, slamming the heel of their boot onto one of his tennis shoes to keep him in place as they drove their knuckles into his sternum. 

“You don’t know anything about me!” The Newcomer snapped as Axel doubled over in a coughing fit. “You’ve only seen a tenth of all the things I do in this family! I’m always ‘fetching things’ because I don’t drag my damn feet everywhere I go.”

They leaned closer to him. “And don’t act like you’ve got any room to talk about killing. The only thing you could kill is a fucking tuna roll, because you’re the type to microwave sushi. With ketchup.”

They straightened back up and resumed walking, tugging Axel along. Murdock kept pace, giving his mentee an appraising look. While they appreciated it, they chewed their lip, trying to bring neutrality back to their features. 

Confidence was key in an industry like this; they knew they had to stand up for themself, to not let any insult or backhanded gesture fly with impunity. 

But Axel was the type to be desperate for attention. Any type of attention, really. And the fact they’d technically fed into that soured what should’ve been a satisfying Take No Shit moment. 

Axel didn’t have the biggest reputation in the underground circles. He knew how to navigate the Black Market, but he was in no way a professional criminal; he was just a dude who’d gone through a very bad, very embarrassing stint in local speed-boating events. 

The Newcomer hadn’t gotten the full story, but they did know that Axel, after being discharged from his posse due to mistakes involving jet-skis and exotic parrots, had spiraled down a path of things that weren’t much better. He clearly had a whole bag of egregiously greasy chips on his shoulder, and those chips just couldn’t stop spilling into his hands. 

He’d made a few macabre sales here and there—nothing on the same level as the organs Caliban semi-regularly harvested from targets, though. 

(Except for that one time when Two-Fins Johnny had decided to throw him a freshly-dispatched target just to see what would happen. Short answer: nothing good, since Johnny had also offhandedly mentioned a dead porpoise washing up nearby. Fiji mermaids had already been obvious failures way back in the 1800s, and that was when they’d just been mummified monkeys. The following week had been ugly, as Axel had no talent for hiding any type of body, and since he was the whiny type, The Pentas Shoal technically couldn’t let him be arrested without a sudden, violent case of speech impairment. And even after everything had finally more or less settled down, Caliban still gave Johnny a few stress-bites and verbal jabs for wasting a perfectly good corpse.) 

So far, Axel had to contend with smaller bits, like shed scales or dead jellyfish or salt-encrusted bones that the waves occasionally pushed onto the sand.

Through much wheedling, he’d even been able to collect feathers from Murdock, Val, Phoenix and Howie after their respective molting periods. He’d tried to sweet-talk his way into a similar arrangement with Mercury and his downy pelt, only to wind up stumbling away with a broken wrist and a thousand-yard stare. 

Whatever proposal had brought him here tonight, it was bound to be as half-baked as it was grandiose.

In no time at all, the three of them reached the main floor connecting Codfather’s flooded half to its dryer half. Murdock paused, giving a quick, short leap that left his lower talons clutching the guardrail at the top of the double-staircase. The Newcomer leaned close to the rail as well, gazing down and spotting a familiar figure circling about the water below.

His skin was a mix of deep blue and pale gray; it was also littered with scars, some bigger than others, some fresher than others. A particularly nasty one stretched around the base of the slightly-curved, triangular fin that protruded from his back. Despite the damage, his form boasted a sheen that honestly could have left you wondering if there was any liquefied silver in his blood. 

This was only amplified by the pattern of stripes that branched and curved almost like marble as they adorned his face, torso, and tail. Whether he was speaking in Thalassic or simply adjusting to the environment, they glowed with a light like pearls coated in a thin layer of ashes.

Those stripes had been a bit dim at first, but they started flickering brighter as he glanced up and noticed them. He tilted his head, smiling and raising one arm out of the water to wave.

The Newcomer waved back, smiled back as they used their free hand to point at the hooded figure at their side. 

Caliban squinted at the gesture, his expression growing sharper as realization washed over his face. 

Murdock stretched one wing to gently tap The Newcomer on the back, and they were promptly marching Axel down the staircase on the right side, all the way to the submerged steps at the very bottom. A muffled, indignant yelp broke the relative silence as he continued to be led further along, only allowed to stop once the water was up to his waist. 

(The same went for The Newcomer, obviously, but unlike the guest, they were wearing a wetsuit, so they didn’t have to worry about sudden pinching and clinging in uncomfortable areas.) 

Caliban watched this, then slithered over to tread water right in front of the duo as The Newcomer pulled the burlap mask away, revealing Axel’s head of stringy brown hair, as well as the wire-rimmed glasses perched before a pair of moss-colored eyes. 

Axel took a few seconds to gain his bearings, still visibly shuddering at the cool water that was now soaking his shoes and socks and unmentionables, but he froze in place soon enough, his eyes widening and his already fair skin turning pale. 

Caliban’s features stretched into a dark, knowing grin, revealing a set of triangular, serrated teeth. They, along with the extra rows crowded just behind them, all glinted in the dim light. “Hey there.”

“...Caliban?” Axel mumbled in a wavering voice, glancing all around as though desperately wishing his analysis was somehow wrong, that someone else with fewer teeth would materialize in the room. 

The mako raised a brow, not dropping his smile. “Who’d you expect—Ivan Sharkovski?” He barked a sarcastic laugh.

His eyes, yellow-tinged with pitch-black pupils that were just a bit too wide for comfort, eventually settled back on The Newcomer; his grin softened somewhat, and he gave them a small nod. 

Getting the signal, The Newcomer nodded in turn and waded back, taking a seat on the display-dais between the staircases and bracing their hands against the edge.

The unmistakable sound of fluttering feathers caught their ear as Murdock swept down from the guardrail to perch a little ways beside them. He stood for a few seconds, hands adjusting his goggles yet again, then dropped to all fours, adapting a pose usually reserved for gargoyles.

Apparently satisfied with his audience, Caliban ever-so-slightly ducked forward, craning his neck above the surface as he began swimming in lazy circles around his potential prey. 

“A medium-sized birdie told me you just came up with a new scheme,” he commented. He aimed a cheeky smirk at Murdock, who stuck his tongue out in response. But then Caliban’s focus returned to Axel, and the casual tone of his voice did not meet his eyes. Not even close. 

Axel shifted in place, visibly shivering from both the cool water and something deeper. “...Yes, that’s right.” 

Caliban gave a theatrical hum topped off with an over-exaggerated nod. “And it sounds like you need my help for it?”

“Yes,” Axel repeated, seemingly having to force the word out. 

“Well, lucky for you, my latest client had to cancel; apparently, the target wound up having a little accident with their hair and a boat propeller…” Caliban trailed off, trying to feign a frown but not succeeding very well thanks to the nausea worming over Axel’s face.

(To be completely fair, The Newcomer’s stomach lurched at the sound of such news, even if that target had it coming.)

“Too bad, but she’s considerate enough to try dropping off a sample for me later tonight.” The mershark shook his head and rolled his shoulders. “But hey, I guess I’m free for more work now. So, lay it on me! What’s cookin’?”

Axel hesitated, glancing over his shoulder, his now pleading, bloodshot eyes locking with The Newcomer’s (relatively) calm gray ones. 

In response, they furrowed their brow, shoulders popping up in an incredulous shrug.

Did he really expect them to vouch for him? Had he forgotten how he’d insulted them, to their face, just a few minutes ago? 

Even if he hadn’t, this was still out of their hands. Whatever this venture was, he’d come up with it, and that meant he couldn’t just go around blaming others for his lack of foresight. 

Caliban glanced between the two of them as he completed another lap. He tossed a wink in The Newcomer’s direction, then lashed his tail forward, sending a small wave directly into Axel’s face. 

Axel sputtered at the sea water, fingers pushing behind his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

“Yoo-hoo,” Caliban called as he passed by again. “C’mon, the suspense is killing me here!”

Axel folded his arms across his chest, scowling as cool droplets continued sliding down his face. 

“Could you stop with the circling?” He blurted as he kept turning around, trying to keep an eye on the mako at all times. Trying to square his jaw and put on a cold expression, like he was judging rather than worrying. “You’re making me dizzy.” 

“And you’re making me hungry, but you don’t see me complaining,” Caliban replied, taking the time to look Axel up and down, obviously relishing how he grew even more tense. “Besides, with the week I’ve had, I’m not gonna waste any of my still-time on some last-minute deal that you still haven’t spit out yet.”

The Newcomer felt something brush against their calf. They froze, trying to remember the specific creatures they’d seen the last time they’d swam through the deeper sections of Codfather’s. It’d always been relatively safe for anyone who wasn’t a target, but there wasn’t really anything to stop feral fish from wandering in.

Since, y’know, that would’ve kept the merfolk members of this whole operation out, and that would’ve defeated the purpose of using this place as the mob’s main base. 

They glanced down; the creature now circling their legs was about as long as a laptop, with a cigar-shaped body that ended in a vertical crescent tail just like Caliban’s. 

It briefly poked its head above the surface, showing off a mouth that was open in a near-perfect circle, revealing the halves of a fleshy suction-cup attached to its face. (Or lips, if you’d prefer. But really, batfish and blobbies were the only sea creatures who had any business having lips.) 

And just behind those lips—teeth. The lower ones were much broader than the upper ones, interlocked to form a cutting-edge like that of a saw. Despite their size, they were obviously sharper than most kitchen knives. 

But The Newcomer's panic evaporated as quickly as it’d appeared. They recognized this cookiecutter shark, mainly thanks to his pale coloration: not quite enough to be compared to snow, but still a huge departure from the vast majority of his species with light brown skin and a darker shade forming a collar around the gills.

Snare bumped his pointed nose into their calf again, prompting them to reach down and brush their fingers against his dorsal fin.

It wasn’t at all uncommon for merfolk to keep more primitive sea creatures as pets (no matter all the awkward looks humans gave them about this practice, since…well, didn’t said sea creatures technically count as less-developed cousins?), and Caliban had hopped on that bandwagon quite a while ago. 

With Azalea’s help during a fateful job, he’d found Snare on a boat full of animals with similar mutations or deformities. Unsurprisingly, that boat had been en-route to some type of research compound in a territory where the cruelty laws were a lot more lax.

Also unsurprisingly, the people who’d been piloting that boat never made it to their destination, leaving one more job completed and one mershark a bit less hungry (though he’d made sure to share some pieces with his new buddy).

Since then, Snare could pretty much always be seen swimming with Caliban, wherever he went. Sometimes he’d drift around his head to share snacks, other times he’d steadily glide just below his torso, not unlike a whale calf with its parent.

And in scenarios like this, he’d dart back and forth between his owner and whoever his owner deemed a friend (as long as they also happened to be in the water), demanding attention or playfully snapping his little jaws because he sometimes seemed to forget just how his species had gotten its name. (Another valid reason for The Newcomer to wear their protective wetsuits most of the time.) 

Now that they knew he was here, The Newcomer could more easily see Snare’s pale shape as he ducked below the surface and glided back over to Caliban for a few minutes. Caliban held one hand still on the water, his smile turning genuine as Snare pushed at it for a pet. 

Even so, the menace rushed back to his expression as he kept circling, briefly lurking closer to Axel. 

Axel took a deep breath. “I wanted to—to get some of your teeth. For the market.”

“Some of my teeth,” Caliban echoed, his smile twitching at the edges. He raised a hand, webbed, clawed fingers fidgeting with the necklace he wouldn’t be caught dead without.

It draped in layers, almost enough to be mistaken for a thin lei from a distance. The string hidden beneath was so long that he’d wrapped it over his head and around his neck at least three times, and it still wasn’t flush to his skin. There was still room to spare…in both aspects.

The charms lined up on it were small and shiny, eager to glint with whatever light was around them. It would’ve been easy to assume that they were just pearls. Each came in a slightly different shape; plenty pearls out there formed with irregularity rather than being perfectly spherical. 

But then you got closer. Close enough to see how some of those charms were off-white, if not stained an odd yellow. How a few here and there were adorned with strange, dark pits in the center. How some of them boasted a thin, chisel-like edge, while others were broader with a more square, ridged surface, but they all had a somewhat conical shape around the middle. How the end of each one tapered into a short, awkward, vaguely root-esque shape…

“I mean the ones in your mouth!” Axel snapped, though he shrank back for the fourth consecutive time as Caliban glanced at him again. 

“I know that,” Caliban huffed. He dropped his hand back into the water, seeming to mull this over for the next moment as he swam.

The Newcomer couldn’t help but fidget in place, feeling their eyes widen. 

The teeth of regular sharks were a dime-a-dozen, both literally and figuratively. But the teeth of mersharks, on the other hand…they could fetch quite a pretty penny. Even in the more legal scenes. 

“Well, how many of my teeth were you thinking about?” Caliban wondered aloud. 

“Uh—maybe about six or so?” Axel replied. 

“‘Or so?’”

“I mean, I…I kinda already have someone lined up, and they…they said they’d prefer a minimum of six, so…” He trailed off, eyes dropping to the water in an attempt to ignore the scrutiny being aimed at him. 

“...Alright, then.” Caliban slithered closer, hovering for a bit. “We might be able to make that happen—

Axel raised his head, a wave of shock and hope crashing over his face. 

“—but that really depends on what you’re gonna give me in exchange.”

Axel’s jaw dropped, his mouth now gaping like a goldfish. 

Caliban clicked his tongue at this. “What? I can’t just give any teeth to you, can I? Not in this economy. You think I’m MADE of teeth?”

Axel’s face twisted as he had an internal debate on whether or not to answer that. 

The Newcomer, having known Caliban for quite a while, knew he used lines that like specifically as traps. 

Sooner or later, Axel realized how pregnant the pause was getting, so he sputtered. “You guys lose at least one tooth per week! You can grow more teeth every single day! How could you ever miss them?”

“Don’t talk about what I may or may not miss,” Caliban snarked. “And even if I didn’t miss them, they still wouldn’t be free. You’re lucky I don’t need money, ‘cause otherwise they’d be at least twenty bucks apiece.” 

“How the hell would that be fair?!”

“It’d be EXTREMELY fair. You humans get charged at least—” Caliban cut himself off, the calculation in his eyes momentarily becoming more curious than menacing. He swam a bit closer to the dais. “Hey, New Stuff! You can help with this; how much does the average dentist visit cost?” 

The Newcomer tilted their head to the side. “I guess it depends, but usually about three-hundred dollars without insurance. And that’s just for routine check-ups and cleanings; major surgeries and fillings are waaaaaay worse.” 

A brief cringe wormed its way around Caliban’s face, but he was smiling again in no time, giving them a nod. “Thanks.”

The Newcomer smirked. “No problem.”

Caliban turned back to Axel. “See? That’s how much you’d have to cough up just to care for your own little nub-teeth.” He shook his head with a mirthless chuckle. “Damn, here’s a human trying to talk about the benefits of currency…”

He paused, ducked below under until he was fully submerged, then re-surfaced to drift right behind Axel. “So, whatever price I’m willing to negotiate has to be better than that.” 

“Well, I already had an offer in mind. Obviously,” Axel snipped in an attempt to cover up a violent flinch. 

“Then why didn’t you lead with it?” Murdock called, eliciting a snicker from Caliban and a scowl from his half-client-half-potential-victim. 

“Tribute,” Axel declared. “I’ve been working part-time as a helmsman down at the boardwalk, and I’ve seen the anglers bringing in a lot of prize fish lately. Mahi-mahi, snooks, pompanos—there was even one swordfish the other day!” He fidgeted with his glasses, licking his lips. “I’ve been watching them; I know when they call off for the day and when they come back in the morning. I could smuggle those hauls over here to you for…let’s say five weeks straight.” 

For the first time all night, the smile faded from Caliban’s features. His pearly-white razors were still exposed, but now they were set in a light snarl. He snaked around Axel again. “You’re gonna need a bigger quote.” 

Axel’s arms fell to his sides. “What? But I said five weeks! You heard that part, right? You wouldn’t have to hunt for a little over a whole month! That’s more than a hundred pounds of—!” 

With only so much space between them, Caliban easily cut him off with a thwack to the face with his tail-fin. “For one thing, I like hunting. And for another thing, I’ve been eating plenty of different fish all week. I even caught a squid for breakfast this morning.” 

“Well, what do you want me to do about that?” Axel demanded, clutching his face to try and dull out the aches that were no doubt streaming along his jaw by now.

And just like that, the smile was twisting along Caliban’s face yet again, even darker this time. His mouth didn’t seem to be stretching wider; the grin appeared deeper. His teeth seemed to be actively lengthening alongside that deepness as the seconds ticked by.

“I’m just fine with getting paid in food,” he hissed. “But I want it to be…unique. Something different from fish or turtles or seagulls.”

His eyes roamed over Axel again, pupils growing even wider than they already were. Like they’d been actual, hollow pits drilled into his head, and now they were sinking, as though they might drag both of his eyes down, down, down. 

Axel’s eyes, meanwhile, bulged from their sockets. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words came out. His shudders turned much more visible, much more violent. The air of false authority he’d been tugging on, the aloof energy that he’d been using as a cover-up…it all went crashing right out the window. 

This only made Caliban’s smile even deeper. The extra rows of teeth behind his current front row seemed to be jostling, as though they wanted to peer out of his mouth to gaze at the human’s face, too.

“I’d settle for a small shank,” Caliban continued, reaching over to prod at Axel’s forearm, claws just barely held back from pressing hard enough to draw blood. “Oh, and maybe you could give Snare a little bite from your calf; he’s been deserving a special treat lately.”

Axel flinched back, a short cry tearing through the air as he vigorously shook his head. “You—you can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Caliban tilted his head with a chuckle that sounded so jagged, like it’d been solid enough to get caught on his teeth on the way out. “Your skin would repair itself after a while. You’ll never even miss whatever pieces I take…” 

“How do you know?!” Axel shouted. “If you cut too far down—the infection I cold get just from being in here—!”

He turned on his heel, trying to wade over to the stairs. Whether the waves had grown a bit more heavy over time or his legs were just too shaky underneath, he didn’t make it far. 

Caliban darted past, now swimming so fast that his tail was stirring up foam on the water. 

He turned just in time to halfway-lunge at Axel, his teeth snapping on empty air.

Axel cried out again, immediately back-pedaling.

“Oh, please! We both know you could clean out your wound in no time,” Caliban jeered. 

Axel tried to protest, but Caliban interjected with a melodramatic sigh. 

“What were you expecting? You laid out your terms, and if you really wanna make a deal with me, then you’re gonna have to listen to mine.” 

Caliban’s tail lashed back and forth. The scars all across his form seemed to be rippling in-time with the water. “But fine. FINE. If you really can’t give up any cuts…I’d be happy with one of your teeth instead.”

He fidgeted with the oral gems strung around his neck, and with the mania boiling in his eyes, he seemed even more excited about that prospect than getting a fresh, bloody snack.  

Axel kept shaking his head, kept babbling.

The mako kept swimming, but he moved in a straight line this time, effectively herding the human further and further back until the water got deep enough to lift his feet off the floor. He floundered there, desperate to keep his head above water—by the time he finally glanced over his shoulder, he’d been backed all the way to the far side of the room, where the threshold to a downward-sloping hallway now resembled a half-full glass. 

There was nowhere left to go but down, where water would soon waste no time reaching the ceilings of the old aquarium. 

Axel was forced to tread water, to just hover as Caliban swam in close, tight circles around him. 

“I’m being generous right now, Rentnik,” Caliban growled, the gills that arched along his chest and under his arms flaring. “REAL damn generous. Think about it: I’m willing to bet that you didn’t tell anyone where you were going tonight. So no-one would bat an eye if you didn’t come back to wherever you’ve been hiding so far.”

Axel was in a panic now, his breath coming in and out in shallow, hitching gasps. And yet, he still flinched at the statement, more or less confirming it. 

“There’s NOTHING to stop me from just dragging you under, eating my damn fill, and then just taking all your damn teeth as a bonus prize! But I’m willing to avoid all that. Really, I am!” Caliban clicked his teeth together, the stripes on his tail flashing with their pale light. “It’ll just cost you one little thing. And then, I’ll fulfill my part of this whole side-act. Tell you what, I’ll even throw in an extra tooth on top of the six you’re trying to pinch!”

He loomed ever closer, no doubt pouring the smell of salt and old blood into his victim’s face. “That’s the best deal you’re gonna get now. So I suggest you shut up and take it.”

Murdock leaned forward, tapping his talons against the dais in a thoughtful manner, obviously fighting the urge to swoop over there for a better vantage point. The Newcomer shuffled in place, feeling a strange chill race along their spine, a hearty mix of fear and anticipation. 

In the grand scheme of things, though, they weren’t surprised. Caliban’s tenacity had always rivaled his gruesome cravings. 

Makos had a reputation for being insanely clever, often using cunning to get what they wanted or needed. But just like many other creatures—dogs, crows, scorned lovers, social media moderators—they could be pretty damn vicious if you gave them a reason. 

After what felt like an hour, Axel finally lowered his in head in a small, weak nod. 

“Okay, okay,” he blubbered. “Just let me go, and I’ll set something up at the dental office—”

“Nope.” Caliban let out a laugh that was equal parts harsh and genuinely amused. “You think I’m stupid enough to just let you run off and out of town, if not send any cops down here? No, you’re giving me that tooth tonight. Right here, right now.” 

Tears slipped down Axel’s face; he clenched his jaw in an effort to keep any sobs trapped in his chest. But he didn’t protest. He peered over at The Newcomer again. 

The Newcomer chewed their lip and gave him another shrug. 

“We can make it quick,” Murdock mused. “I’ll go clean off some of Howie’s tools. He’s got way too many pliers anyway.” He tapped The Newcomer’s shoulder with his wing. “And you’ve still got that first-aid kit in your diving bag, right?” 

The Newcomer nodded. “I haven’t needed it for a while. There’s still plenty of gauze and cotton balls and gloves in there.” 

“Great! I’ll grab that, too.” The words had barely left Murdock’s mouth before he was in the air, a shadowy blur as he soared up and out of sight through the hallway upstairs. 

Caliban swam over to the dais. He hovered before The Newcomer, close enough for them to see the small, gold ring that had been pierced into his right pectoral fin.

He opened wide, raising his hands to his mouth. He curled one around his lower jaw, using his index finger as an anchor to hold it steady. 

With that, his free hand zeroed in on his first row of upper-teeth. Two claws hooked around one in the spot where a human’s canine would be…and plucked it out. It took a tug at first, but then it slipped from the gums with a soft, fleshy sigh.

Caliban tucked the tooth into his palm, then repeated the process six more times, taking two more of those gleaming blades from the top of his mouth, then sourced the rest from the bottom. 

The entire process only took about two minutes. 

Once he was done, he pushed his macabre poker chips toward The Newcomer. 

The Newcomer cupped their own hands in front of them, accepting the deposit. The seven freshly-excavated teeth tumbled against their gloves. They weren’t even streaked with blood; if anything, they almost appeared polished. 

The same went for Caliban’s gums. They weren’t dripping, weren’t swelling, weren’t showing any signs of distress. Caliban leaned back, gnawing the air as he awkwardly flexed his jaws.

The Newcomer couldn’t help but stare as some of the teeth in his second row slid into place, shuffling into the spots that had just been emptied. The slick, scratching noises that followed nearly drowned out the crashing water all throughout the room.

Caliban gave a few small, experimental snaps, then aimed a wide smile at The Newcomer, his eyes expectant and curious. 

The Newcomer blinked, then gave him a thumbs-up. The change had gone so quickly, so smoothly. His grin was full again, just like it was at the start of all this, as though he hadn’t removed any teeth in the first place. 

And even if they couldn’t see it, they knew that yet another row was already forming further inside their peer’s maw, as well as a still-developing row after that.

All patiently waiting for the day they were needed.

Axel dragged himself over as well, the waves pushing him forward more than anything. He peered at Caliban and The Newcomer with haunted, astounded eyes. 

Caliban pushed him up and onto the dais, where he promptly smacked one side of his face into the display case, leaving a smear on the glass. 

Thinking fast, The Newcomer stood, placing the coveted teeth on top of the case. They’d stay there until all was said and done. 

They felt Axel still staring after them. They turned, kneeling down to push him flat on his back and hold him steady. Murdock would be back any minute—they’d have to cover up his shirt, just to avoid letting him leave with any suspicious stains. (Then again, the Trix-vomit pattern he’d chosen to wear might just solve that problem for them.)

They looked directly into his bloodshot, red-tinged, desperate eyes...and merely raised their brows. 

You couldn’t be given anything without having something taken from you first. That was how it worked everywhere, not just in this industry. Even when it really shouldn’t have been like that…

Caliban, meanwhile, was drifting back and forth between the staircases, gnashing his teeth, never taking his eyes off his new “client.” 

He wasn’t just swimming out of instinct. Now, he was acting with excitement.

Anticipation for the loud, sickening pop that would soon tear through the salty air, for the sopping-wet screams that would follow it.

For the inevitability of blood pouring out of a fresh wound, for the infamous metallic smell to seep out. 

For that smell to be amplified when at least a few crimson droplets plopped down into the water, leaving dark, misty trails.

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A stage stood at the center of the main area, up ahead of the rows of folding tables. It looked pretty rickety, with discolored wooden panels that still showed age and damage despite the layers of paint that had been applied in an obvious rush. Casey couldn’t be sure where it’d come from, but legally speaking, there should’ve been some kind of disclosure about the risk of something unsavory hiding inside it. 

He supposed the exact same thing could be said about the… “performers” up in the spotlight. He knew the stage had to be creaking and groaning under their collective weight (they were hunks of metal covered in fabric, after all), but they were making plenty of noise themselves to drown it out. 

A janky, warbling, pre-recorded song leaked from unseen speakers, somehow in perfect timing with the way each of them swayed and pivoted, their mouths jerking open and shut every few seconds.

Casey tilted his head at the display. He could see why children would be willing to look past all the flaws around here—what kind of kid didn’t like colorful, singing animals? Especially a bear, a bunny, and a chicken? Those were the poster-children for…well, childhood. They were the easiest subjects for picture books and plushies.

Besides, the kids around here would be too busy with cake, or pizza, or the arcade games to really focus on just how blank the animatronics’ eyes were.

The eyes…even with all the imagination that had been put into them, those were the things that really drove the point that the animals weren’t alive, were never intended to be alive.

Casey shook his shoulders, turning on his heel to continue past the stage. Donn was busy enough trying to interview some of the employees; he’d let Casey come on this assignment because he’d actually believed that he wouldn’t have to babysit. 

And one way for Casey to prove that he didn’t need said babysitting was to not get distracted by creepy animatronics.

Get in, make your position clear, and look around in ways that the health inspectors somehow weren’t qualified for. 

That’s all this job was. 

It was simple. It was routine. 

If Casey couldn’t stay a course like this…then really, what was he even good fo—

“Well, hang on just a second!” The voice didn’t bring silence to the room, but it still seemed to carve its way into Casey’s ears. 

Casey had to bite back a groan. Yeah, he knew he was in a literal position of authority, but the word PROFESSIONAL may as well have been burned into the backs of his eyelids at this point, thanks to all the lectures and warnings he’d gotten during training. 

Scratch that earlier sentiment; the Fazbear creepshow wasn’t just limited to the animatronics. 

It had some help from the damn mascots. 

…Or, one of the mascots, to be more specific. 

There were two of them, both following the animal theme the robots had been designed with. 

One dressed as a yellow rabbit with a purple bowtie; he was somewhere else in the building. Maybe he was one of the people Donn had pulled aside for a chat?

And the other—the one Casey begrudgingly turned to face—took on the role of a brown bear with a black top hat that was being worn at a very ridiculous angle.

“You must be lost,” the bear chirped, sliding over to hover in front of Casey, then pointing over his shoulder. “The party’s over there! That’s where the fun is!”

Mr. Bear (because he obviously wasn’t Freddy himself) then glanced over his own shoulder at the hallways Casey needed to check, emphatically shaking his head. “But there’s nothing fun over there. It’s all just boring stuff, and we don’t want our guests to put up with that.” 

Casey rolled his eyes. “Hey—listen, you don’t have to keep up the act with me. You know that, right? I mean, I don’t know the rules around here, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

He knew some theme parks were absolutely tyrannical when it came to the poor saps that had to stuff themselves into costumes just to make ends meet, but this place…well, it didn’t look like it had that much of a powerful, influential budget, but he’d been wrong before. 

Again, Mr. Bear shook his head, this time with a small chuckle. “What are you talking about? I just want to make sure your visit is happy! And you’ll be happiest if you stay over there with the games and the show and the food.”

Casey narrowed his eyes.

As the seconds ticked by, it felt more and more like this guy was just trying to mess with him. Like he could read Casey’s mind, see the thread of discomfort that was weaving its way along his thoughts, and was now deciding to screw with it because he had nothing better to do.

“Listen, I’m not here for any party. I’m just trying to do my job, alright?”

Again, Casey tried to continue down the hallway. 

Again, Mr. Bear found a reason to try and stop him. 

To be fair, though, this latest reason had variety, as it set Casey’s instincts on fire and made him want to haul back and deliver a punch all the way through that stupid mask-head-thing. 

Because as Casey turned to keep walking, weight suddenly manifested around his chest, on his shoulders. 

Close to his neck. 

Mr. Bear had trapped him in a hug. And, like any red-blooded mammal on the receiving end of a trap, Casey cried out and struggled. “What the hell—get off! I never said you could touch me!”

“Aww, why?” Mr. Bear crooned, his grip tightening. “It just looked like you needed one. You know what they say: ‘A hug a day keeps the monsters away!’”

“Nobody has ever said that!” Casey protested, a chill racing down his spine with disrespectful speed. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

His hands found themselves gripping Mr. Bear’s wrists, forcefully prying the grasp open. And just to make the point stick, his elbow slammed against Mr. Bear’s chest, eliciting a short gasp of pain. 

Before he could do anything else, Casey’s nose was only a couple inches away from the mascot’s mask. It was only for a few seconds—just because he had to make sure that Mr. Bear didn’t immediately grab at him again as he backed away. 

But that was more than enough for him to look through the false head’s eye-holes. 

To see the eyes of whoever was really under there. 

Those eyes ere dark. They were dull. They almost looked…dead, in a way. 

The happy tone Mr, Bear had spoken with earlier was so obviously fake, so obviously a script that had been drilled into his sorry skull. But now that Caesy could see his eyes, see how they would never, NEVER match with any kind of act, no matter what is was… 

Casey couldn’t help it. He ran. 

He still went down the hallway, the job still in his head. 

But he if was going to get some distance from Mr. Bear, then he had to do it FAST.

He did NOT want another close encounter. 

In his haste, he didn’t see how Mr. Bear just stood at the corridor’s threshold, staring after him as he got further and further away. 

He didn’t see how Mr. Bear’s gloved hands curled into fists that shook so fiercely that the palms underneath would've started bleeding from the fingernails being dug in. 

But by then, Casey had almost forgotten all about Mr. Bear. 

Because as he turned one corner of the hall, came upon a dingy little door that was sequestered in a darker corner…

Well, the smell hit him first. 

The door was open; just a tiny crack between it and its frame. Whoever had left the room had probably meant to close it. 

But it was too late for that now. 

Because the smell wouldn’t stop, slowly but surely filling up the hall. 

Metallic and sour and wet…

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___

The Boss

Species: Selkie

She’s based on the ribbon seal, since they’re considered very clever in using their environment to their advantage. (Also because I just really want to reference Celine somehow.) Despite her seal-form’s distinctive appearance, all the merfolk working for her have sworn off hunting seals in general to show some extra respect. (This includes selkies; yes, the rest of the mob are allowed to track and potentially abduct selkies if the job calls for it, but they can't grievously harm them. If the selkie in question is a legitimate threat to the mob's way of life, then The Boss will be the one to deal with them.)

She’s a bit of a distant-yet-familiar figure in the city; plenty people know of her, but no-one outside of the family really knows her. She holds ownership of the local boardwalk and marina—as well as the remains of an abandoned aquarium just across from them. Many people can’t agree on how she got said ownership (some say it was through inheritance, others aren’t so sure), but that’s just fine. It’s enough information to keep most outsiders from trespassing. And those who do…well, things never go well for them.

She usually only goes swimming in her seal-form once or twice a week, unless business requires her to travel across water. This is mainly to keep up appearances for the mob (since she’s one of very few members who can fully pass for a human), as well as gather clients and supplies. Even with the other air-breathing members helping carry that stuff out, there’s just so much business to oversee. She still takes her pelt anywhere and everywhere she goes, wearing it as a robe or a shawl. (And trying to steal it from her is an absolute death-sentence, whether by her own hands or those of her peers.)

Murdock Mallory

Species: Harpy

He’s based on the osprey, since they’re known for having incredibly strong and sharp talons (I mean, Murdock would obviously use talons in the place of knives no matter what bird you go for, but ospreys specifically check the aquatic box for this setting).

In my opinion, harpies would have distance-sight on the same level as regular birds of prey (eagles, hawks, etc.). However, I feel like it would also make sense if this caused some harpies to have a sort of ironic near-vision problem (i.e., seeing closer objects as blurry). Murdock would be one to have such a problem in this setting, and that’s where his black-tinted glasses come in. (The Boss gave them to him shortly after he started working for her.)

Much like my headcanon for original Murdock, this one is also a bird-lover. To the point where he sees the crows, pigeons, and seagulls nesting near the local beach as his pets. And while seagulls typically answer to no god, Murdock still has his ways. (No, this does not mean he does anything to stop those seagulls from attacking beach-goers.) The only exception to this is pelicans, because Murdock doesn’t see any respectable qualities in them. He’ll usually just kill them on sight unless he’s focused on something else.

The Newcomer [aka Y/N]

Species: Human

Much like The Boss, their personal history is pretty vague, and they don't mind keeping it that way. At one point in the past, they studied marine biology, and while they were on a scholarship, certain money-problems caught up with them and eventually drove them out of their program. This, of course, led them down a path that grew darker and darker until Murdock found them crashed out on a much rockier part of the beach. They’re not sure why he decided to take them with him that night (and neither is Murdock, if he’s completely honest), but now they have a new life. They have a job, a purpose, and a family that’s WAY more interesting than most other people could afford to run with. So, they can’t really complain.

Much like the original version, The Newcomer mainly assists Murdock and the others with their work. Sometimes they’re the one to lure a target too close to the water. Sometimes they’re holding the camera for the odd murder-tape or two. Sometimes they’ll run around town to relay messages or plant certain things in certain places. And sometimes they get right in on the action, whether being carried through the air by one of the harpies (usually Murdock. He is their main mentor, after all) or swimming alongside the merfolk. Sure, they know how to pilot most vessels, but they like getting in the water whenever they can afford to. (Because otherwise, they would’ve stolen their set of scuba gear for nothing.)

Remember that abandoned aquarium I mentioned? Well, plenty of the other mobsters have made a home there (mainly the harpies roosting in certain old exhibits) and The Newcomer is no different. They’ve made what used to be the gift shop into a sort of apartment. Whenever they aren’t involved in outdoor work, they’re usually running around the halls to help organize supplies/products.

Caliban Crawford

Species: Mershark

He’s based on the mako shark, since they’re infamous for being one of the most intelligent types of shark out there, which they use to be even more of a menace to society.

Due to events in his past, he has a slight fixation on human teeth. So, whenever he’s assigned to harvest organs after a hit-job, he’ll always remove the teeth first; they’re the only parts he won’t agree to sell. He’s gathered a collection of them from his targets, his favorite of them all being a silver piece. (He used to just keep them in a little bag hidden in his lair, but The Newcomer helped him arrange them into a necklace sometime after they met him.)

Also, Snare is still along for the ride! In this universe, he’s a cookie-cutter shark; not just that, but a rare leucistic cookie-cutter shark. Unfortunately, his coloring has led to a few instances of him almost being trapped by researchers. But courtesy of Caliban, those researchers tend to have a bad habit of never making it back to land. (And yes, I know I’m missing a big pun-oppurtunity by not just making him a sea hare, but those things just wouldn’t really work as pets.)

Azalea Crawford

Species: Cecaelia

She’s based on the blue-ringed octopus, since that can reference both poison being her signature method, as well as irl Ro’s height. All the better to grin at whoever decided to underestimate you as they convulse, right? (Though, keep in mind that she wouldn’t actually be tiny. In my opinion, while merfolk in general would be somewhat bigger or smaller than humans, they also just wouldn’t be the exact same size as certain regular fish, since they’re humanoid.)

Yes, she and Caliban are adoptive siblings in this universe instead of biological siblings, but that doesn’t make their bond any less genuine! In fact, since both sharks and octopi are on their own right after birth, there’s a chance neither of them would have survived to adulthood if they hadn’t found each other. (Certain tooth-based events forced Cal to hide out in the same coral reef Aza was using for shelter at the time. Their relationship started off as a bit symbiotic, but that became more and more caring/respectful as they matured.)

Despite her venom-warning-colors, her size and flexibility makes her a shockingly effective spy. It helps that she’s also one of very few merfolk-members who can actually survive on land (granted, she can typically only stay out of the water for thirty minutes or so).

K.O./Kaiser Oasis

Species: Mer-crustacean [I couldn’t find any actual/hypothetical terms for a creature like this that sounded right, leave me alone]

He’s based on the peacock mantis shrimp because of course he is! It’s probably the only thing in the ocean that literally punches its prey to death! Naturally badass! (Working with the same logic I talked about with Azalea, he’d also still be human-sized.)

When it comes to illegal fighting matches, he actually has to hold back a lot of the time (because, again: MANTIS SHRIMP). Sure, he’s usually assigned to kill his opponents. But certain fights just need to last longer (example: ones that are being recorded to be sold on the Dark Web), so he’ll have to begrudgingly go “easy” in the first half.

Despite being humanoid, he still has twelve color-receptors in his eyes. Part of him is understandably smug about being able to see so many things that most other creatures just can’t. Another part of him is sad that he can’t find a way to put those colors on the stuff The Boss arranges to be sold. Yes, impossible colors would make contraband even more tempting/expensive for clients. But then the impossible part comes in…

Garret Wyre 

Species: Mereel

He’s based on the moray eel. Now, while eels technically don’t suffocate their prey like snakes do, they are apparently known to wrap themselves around said prey, basically tying a knot to make escape more difficult. (Plus, this version of Garret still has big, strong hands, even if there’s webs in-between the fingers.)

He almost never goes up to the surface—scratch that, he hardly ever leaves the reef he primarily inhabits (good thing it’s pretty close to the cove). Even when he’s assigned to carry out a hit-job, he’ll go out of his way to stay underwater as much as possible and then, once everything’s said and done, swim back home as fast as possible. So many things could go wrong if he stayed out longer than necessary, right? (Because of this, his work can't to be recorded like many of the others. Although it might be a different story if you offered to use a scuba camera.) The only exception to this is business meetings with The Boss, which usually include the rest of his peers. Other than that, it’ll take a lot of cajoling, bribing, and occasionally fighting to convince him to peek out of the water for something.

While all the merfolk members play a part in hiding or transporting contraband, Garret is the best at it (his paranoia helps. It’s efficient, but it can occasionally lead to even more problems than there were in the first place). He has all sorts of hidey-holes in and around his reef.

Parker Thenope 

Species: Naga

He’s based on the banded sea krait, since they’re cool and…well, I figured I already had enough harpies in here. Ironic, since his name is referencing one of the Greek sirens, who were originally depicted with wings, but eh. (Besides, original Parker is all about drowning his targets, and a naga would have more of an opportunity to take his time with that stuff.)

He’s still very fond of music in this setting (he can still play instruments just as well, too; you say “claws” he says “built-in picks” lol). While he could still work in the industry here—again, I’m an Urban Fantasy Bitch—he’s aware that he doesn’t need a job to survive, thanks to instinct and living semi-feral environment for most of his life. So, he’ll get his music-fix via sneaking into a studio near the beach at night, after all the employees have clocked out. (And while he tries to cover his tracks when he leaves, he still isn’t always successful, so now some of the aforementioned employees are convinced the studio is haunted.)

Much like irl Nate, he hates dolphins. None of his peers know why (sure, dolphins can be assholes, but there’s gotta be something specific for Parker to have such a particular attitude about them), and he doesn’t plan on elaborating. He’s just glad that dolphins typically don’t come into the mob’s territory…although, if they do, he’ll be the first to try running them off. 

Val Ocitie 

Species: Harpy

They’re specifically based on the peregrine falcon, since as far as I know, those birds are still considered the fastest on Earth. And since original Val specializes in bullets, it’s only right that this version of them can move as fast as one.

They have an even more competitive relationship with Murdock in this setting. If they have enough free time and hear that the same goes for Murdock, then they’ll almost always try to challenge him to some kind of competition. Luckily for them, the hitman pretty much never turns down because he’s an adrenaline junkie whose need to show off has replaced some of his common sense.

Unlike Murdock, Val tends to avoid using their talons for hit-jobs. Yes, they know talons are quick and effective, but so are gunshots. Yes, firearms can be hard to come by (and even harder to stash), but sometimes you can’t afford to take the body somewhere else. Sometimes your carnivorous friends aren’t available to drag it underwater. And in such cases, bullet holes are a great way to make potential corpse-discoverers immediately think a human perpetrated the crime.

Two-Toes Johnny 

Species: Mergrouper

He’s based on the goliath grouper, since they’re certified Big Boys who take absolutely no shit from anyone.

Plenty of jobs involve the target being on the wrong boat at the wrong time. While any of the other can sabotage vessels, sometimes that’s just not enough. Sometimes things get so dicey that there’s no option except to just ram the vessel until it tips and sinks. Whenever it comes to that, Johnny’s the guy to turn to (...although he’s also the one to suggest just doing this in the first place, no matter what the job entails. To his credit, it technically is the most surefire way to success.)

Much like Caliban’s thing with teeth, Johnny has an interest in alcoholic products. He still enjoys classic books as well, but you can’t exactly keep collections like that underwater. (Side note: according to my research, fish can indeed get drunk. To be clear, YOU SHOULD NOT TRY TO GET FISH DRUNK FOR ANY REASON BECAUSE ANIMALS DESERVE RESPECT, but it’s possible. Look it up for yourself and then imagine how that would go with merfolk.) Since most of the mobsters in this setting don’t have to rely on money to survive, they often take their payment in other ways (either just the thrill of a hit-job or…luxuries, let’s say). Johnny typically requests either novels or various types of liquor—the stranger/less common, the better. (The Newcomer integrates this into their typical errands, so they’ve gotten plenty of favors out of him.) He owes plenty of favors to The Newcomer, since they tend to. He likes experimenting with them (mixing, aging, etc.), and he’s well-aware of their potential use in jobs.

Phoenix Rhong

Species: Harpy

She’s based on the black kite, since they’re one of those species that will intentionally start fires in order to flush their prey out of hiding.

Out of all the harpies in the mob, Phoenix is the most enamored with shiny things. So, if a target happens to be wearing jewelry at the time of their death, and if said jewelry is deemed not valuable enough to sell on the Black Market, she’ll volunteer to take it.  (Plus, shiny things can be the perfect tools when you need to be at least a little subtle about starting a distraction-fire…unless that fire has to be on a boat to force targets to jump in the water. There’s no way to really be subtle about that stuff.)

She has a bit more of a public presence than most of her peers in the mob...sort of. Let me explain: if harpies were to exist in modern society, it probably wouldn’t be uncommon for humans to try pulling them aside and asking them stuff in the event of a disaster or the like. (Y’know, since harpies are in the air so often, so they could definitely see way more than others can. Also because humans just have to stick their damn noses in everything.) And if anyone would take advantage of something like that to mislead potential witnesses, it’s Phoenix. She is one of the most skilled liars in the mob, so she’s gotta do something with it.

Miles C. Peyote 

Species: Harpy-adjacent [or…a distant cousin of harpies. You’ll see in a sec]

He’s based on the fish-eating bat, or Myotis vivesi, since they’re known for using sophisticated techniques to hunt. Adaptive echolocation would certainly help Miles in setting his traps and making sure targets fall into said traps, no? (Plus, if you have wings and know how to use them, then there’s really nothing to stop you from having any damn vantage point you want to watch shit go down.)

Since a few of the pools in the abandoned aquarium were drained a long time ago, Miles had claimed them as both his trap-building workshop and trap-testing studio. He just likes being prepared before he has to set aforementioned traps up in outdoor job-sites.

While he’s still just as quiet as in the original setting, he’ll pipe up whenever the mob decides to hold onto a target for a while. Because captive targets make excellent lab rats to test his work. (And if a whole target isn’t available, then a spare limb can still work.) Otherwise, he’ll settle for The Newcomer bringing stuff from the old gift shop. He’s sometimes hesitant to use plushies, though, since they make nice decorations for his personal roost.

Howie Thetaxi

Species: Harpy

He’s based on the albatross, since, much like Miles’ case, they’re very clever when it comes to solving problems and navigating via ocean winds.

While all the harpy mobsters here can watch/follow targets or enemies, Howie can usually pick up the slack if the others are busy, since he can travel hundreds of miles (thousands of kilometeres, since irl Ryan is British, lol) in a single trip, as well as locate vessels from a similar distance.

Where original Howie tampers with cars, this Howie does the same with boats. Sabotaging engines, snatching certain parts to replace with counterfeit ones, the works. Plus, if you time it right, if can be shockingly easy to sneak off with smaller boats or jet-skis and the like. Sometimes Howie finds himself doing just that to help The Newcomer whenever a job calls for them to sail instead of swim.

Mercury Fredes

Species: Swan bachelor [I only say that because apparently “bachelor” is the masculine equivalent to the word “maiden.” You'll see, just keep reading]

So. Most of you already know the whole deal with selkies. Well, some myths portray shapeshifting creatures with pretty much the same abilities, only they’re swans instead of seals. Most of those myths were centered around women, but I’ve still seen some things about male selkies, so why not have swans that can turn into men and back again? (And since Mercury is based on Thomas Sanders, it helps that 20% of swans are gay, lol.) Plus, during my research of bird species for the harpies here, I wound up learning that some swan species are adaptable enough to live on beaches and swim in saltwater (particularly mute swans).

Anyway…much like The Boss, Mercury tends to stay in his human form most of the time, wearing his feather-skin in a nice, fluffy jacket. Whenever he does go into swan form, it’s usually part of a plot-and-coordination scheme. Since so many people don't see swans as threatening, it's not too hard for Mercury to get a target to follow him off the beach and into the water so one of his mer-peers can take care of them. (Plus, no-one would ever suspect a wandering swan to be listening in on their conversations...)

That’s just one of the ways this version of Mercury might be even more dangerous than the original. Swans are clever, vicious, and protective. They send plenty of people to the ER each year, and at least one killed a man. I think Casual Geographic said it best: “...where geese are all talk, swans can actually do damage. You could try to humble a swan by grabbing its neck, but you’re still risking your entire way of life if this angry Q-tip Tweety goes for your eyes.”

___

Outsiders/Allies 

Casey Clowes (CoryxKenshin fanego created by @insane4fandoms ) 

Species: Selkie 

He’s based on the gray seal, since they’re known for being very adaptable and perceptive. And as mentioned before, due to The Boss, while he’s still technically a threat to the mob, most of its members won’t go out of their way to kill him. They’ll still taunt him, mess with him, misguide him, and interfere with his work if the job calls for it. But even when confrontations get physical, they’ll make sure he’s able to walk and/or swim away. 

Now, if you know anything about selkies, then you know that stealing their pelts is a horrible thing to do. And, since his creator and I are addicted to angst, this version of Casey has had this little aspect cranked up to eleven; his pelt was irrecoverably destroyed sometime in the past. He still retains many of his non-human abilities (enhanced swimming/diving, scarily long breath-holding threshold, eating raw fish with no consequences, etc.). But he’s unable to shapeshift the way most other selkies can. Even if he’s made a way for himself without that, it obviously wasn’t easy… 

Much like how the mobsters are technically still mobsters, Casey is still technically a detective. Despite his inability to shapeshift, he has a few more limitations than he’d care to admit. (mainly needing money to survive on land). But he still tries to live semi-feral, since he’s just a badass like that. He lives out of a secluded beach house that he personally set up in one of the many sea-caves near the city boardwalk. Whenever he isn’t working, he’s swimming/diving to hunt or simply explore. 

R.D. (my fanmade StephEgo)

Species: Mer-ray

She's based on manta rays, since they're considered one of the most intelligent fish in the ocean. They're highly curious and capable when it comes to complex problem-solving, and have demonstrated exceptional long-term memory skills; I feel that aligns very well with the original R.D.'s scientific career/mindset.

Much like the original version, she has just as strong a career in the Black Market as Caliban (and yeah, they're still very much partners in this AU! Of course they are! They're based off of YouTube's IT Couple, you really think I could just separate them like that?!). Sure, there's already tons of public research involving both humans and merfolk, and said research is more than available to both societies...but that doesn't necessarily mean every single question has been answered. Y'know, due to the fact that they're the questions most people don't want to be answered. So, R.D. has contact with a few less-than-legit characters aside from The Pentas Shoal.

And much like the original version, she finds herself travelling long distances quite often for her work. It wouldn't do for her and her associates to conduct all their experiments in one place, would it? Besides, some materials are only available in certain, out-of-the-way places. Still, R.D. makes sure to return to the waters around the Cove Port Inlets in-between her business ventures.

Sam Ryder (OC created by @sammys-magical-au )

Species: Merlionfish 

As for Sammy’s own request, they’re based on the lionfish. And if you thought regular lionfish were venomous, well you ain’t seen nothing yet. (It just makes sense, considering merfolk are technically highly-advanced fish.) Sure, this aspect has gotten Sam into trouble more than a few times, but they’re smart and crafty with their business. Not only do they have strength on their side, they’re quite literally untouchable for most potential enemies. (And no, they’re never gonna stop bragging about that.) 

While this version of Sam still has better morals than the mobsters, they’re still a bit unhinged and willing to work with them if the situation calls for it. The primary business between them is consensual venom-harvest-selling (something that Cecaelia!Azalea often partakes in herself), but they’re also a great asset when it comes to escorting members or other allies to certain places, as well as guarding certain products for a time. Plus, they’re not above gossiping about certain underground business being held in their home-waters. If said subject happens to align with Pentas operations…well, that’s just business, right?

Much like the original version, Sam doesn’t live in the waters near the Cove Port Inlets. In fact, they live quite a ways across the pond, but they still journey back and forth through different channels for work. They have other allies/friends aside from The Pentas Shoal in the States.

The walk-in freezer was spacious, but all the stuff being stored in there changed that. Still, it looked roomier than it actually was. Keyword: looked. 

“Get out, Cal!” Murdock snarled, hovering in the freezer’s threshold, his hip braced against the side to maintain his balance. His signature black-tinted glasses had slid halfway down the bridge of his nose, exposing his watery eyes for all the world to see. Murdock was usually quick to adjust them, whether to hide his eyes or to simply fidget with the temples. But he was sweating too much to remember his usual reservations. 

One hand held the heavy door open while the other grabbed at a dark blue button down. (It would’ve been an infamous crimson-leather jacket if circumstances were different. But both that article, the black hoodie it was so often paired with, and Murdock’s own overcoat now lay abandoned on the floor.)

“You can’t make me! You can’t make me!” Caliban shot back, snapping his teeth and clawing right back from the other side. Unlike so many times in the past, his voice wasn’t tinged with any taunting or sarcastic humor. It was desperate, like a rabid animal trying to thrash a victim that was halfway wading in a pond. “YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

“You don’t get to just hog it like that!” Murdock protested. “In case you haven’t noticed—” He paused, lowering his head as a gag scraped its way into the air, sounding like his throat was lined with acid and sandpaper. “—We’re ALL fucking suffering from this!”

“Tough luck, I got here first! And look, this STILL isn’t doing much for me! Just try something else!” 

True to Caliban’s word, the frosty air really did seem like the bare minimum; his fair skin was so flushed that he almost resembled the skinned aftermath of the bodies he disposed of on the regular. Really, it almost made the reflexive tears streaming down his face look like they were tinged with blood or plasma. The cherry on top was how his chocolate-colored hair, usually well-kempt, now looked like he’d gotten into a fight with a squirrel on cocaine.

Aftertaste’s main kitchen was a maze of stainless steel countertops. They all supported various equipment, but four of them specifically came with sinks. One for each corner of the huge room. 

Sam was hunched over the nearest one, and though it actually wasn’t meant for stuff like handwashing, Azalea could understand how they weren’t in the right headspace to care. 

The route to the specific oven she’d been using took her right past that sink, right past Sam, so she paused to give her guest a look-over. 

Their tall frame wracked with uncontrollable tremors. The tan skin of their face, as well as the scarlet tips of their otherwise golden hair, were soaked. They’d had a pull-out faucet in a death-grip for a solid five minutes now, so it was hard to tell whether that was from water or sweat. Probably both. 

Sam must’ve felt her presence, because they glanced over their shoulder. Their wide eyes, now rimmed with an irritated pink that somehow managed to compliment the green of their irises, met Azalea’s calm, dark, unafflicted ones. Despite everything, a smile wormed its way across their features. 

“So,” Azalea remarked, tilting her head. “How’d you like it?” Her voice made the question a simple, familliar blend: a dollop of genuine curiosity and a strand of smugness that she did nothing to hide. 

Sam raised a shaking hand to offer a thumbs-up. “Could’ve…been hotter,” they replied, their voice teetering on the edge of a wheeze.

Azalea snorted. “Really? Something that was engineered to be the official spiciest food on the planet?” 

“Hey, you’re talking to a Colombian,” Sam shrugged, then cleared their throat with a bit more force than should’ve been necessary. “It takes some practice, but—but you just get to a point where the capsascin actually feels…kinda nice. Like the muscle-burn after swimming, y’know?”

“Get FUCKED with that!” Murdock hollered, practically twisted his head at a perfect, owl-esque angle to gape at Sam, disgust and shock tearing through the pain. “You’re a fucking MASOCHIST?!”

“DON’T ACT LIKE YOU CAN COME AT ME!” Sam yelled. 

Murdock’s retort was only halfway out of his mouth and in the air before it warped like a section of sheet metal, quickly unraveling further along with a solid thump. The argument had apparently given Caliban the perfect opportunity to snatch something heavy from the freezer’s shelves and bash it into his fellow contract-killer’s chest.

With a fond roll of her eyes, Azalea resumed her task.

She found herself hauling the oven open, releasing a wave of air that put dryer-exhaust to shame and made everyone else in the kitchen flinch. 

The muffin pan she brought out honestly looked a bit sad. Only one of the cups actually held anything, but she only needed one cupcake in the batch to have a special kick to it.

The cupcake only needed a couple more touches before it was ready for tonight’s rendezvous, but it also needed some time to cool off. So, listening to the groans of pain bouncing off the walls, she decided to give out a few more check-ups. 

She fished a couple spare cloths from one of the cupboards, gave Sam another glance, then tactfully trekked across the kitchen to the prep-sink to soak them in freezing water. 

It ended up more convenient that way—K.O. was in a heap just a few feet away, leaning against the wall and fixing the floor with a thousand-yard stare. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay…” He rambled, panting worse than a dog at this point, wincing in-time with each intake of air. 

Azalea leaned down, pressing one of the towels to his forehead. K.O. twitched, automatically raising one hand to hold it there…only for said hand to be shaking too hard to really do anything.  “...OOH, AH—FUCK! My hands don’t work anymore! My hands don’t—I. Can’t. Move. My fiNGERS!”

Azalea pursed her lips.

On one hand, this whole scenario was kind of K.O.’s fault, since he’d been the one to tag along with Murdock and then, after the special peppers had been revealed, decided to blurt out how they might be some of the only things that could ever make Murdock back down. As if he somehow couldn’t have known that Murdock would’ve taken that as a challenge. 

On the other hand, K.O.’s personal career in The Pentas Family was all about punching people, and you couldn’t exactly punch people without functioning hands. So, it made sense for him to be panicked about such a loss, no matter how temporary, because time didn’t mean very much when it came to harboring a botanical demon inside you. 

Azalea left him to it. She stopped at the refrigerator, which was already stocked with a few empty glasses for the drinks that just needed a pre-chilled vibe. She took one and filled it halfway with milk.

Murdock was the type who would have to die before he gave up on his task. (In fact, there might’ve been a chance that when the time finally came, he wouldn’t even get the hint that he needed to just lay down and die until about five minutes later.) But Murdock was human—loathe as he was to admit it, he had his limits just like everyone else. 

While he’d put up a valiant fight, it seemed K.O.’s prediction had come true, because Murdock was sprawled on the floor by the time Azalea reached the freezer’s corner. He ground his jaw, now clutching a big, heavy bag of frozen chuck roll, leeching off as much of the chill as he could before it completely thawed. He probably didn’t need a cool cloth, but Azalea tossed one at him anyway before turning her attention to her brother. 

Caliban seemed to be celebrating his victory over temporary ownership of the freezer space, but it was bittersweet. He was pacing to and fro in a tight circle, elbowing at the shelves around him each time, an uncomfortable bounce and sway in his step. 

“That beef is as good as contaminated now,” Azalea mentioned, raising an eyebrow. “You can keep it, but you’ve also gotta replace it sometime.” 

Caliban nodded shakily. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that, don’t worry.” A few awkward seconds went by before he added, “Thanks.”

Azalea hummed. “You’re bouncing an awful lot. Is that helping?”

“Oh, yeah!” Caliban replied in a gasp. “Anything helps! Anything except breathing. Breathing’s literally the worst right now—DAMN IT. Stop breathing, Cal, stop breathing—”

“I really don’t need you passing out with all this,” Azalea warned. Sure, she was feeling equal parts aggravation and amusement for the situation, but this was her brother. 

Even if he obviously shouldn’t have egged K.O. and Murdock’s squabble on, even if he shouldn’t have let himself be cajoled into the new challenge, he still hadn’t meant for all this chaos. He’d only come here to drop off some of the equipment that R.D. was allowing Azalea to borrow. (Peppers of this caliber, no matter how processed or filtered, could NOT just be handled with basic teaspoons.)

He’d just come over to visit and help like he had for so many other jobs….even if those other jobs hadn’t seen him making such a horrible choice. 

Caliban barked a strangled laugh. “You think this pain’ll just let me pass out? No! No, it’s gonna keep me awake until it FINALLY DIES.” 

Azalea drummed her nails against the glass. “These side-effects are gonna last about six hours. That’s what the official report said, at least.” 

Caliban froze in place, eyes somehow bulging even wider. “How long has it been so far?” 

“About ten minutes.” 

Caliban fell to his knees, just barely grabbing onto one of the shelves to keep from face-planting. That didn’t stop a short, anguished scream from clawing its way out.

Azalea took a step closer, kneeling down and patting her brother’s shoulder as she offered the milk. 

He took it, cupping both shaking hands around it as he raised it to his lips. 

He sipped for a long moment, then paused.

Azalea watched, both concerned and curious. “...Well?”

“S’only effective for about a micro-second,” Caliban announced, already panting and squirming again. “But that’s still an amazing micro-second. It’s like a micro-second of pure heaven!”

Azalea nodded. “Yeah, I figured. Milk’s effective for regular peppers, but in this case, it doesn’t stand much of a chance. It’d probably need something else to work with, but I’m not sure what.” 

Caliban shrugged, taking a another drink and clearly struggling to not just drain the glass all at once. He froze again, contemplation now slithering through the tears. 

“Oh God, you’re right. It needs something else to kick-start it,” Caliban gasped. “It needs a stronger substance—BLOOD. That’s it! I need some blood!”

And just like that, he was back on his feet, just barely giving Azalea enough time to back away. “SAM!” Caliban called, now looming just at the edge of the freezer’s threshold. “Sam, get over here and put your neck in my mouth!”

Azalea followed her brother’s gaze across the kitchen. Sam hadn’t budged from the sink, their shirt now damp from all the high-pressure mouthwashing they’d been doing. 

Azalea expected Sam to fly into a panicked rage at such a statement, but instead, they merely shook their head with a garbled scoff. “Nuh-uh! If you want anything from me, then you’re gonna have to come over HERE!” 

“Oh, you think I WON’T?!” Caliban challenged, his voice a mix of mania and defeat. 

“That’s EXACTLY what think!” Sam snapped. 

And just like that, Caliban found himself in another fight—Murdock would’ve liked to join in on either side, but Azalea was fairly sure he was just dipping in and out of consciousness by now. 

Azalea stayed quiet as she strolled back around the kitchen, mixing up some buttercream frosting with a generous dash of cinnamon. She took a moment to mull over an array of glinting tips for the piping bag.

The noise didn’t do her nerves any favors, but she knew, deep down, that Caliban wouldn’t actually attack Sam. He was serious about The Pentas Family’s policy on allies; he was just trying to funnel his pain into an energy that he could actually use instead of just suffering. 

The only time he’d ever consider betraying those who had genuine trust in him was if he’d literally lost his mind—in a bigger sense than he already had. If his skull was cracked open, if a tumor pressed down on the wrong part of his brain, if he caught a bad case of rabies.

…Still, a lot could happen in the span of one errand, and the restaurant’s kitchen had already seen so much chaos by now…

With that in mind, she placed her very first Aztec Chocolate cupcake into a paper to-go box, tucked it under one arm, then slithered out of the kitchen. 

The bar counter was right outside, the last barrier before Aftertaste’s actual dining room. 

Azalea had worked in this space plenty of times, and when cooking or baking required more of her focus, she had a couple different mixologists on her payroll for when the restaurant was actually open. 

The figure that stood before her, a rotund man who was the only person in The Pentas Family to have an inch over Sam—or the cupcake’s recipient, for that matter—was not technically one of them. He had his own business to take care of in a liquor store down by the beach…but he still had quite a way (less-than-legitimate and otherwise) with all things alcohol, so of course he sometimes stepped in when nights were slow for him. 

Two-Toes Johnny’s hands were a blur around all the containers and vials he’d arranged on the counter. Rum 44, Creme de Violette, Orange Curacao, as well as a few different syrups and a mutilated lime. He swept it all into a shaker, which he held in almost a cradle as he thrashed it up and down. 

After a moment or two, he set it down, grabbing a small, silvery ice pick from under the counter and settling on a glass bowl of frosty cubes. 

Johnny glanced down at Azalea as she leaned against the counter beside him. “Things back there gone to shit yet?” He asked, his gruff tone and regular tone one-in-the-same.

“Pretty much,” Azalea answered. She then nodded to the instruments of intoxication. “Thanks for taking the time to whip this up.” 

Johnny shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Never been much of a cocktail guy myself, but they’re still fun to make. It’s been years since I’ve even thought about Purple Skies at all, and that’s one of the better ones.” 

The ice had been reduced to a mound of glistening pebbles, so Johnny took the shaker back into his hands. He lightly tossed it up, letting it spin through the air before deftly catching it again. (For a guy who only had one mangled toe on each foot, he was awfully coordinated.) 

He opened it up, then poured the concoction into a small, glass bottle, tinted a light green and freshly scrubbed.

Fishing out a long, thin stirring stick, Johnny finished his project with a couple droppers of B'lure Flower Extract.

Johnny took a moment and hovered over it, one of the tattoos on his face—the branch of a cherry blossom tree, which stretched along his jawline and up to his left eyebrow—seeming to twitch as he smirked at the rich, sweet scent.

With that, he rummaged through the bar compartments until he found a cork that would fit, pushing it into the bottle’s opening with a loud, sharp squeak. He then carefully slid it over to Azalea.

She nodded with a smile, setting the box down to pick up the bottle, carefully shifting it in her hands, watching as the liquid inside swirled. She had to squish down the part of her mind that wanted to take a sip. 

Nothing special had been mixed into this drink—it just looked really well-made. 

“And you’re sure he’ll like it?” Azalea wondered aloud. “No offense. It’s just—you haven’t even had a run-in with him yet. You’ve only seen what we’ve shown you about him.” 

“Look, I don’t know how I know, but I just know,” Johnny snorted, wiping his damp hands dry on button-down he wore, its pencil-stripe pattern alternating between black, gray, and a soft shade of gold. “As if readings on booze-preferences would be stable at all. Plus, anyone who doesn’t like purple stuff is a loser.”

“Good point,” Azalea admitted, setting the bottle back down. 

A few moments came and went.

Johnny had been preoccupied with pacing around the bar station, returning all the ingredients he’d used to their proper places. But he still picked up on the awkwardness rather quickly. After all, Azalea wasn’t gathering the two gifts up, wasn’t heading back into the kitchen in order to leave the restaurant through the back door like she and the others had planned….

“What’s up?” Johnny asked, propping an elbow against the counter. 

Azalea chewed her lip, titling her head toward the kitchen door as she fidgeted with her cherry-red headband. “Well…you’ve heard everything that’s been going on back there.”

“It’d be pretty hard not to,” Johnny agreed with a nod. Muffled arguments and cries of anguish alike had been leaking, and as if on cue, someone back there suddenly decided to get a bit louder. It was hard to tell who.

“Right, right.” Azalea folded her arms across her chest. “I know I should’ve put up more of a fight against Murdock wanting to try that out—”

“It’ll keep him from bitching at you in the future, at least,” Johnny smirked, absentmindedly adjusting the belt of Tawny Port-dyed leather around his waist. 

Azalea smirked in spite of herself. She lightly shook her head, and the invisible clouds wove their way around her face. “—but I didn’t, and even though they’re all too out of it to do anything really serious…”

She trailed off, listening to more verbal attacks murmuring from the kitchen. 

Johnny furrowed his brow, which caused his other tattoo—a little star just on his right temple—to dip forward. “Someone’s gotta babysit 'em until they’re back to normal, huh?”

“Yeah,” Azalea admitted begrudgingly. “I know you hate picking up other people’s errands, and I’m really sorry to ask that of you now, but I promise I’ll pay you back for it as soon as I can.”

Johnny blinked at her, then perked up. Not smiling, but a smidge less tense than before. “Oh, you mean I’ve gotta handle the delivery? Sure thing.” 

Azalea paused, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah. It’s just a simple drop-off. Done that a thousand times before.” Johnny raised one hand to scratch at the short, curly brown hair atop his head. “At first I thought you were gonna have me look after the clusterfuck back there.” 

Relief flooded through Azalea’s system, and she didn’t bother hiding it. “Oh, no. I figured leaving you with them in this state would end with you guilty of several war crimes and each of them in a coma for the rest of the month.”

“Damn straight.” Johnny let out a gruff chuckle.

After going over that yes, he did remember the more discreet route to a certain detective’s office, he took both treats and headed into the night.

Sure, it would take a bit longer than he’d like to pick the locks on said office’s main door. 

Sure, he would sneak in and be welcomed by the very unexpected sound of chaos emanating from the office’s upper floor. 

Sure, he would end up giving in to impulse and creeping up the staircase for a peek, only for a bear-suited nutjob to tackle him back down said staircase, forcing him to rush all the way through the office and out to the car that he’d had to park in a very inconvenient way to stay hidden.

Sure, he would inevitably make the crackhead choice to go right back into that office…but only after he’d grabbed the heirloom baseball bat he never left the house without. 

Sure, he would get way more bumps and bruises than he’d care to admit, but he’d still take great satisfaction in whacking his new adversary upside the head until he was an unconscious heap on the floor. 

Sure, he would then have to drag Mr. Bear out, take a few too-long minutes to find where he’d parked his own car (which, as it turned out, was badly wedged into another nearby alleyway), then do some more lock-picking and trap the fucker in his own backseat. 

Sure, he would have to call Howie to come and drive the whacko out of the city, then toss him into a ditch in the middle of nowhere before driving all the way back, and then follow up with a hefty bribe because even though Howie would have a new car to experiment with, he still did not appreciate being dragged out of the chop-shop and into this plan, especially since he’d never been on the roster for it for the first place… 

But hey, Johnny would see the job through.

The rest of the family had done favors for him in the past, so it just made sense for him to do favors himself. He’d make sure the cupcake and cocktail would be left in a good spot for Casey to find. 

(Whenever Casey woke up, that is…Fine, knocking him out kinda did defeat the purpose of The Pentas Family giving him a birthday gift at all, but it really would’ve been easier for Johnny to handle things on his own.)

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Casey knew he was good at his job. His skills had made him highly-prized back at the police department, although that didn’t change how much the department actually deserved to have those skills under it.

He also knew something that many other people in many specific positions did but tried desperately to hide that fact when they had to act like people: 

Following rules never actually guaranteed very much in return for you. 

Oh sure, there was right and wrong, but that was just basic common sense. There were laws too, and for the most part, they were fine. (For the most part…) Those were different from rules. 

It wasn’t that Casey was the type to expect a reward for every little thing. He didn’t have a dependence on validation—that could be nice, but it was it strictly necessary for private investigation? No. It was necessary for things like art, and Casey simply didn’t have time to starve.

Casey just cared about observing and uncovering and then getting paid more than minimum wage. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get an adrenaline rush out of most cases. Not only that, but it also just felt great to help people figure things out on his own terms, without too many authority figures breathing down his neck.

(And on top of that, his greasy landlord did NOT need to get any ideas about the half-apartment-half-office Casey had been renting for years now.)

He’d been pretty successful so far, and rules rarely had a place in most of the situations he’d been hired into. You really just had to make it up as best as you could. 

That said, Casey was human. 

So, if there was one rule that even he wouldn’t dare question, it was staying hydrated. 

He’d had to learn the hard way, of course. Stake-outs tended to be a huge hit-or-miss when it came to work actually being interesting, but nothing ruined the profitable ones quite like an unexpected sore throat. Plenty of jobs required just as much walking as driving, which was usually just a warm-up for running around like a decapitated chicken, and that led to dry-mouth way faster than anyone in any shape would care to admit.

There were definitely bigger risks, bigger issues for a detective deal with. But the fact that was such a small issue made it so much more annoying. (It was on-par with how the pinkie-toe was the absolute worst one to stub, even though any sort of logic should’ve made it the most expendable!)

So it really wasn’t much of a surprise that being gagged with a twisted-up, partially-dry bandana was just the crap de la crap of this current situation. 

“Oh, come on, Casey. Stop looking at me like that,” Mad snipped, his smirk falling as he rolled his eyes. “ I don’t want to use any gags—I mean, not on you—but I can never trust you to be quiet at the right times.”

A barrage of venom mixed with molten lava came flooding out of Casey’s brain, with more than a little support from his lungs, only to crash against the scratchy fabric.

Casey knew that would’ve happened, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was technically proving Mad’s point. He had every damn right to shout and scream right now. 

How had Mad even tracked him down in the first place? They had a few close-encounters in recent years, but thankfully, none of them had seen Mad following him all the way to the Cove Port Inlets.  

Did he have some kind of contact? Had he bought certain bits of information from another sleazeball—or, rather, forced those bits out?

Even with all the years of separation, Casey knew how Mad worked. And in summary, expecting him to work well with anyone else was like expecting a rusty knife to magically not give you tetanus. 

Casey had met quite a few people in his line of work. He’d made plenty of enemies, way more than enough to outnumber his friends, but…

Casey blinked, and Mad’s face was just a couple inches away from his. One hand landed his shoulder, gripping it tight enough to leave little marks through the fabric.

“I don’t like this, Casey. I don’t like how you’re acting,” Mad spat, blunt and selectively aware as ever. “It’s your birthday. That’s when you can do whatever you want. And yet, you haven’t even been celebrating. I came all the way here just to see you…and you still can’t throw me a bone for ONCE.” 

Casey jerked his head away, leaning as far back in the chair as he could. He couldn’t afford to close his eyes, but the smell of gasoline clinging to Mad’s old bear-suit was already making him feel sick. 

Mad’s face twisted, brows arching and eyes widening, as if he had a genuine reason to be offended right now.

A low, aggravated scoff wormed its way through clenched teeth as he raised his free hand. Then, he clutched at Casey’s black hair, forcefully guiding his head up in order to face him. “You’re really just going to IGNORE me, Casey?! You don’t just get to—!”

Whatever else Mad wanted to spew died a violent death on his tongue. 

Because in one swift, fluid movement, Casey swung one of his legs right up, slamming the sole of his shoe directly into Mad’s chest, putting as much strength behind it as possible.  

Mad went sprawling across the room, his side colliding with Casey’s desk before he crumpled to the floor, hacking up lungs that were already pretty damaged from other escapades.

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