TH3 HUNTED RABBIT

The entering figure lingered on the windowsill, then carefully maneuvered himself into a partial handstand on the floor, moving forward bit-by-bit as the rest of it followed along. 

Like most other nagas, his upper-half looked humanoid enough. Sure, it was covered in a thin layer of grayish-white scales, along with bands of black that wove along his arms and curved around his cheekbones and jaw in a way that nearly resembled the imprint of a face-mask, but he still managed to stay a good distance from the Uncanny Valley.  (That wasn’t even mentioning his eyes; they were just as dark as Nic’s.) 

And then, just about where a human’s hips would’ve gone, his waist funneled into a sinuous tail that stretched about seven feet in total length. Those inky stripes kept going from there, growing wider and wrapping about the white in near-perfect circles. 

His scales glistened in the light, as did the short, dark thatch on the top of his head (because, just like merfolk, nagas had even evolved so far as to grow perfectly good hair while still being cold-blooded non-mammals! How the hell did that even work?!) 

Droplets were sliding down all over him, courtesy of the storm outside, leaving thin rivers to trickle down the water and form small puddles on the floor. More of it trailed below the naga’s tail, as he turned to haul the window shut. 

He didn’t seem to mind, though. Not at all. 

Despite the lack of gills growing along his chest, he was clearly meant for watery environments; the end of his tail was vertically compressed into a paddle-shaped tip that boasted some vague resemblance to a fin.

Hell, Nic had even seen it in action once or twice, apart from these midnight rendezvous. 

Back when he’d first moved to the Cove Port Inlets, he’d gone out of his way to find a rental as close to the local beach as possible. Yes, the bungalows and condos that had been built on on certain parts of that beach would’ve been even better, but they also couldn’t even be rented without either selling a few of your organs, or coming from a rich family with the purpose of being handed a swanky paid internship and still potentially winding up selling someone else’s organs.) 

From there, he’d long-since made a habit to visit the beach a couple times per week, using some of his free time to shift and dive and swim, all the things his pelt was meant for. 

Nic usually kept to himself on such swims, but it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to become a random onlooker to local merfolk and the like. And that, in turn, had paved the way for him to occasionally catch a long, spiral-striped tail gliding through the water’s haze, usually by the cluster of sea-caves that sat near the cove.

That same naga, he was sure of it, his coils winding through the water in a way that made his stripes seem to be spiraling around him. Nic had never approached him there, and he didn’t plan to in the future. Whatever errands he’d been running, wherever he was swimming to or from, he always moved so fast…

The visitor pulled away from the window, hefting himself up, finding the right balance to keep his torso upright. Metal glinted in one of his hands—a pair of long, silvery objects that ended in odd, thin hooks. He reached over to the small, dark green backpack slung around his shoulder, coaxing it open to deposit the lock-picks (that’s what they had to be, right?). 

He glanced all around the room, at the equipment set up both behind and outside the viewing glass that took up the far wall.

His eyes passed by the storage closet, lingering just long enough for Nic to hold his breath and bite his tongue so hard that it was a wonder he didn’t draw blood.

The naga then slithered over to the computer, pushing the swivel chair aside and dropping his cargo next to one of the speakers. With that, he loomed in from of the monitor; despite the webbing between his fingers and the short, sharp claws in place of nails, he was pretty damn dexterous on the keyboard. 

He reached into his bag again, this time fishing out a USB flash drive, as well as a thin binder. He carefully plugged the former into one of the many slots offered by the computer. 

The next few minutes felt like hours as the screen flickered, as he clicked and clacked. 

Like the many other times he’d dropped in, his expression was difficult to read. He seemed so engrossed in his thoughts. He didn’t blink once this entire process (though, for a humanoid snake, that was probably natural), his brow furrowed with concentration.

If Nic was completely honest, this naga had one of the most severe cases of Resting Bitch-Face he’d ever seen. But his movements were usually calm, calculated, apart from the frequent pauses and glances all around the darkened studio. Or how the paddle-tip of his tail habitually swayed back and forth with an unmistakable similarity to someone bouncing their knee or tapping their foot. 

Eventually, he leaned back from the monitor, folding his arms across his chest, raising a hand to rest his chin on his palm, claws thoughtfully drumming against his cheek. 

He nodded to himself, a forked tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a party favor. The corners of his lips twitched, and a tiny smile crept onto his features. It wasn’t long for this world, though. 

Getting back to business, the naga ejected his USB, then searched through the binder, unclipping a few papers—sheet music, Nic knew without a doubt—that he delicately stacked on top of the audio interface. After that, he packed up his things, gave the room one last anxious glance, and crawled back over to the window. 

Nic kept watching, just as he had been this whole time. He didn’t mind having to stay so still for so long, but now that he’d seen what was dropped off, his muscles were suddenly screaming at him to go over and examine it. 

He knew his co-workers would find out tomorrow (not from him; they were perfectly capable of discovering the new music themselves), knew that they’d probably tell him things as well as ask him things,  knew that they’d make announcements to their other clients and local listeners about the latest mystery-prize of songs and notes, courtesy of their very own urban legend. (Not just an urban legend, but an urban legend who just had such. A damn. Way with words. The songs he left behind never failed to be emotional and well-tuned.) 

But he just couldn’t resist the adrenaline of getting to take the very first peek. 

There was just something so…thrilling about having a ghost-singer/lyricist choose the studio you worked at to sneak their craft into the world. 

Of course, this begged the question: why did this naga feel the need to sneak around with his music when he could always just apply to the studio in broad daylight like a normal person? 

Well, for one thing, normal and music did not mix. Never had, never would, no matter how much the pearl-clutchers bitched and moaned. 

And for another thing, plenty non-human folks around here were content with living semi-feral. Sure, they were adept with human languages and could be seen interacting with humans, but that didn’t mean they had to live like humans. They could consume certain luxuries, chat about pop culture, inform themselves on current politics, do all that good, modern stuff for one half of the day, and then spend the next half swimming or flying to catch their dinner, or make some adjustments to whatever nest or grotto they called home.

It made some things inconsistent, yeah, but it wasn’t hurting anyone.

And Nic couldn’t blame non-human creatures for doing that. 

Not needing a job because you could hunt for your food and make your own dwelling out in the wild, along the beach, under the water…it sounded a lot like freedom, even if it took hard work. 

The only reason Nic wasn’t living like that was because he’d been raised around nothing but humans and their jobs and buildings and clothes and culture. His parents had made sure to show him how to be a selkie, to accommodate his needs as much as they could, but there had just been so much going on back then. And there was only more going on now. 

___

Grass dragged against scales as Parker slithered further and further away from Ear Caffeine. Dirt smeared around his coils as he ducked past nearby trees and bushes, but the rain was rinsing him off. On top of that, it was singing with its famously soothing rhythm, and there were so few rhythms you could actively move around in, be surrounded by.

Besides, he’d get a more thorough cleaning soon enough.

The rain bounced off his backpack, some stubborn droplets clinging on as though they were angry about not soaking into the fabric. Waterproof stuff was an obvious requirement for people like him, and this thing had been worth every damn penny.

(Well. It probably was to its previous owner, whoever had been fishing on one of the public piers that Parker had drifted directly beneath as to snatch this very backpack without being noticed. But if they could afford something so durable in the first place, then they’d have no problem getting a replacement.)

It didn’t take long for Parker’s eyes to readjust. They were built for darkness. He’d been lurking around the shadowy corners of reefs since his hatching-day. He’d swam through all sorts of depth, something letting his tail drift over the stretches of underwater sand, long after sunset. 

He glanced over his shoulder a few more times than he’d care to admit; this little hobby of his had already been risky enough, and that selkie-kid hiding out in that closet only added to said risk.

…But then again, he’d caught said selkie-kid watching his trips multiple times before now.  He hadn’t called it out then, because that definitely would’ve led to more trouble than he wanted to deal with. And due to the lack of any cops patrolling the cove and marina and sea-caves with a sketch of his face on-deck, the selkie still had yet to say anything about his song-planting habit. 

So, he figured he just had a weird little silent agreement. From what he’d gathered through careful glances around the studio after hours, the selkie was pretty much harmless. In fact, he honestly seemed pretty chill. Nice, even. And Parker was the type who could usually just tolerate anyone and everyone outside of his personal circle. (

Hell, he found himself having to tolerate the people in that very circle, even if they had his trust and he had theirs.) So, that assessment was considerable, coming from a guy with an attitude like his. 

(Good thing, too. Even with the mob’s special policy on selkies…well, Parker wouldn’t feel quite right if the one in Ear Caffeine wound up getting into trouble with his peers. Even if he didn’t know him, he was still pretty young. And he’d already proved capable of keeping secrets.)  

He flicked his tongue a few times, taking in the fresh, earthy smell all around him. He hadn’t veered off—he was still on the route he’d taken on his way to the music studio. 

Sooner or later, the trees opened up, leaving a decent amount of space for a creek to yawn out of the ground. 

The water rippled and gurgled as the raindrops met its surface, but the storm wasn’t violent enough—yet—for the bottom to be completely obscured. 

Parker crawled over to the edge and peered down. 

It took a moment of scanning, but he eventually found them: a pair of glassy eyes, frozen in a moment of pain and terror, that stared up at nothing through the surface, but more and more silt was actively forming a dark, viscous shroud all around him.

It was kind of ironic; this target had met his sorry end in the ocean, near the sea-caves Parker had claimed a long time ago…and yet, he’d still found himself dragging the body out and dumping it in a creek. 

Sure, he could’ve just left the corpse floating. He could’ve sought out Caliban or Murdock or any of his other peers to deflate the lungs and force it to sink, but there was still a chance that it could wash up somewhere on the beach after a while. And even if, thanks to his scales, he didn’t have much to worry about in the way of fingerprints, The Pentas Shoal was all about being thorough with the jobs they took. 

They could only ever leave evidence behind when they needed to, when it was part of the game-plan. 

Besides, a good amount of time would pass before anyone would have a chance to discover this guy. The raindrops were coming down harder, faster, starting to form a strange curtain to distort the air almost like an enormous school of fish. The storm was churning the creek, stirring up the mud in thick, murky clouds below the surface.

The body was already half-buried. It would take a few weeks, but he’d decay down there. There was a slight chance he’d melt into the creek floor before anyone even found him in the first place. 

 People got drunk or high and wandered around the city at odd hours all the time, and people—even when they were completely sober and alert—fell into canals or rivers or lakes and drowned every single year, in multiple cities across the States. 

Sure, a set-up like this might look suspicious at first, but someone would inevitably bring up those variables. It wasn’t at all inconceivable for this to be chalked up to a tragic accident and nothing more. 

Satisfied, Parker slithered around the creek, listening to the sound of waves in the distance. The smell of salt was steadily growing stronger–he’d be back on the beach soon, back in the water soon.

He’d have to report to The Boss before he could officially go off-duty tonight, but it would be wise to avoid his actual home for a little while longer anyway.

Just in case.

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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 him and heard a few times before, but that had always been in the background, always before they were called elsewhere for a job 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 freakin’ 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 been 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 fractured 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 at 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 down 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 pinches and clinging in uncomfortable areas.) 

Caliban watched this, then slithered over to tread water right in front of him 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, 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 the kitchen knives back home. 

But The Newcomer relaxed, their panic evaporating 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 symmetrical. 

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 in even 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. “Well, 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 just 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 briefly cringe wormed its way around Caliban’s face, but he was smiling again in not 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!” 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. He looked genuinely confused. “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 to be 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 in place, as though they wanted to peer out of his mouth to leer 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 badly, 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 with 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 didn’t look damaged. 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, gently 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, not looking like he’d 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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His whiskers twitched, sending soft vibrations into his skull, helping him feel a current before he even got close to it. He followed those shudders through the water, and then he was riding aforementioned current, shifting his tail to stay balanced as he was carried, just like his parents had taught him way back when. (He’d always be a strong swimmer, but he wasn’t enough of an idiot to turn down some extra assistance.)  

His heart ached as he drifted through what used to be downtown. There were only a few swathes of shingles on the roofs anymore; it wouldn’t be long before they eroded enough to be swept away and left huge holes behind, just like those before them. Old traffic lights lay down in the sand, half-buried just like the crosswalks themselves, having snapped loose from their cables, which drifted limply to and fro above them.

The city’s ruins had formed a veritable undersea island. 

It would’ve felt so miraculous if no-one had gotten hurt for that to happen.

If no-one had drowned, had been flung into walls or impaled on public machinery by the sheer force of the tsunami, had been driven into their homes only to be trapped as the water kept rising and rising and rising until…

Casey shook his head, clicking and whistling to himself out of frustration.

He couldn’t afford to dwell right now; he had a job to do. It didn’t matter that he’d been doing said job for days now with very little to show for it. 

There could still be some air-pockets here and there around the city’s bones. 

Some of those people could still be alive—alive and stranded, unable to find their way up to the surface, to the ships piloted by other survivors, unless someone more aquatically-inclined found them and helped them. 

And if they were, then they only had so much time left to wait. A few days at best, a few hours at worst.

So, the selkie kept going. 

Casey swam from building to building, slipping through jagged glass to check around whatever flooded rooms he found. He’d use his claws or teeth to pry doors open, fighting the urge to scream whenever they were revealed to already be full of water and devoid of people.

(Well. In reality, it was much better to find a long-since-flooded room without any occupants, because the alternative meant having to find cloudy eyes and gray skin that sagged and bloated at the same time. And that was only the case when swarms of crabs hadn’t discovered it earlier…)

Time dragged by. 

Up on the surface, the sun sank lower and lower. 

Light began fading, slowly but surely. 

That didn’t do Casey’s mood any favors. 

He hated seeing these ruins at any time of day, but darkness made it so much worse. 

It made everything look even more bleached and rotten than it already was. Horrifically ironic, considering those photos of decaying reefs that used to pop up alongside warnings and pleading campaigns every year.

That was one of the worst parts of all this: there wasn’t even any growth around the ruins. There was moss and mold, but no swaying polyps or glowing colors. As though the ocean itself didn’t want to reclaim anything, despite having dragged it down here in the first place. 

Without that growth, without any semblance of natural recycling, the city’s remains were gloomy and frightening, covered in mottled browns and grays that could only ever be seen in death. 

As if to really drive the point home, all those dark shades kept Casey from noticing the looming shape that slithered below him…until it was too late. 

Huge, dense weight slammed into his side, sending him spiraling through the water. 

Bright spots danced in his eyes as the shock thrummed along his bones, burning and stinging as though he’d been stabbed. 

The selkie shook his head, catching his balance just in time to dart away as the shape lunged for him again. 

On instinct, he circled it at a distance. The thing stared after him, still swimming, trying to stay behind him, to stay in his blindspot.

This wasn’t territorial behavior.

This was hunting behavior. 

Whatever this thing was, it clearly wasn’t going to just leave Casey alone if he swam far enough away. He had to get a brief understanding of it, had to make guesses for its weak-spots.

The monster was massive, its form both bulky and elongated. As though some insane, godforsaken scientist had combined the attributes of a hippo and an anaconda and combined them into an abomination that should’ve only existed in the deepest, darkest, most crushing layer of the ocean’s bowels. 

There were reasons humanity had never been able to safely navigate those waters, why the creatures evolved to live in them always had to look so soulless; the floor down there was probably just a thin veil between the living world and the mouth of Hell. 

Its head was broad and flat, topped with a pair of beady eyes that rolled in their sockets like oil-coated marbles. Not too far from those eyes, long, sinuous barbels writhed through the water. Eight of them, four on each side of its face. They acted almost like curtains, helping to unveil rows of short, interlocking teeth that looked far too similar to those of a human whenever its maw gaped open.

Two dorsal spines ran the length of its back, flaring in a way that made them resemble fleshy triggers. Just like its pectoral fins, they jutted out from a coat of stout, rough scales.

It lunged at him again, shockingly fast for how heavy it was. 

Casey darted beneath the monster—its underbelly was just as armored as its back, but he hurled his full weight against it. While this didn’t exactly send it flying through the water, it still seemed to momentarily stun it. Casey kept swimming, moving in fast, tight circles around his opponent, using his tail to knock it upside the head. 

Unfortunately, this put him in the crosshairs of its whiskers. Two of them whipped at his head while the other lashed near his back-flippers, eliciting a yelp of pain among two muffled CRACKs! 

Casey felt skin breaking—thanks to his pelt’s blubber, the fresh lacerations were nowhere near deep enough to draw blood. 

But if the monster managed to catch the seam running along his chest…

NO. That was NOT going to happen. 

Casey surged over the monster’s head, snapping at its spines before ripping into the fin at the end of its tail. The membrane tore somewhat easily, and little streams of blood seeped out. 

Tails were crucial to swimming, the same way they were to birds for flying. If Casey could concentrate on the tail, then he could destroy the monster’s sense of balance, could keep it from swimming, could force it to sink down, down, down.

But the monster was already twisting to snap at him again, and he was forced to flee. He found himself hovering by its side

There—a row of long, raking slits, positioned just after its jaw and just before its pectoral fin. They flared in and out, sending small ripples through the beast’s neck. A bony-looking arch bordered them, but Casey knew he was close enough to avoid wasting any time on it.

So, without hesitation, he lunged forward. 

Some of his teeth scraped against scales, but other found themselves sinking into cold, slippery skin. He maneuvered his head along the length of the gills, allowed his teeth to catch the edge and rip a wider hole open.

(Casey had never been a stranger to eating raw fish, but the metallic taste that greeted him with this one was just rancid. Like it’d been rotting from the inside.)

The monster thrashed and bucked, its whiskers lashing through the water like snakes on fire. One of them managed to strike at Casey again, but he held firm. In response, he raised one of his front flippers and reached over to rake it against the monster’s face. Sure, selkie claws were infamous for being blunt, but he was putting plenty of force behind his right now. 

He felt his claws slide onto the base of those tendrils on this side. First he gave it a vicious scratching, and then he gripped at it. It took a few harsh tugs, but soon enough, a deep, fleshy pop gurgled through the water. 

The monster let out a murky wail, then surged to the side. Casey’s back met jagged rock, and he finally had to let go, just barely managing to swim up and over before the monster could bite him. 

Blood was bubbling all around the two of them, creating dark, misty clouds that were thick enough to almost hide the monster in the haze. 

And yet, as Casey darted back, he spotted something through those clouds: a long strand of skin that was sinking, its own gore forming a thin trail both behind and above as it touched down on the sand, limp and continuing to leak. 

The fresh, gory chasm now marring one side of he monster’s face gave him all the confirmation he needed. 

But then, he’d only ripped out one of those barbels—the monster still had seven left, and he was already having to dodge them again. The damage he’d wrought on one gill-set was effective; the monster was always floundering, its movements clumsier than before. But that wasn’t enough to kill it. It was losing blood, yes, but not enough to force it to retreat. 

It could still keep chasing him after this. 

It could still find ways to crash into him, to pin him down, and it would only have to do so much before his ribs cracked or his skull fractured. 

It could force him to keep swimming until he had to go up to the surface for air—and then it could grab onto him and drag him all the way back down before he even got that breath in.

Casey’s mind raced as he turned tail and swam, shooting around the corner of the city’s old church. 

Sure enough, the monster came surging after him, just past the tall cross that adorned the building’s roof—its tail thumped against it, snapping it like a twig, sending it sinking and kicking up clouds of sand. And yet, that barely put a dent in its stride. 

The longer Casey took to kill it, the worse his chances would get. But he just didn’t have the time or preparation to keep fighting, to just wear it down bit-by-bit. 

He put on more speed, barely noticing the new pain that was spreading over his jaw and around his lungs. 

The monster remained in his peripheral vision. It wasn’t getting too much closer yet, but that distance wouldn’t last. 

Just then, Casey spotted something particular up ahead: a part of the ruins that he’d once known as a popular restaurant. Ironically enough, it’d originally been built close to the water’s edge, with long, hardy support beams holding it halfway over. Now it was almost comically tilted to one side, sloping against its new, rocky bed. Its main building was broken and crumbling just like so many others. 

What was once its outdoor seating section was half-buried in silt and algae, wooden chairs overturned and broken. Large umbrellas had torn away from their posts, now moldering and resembling shrouds as they clung to jagged edges of the chaos around them. 

Something sparked in the back of Casey’s head, and he was suddenly diving down. As he did, he forced himself to slow down, despite his heart threatening to explode out of his chest any second now. 

Make it think you’re getting tired. Make it think it’s winning. 

After few seconds, he was just above the restaurant’s carcass.

He felt all the new currents the monster was producing as its fins and tail beat the water.

He swept past the chairs, his flippers brushing the sand with such speed that it stung.

He could practically hear the monster’s gills flaring and rippling as it got closer. 

He raced for one corner of the building, where one of those umbrellas was spread at its full width, almost like it’d been planted that way. 

Then, at the very last second, he ducked underneath the ruined cloth. 

He heard the fabric ripping apart as the monster hurtled right on after him—and then, the nauseating, unmistakable squelch of flesh as those unnatural currents slowed, and then went still. 

Casey wove around one side of one of those old support beams, watching as the opposite end of it was driven right through the monster’s gaping mouth. 

A horrible twitch went through the monster’s body. And then another. 

And then, before Casey could even think about blinking, the jagged, splintery remains of the beam were stabbing through the top of the monster’s head, visible in the water once again. More clouds of blood spilled out, weaving around it almost like a garland. 

The monster’s eyes bulged from heir sockets one final time, then rolled back as its body slumped forward. 

Casey stared, warily hovered  in place—so many creatures could still move after death. Half a second was still more than enough time for jaws to clamp down if the head was touched too soon. 

Once he was sure it was truly dead, he made to surge for the surface. He’d been careful with his breath earlier—by his calculations, he probably had at least fifteen minutes' worth of air left in his lungs. But his chest was screaming to be allowed to heave in and out, and cold, sharp aches were drumming at his skull and ribs and tail. Even if he wasn’t done with his search, he just needed a moment to process this..interruption. 

(Plus, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try a different route around the city. Just in case similar creatures were lurking around, attracted to all the noise the monster had made in its fight with him. And that wasn’t even mentioning the scavengers that were probably already on their way to this very spot.)

But just as he began to drift upward…something new caught his attention. 

The monster’s eyes—neither of them were moving, but something was happening to them. 

Casey couldn’t help but keep hovering, slowly circling around the monster’s head. 

As he watched, the veins stretching across those eyes almost seemed to be shriveling and shrinking. 

As the seconds ticked by, however, Casey realized that light was flickering around the edges of that flesh. 

A bright, warm, pale glow that flooded throughout each of the monster’s eyes until they were were glimmering in earnest, as though twin moons had fallen down to wind up trapped in its skull. 

And from there, that light kept growing. But it didn’t reach through the rest of the monster’s boy; instead, it just…it just reached out of the eyes. Thin, graceful wisps of that light seeped into the water like columns of smoke, allowing that glow to spread.

They moved in a swaying, gentle rhythm.

That rhythm was too specific; for the most part, it managed to stay in one place, not dissolving in the water like those trails of blood.  

The light was beckoning for Casey. 

And Casey, despite his instincts, couldn’t tear his own eyes away. 

He didn’t even realize how he was drifting closer and closer until…

___

A small shout caught in Casey’s throat as he jolted awake; something in his head told him to expect water to rush into his mouth, into his lungs. 

But as he lunched upward, he felt the blankets, felt his pillow, slowly recognized the walls around him. His corkboard and its strings, the photographs and sketches he’d compiled for work… 

Casey sighed through gritted teeth, raising one hand to run through his blackhair, to clutch at his head before a migraine could set it. 

Even after all these years, he still didn’t like the fact that he had to peer into the mirror across his room, to thoroughly stare at his dark skin just to confirm the suspicious in his gut. 

His human skin. 

The same form he’d been stuck in ever since the incident, with burn-scars marring specific spots on his chest where the seam was supposed to lay…

It seemed completely unfair and extremely sadistic for nightmares to feel so real. To make his pelt feel to real; to make him think, if only for a few minutes, that he still had that pelt. 

…Still, he supposed this disappointing, peltless reality was better than having the entirety of the Cove Port Inlets swamped beneath the water in an end-of-days style. 

Thinking of which, his skin felt too dry. Felt too cold (yes, the water was always cold, but that still felt better than the dryness, and even without his pelt, he was still built for water, so shut up).

He trudged out of his bedroom, making his way through the bungalow he’d been able to have custom-built a few years ago.

He froze in his tracks, however, when he caught a shadow through the kitchen window, just out the corner of his eye. He slowly turned hishead to geta more thorough look…then furrowed his brow as he recognized a pair of huge black wings, a pair of black-tinted goggles. 

No rest for the wicked, huh? 

The figure outside obviously saw this realization, because his wings immediately snapped open as he ducked away from the window. Then, as if on-cue, Casey head a series of light-yet-solid thumps from elsewhere on the roof. 

Casey charged through the living room, throwing the front door open just in time to hear a chorus of violent fluttering laced with some colorful language that bounced all around the sea-cave’s walls and floor. 

Two harpies came swooping around his house in a mad-dash for the cave’s entrance. Though theirspeed made them blurry, Casey still regonized the black feathers of one, and the silvery-brown feathers of the other. 

“Yeah, that’s right!” He shouted after them, trekking down the steps of his porch. “Fly on back to your hideout! You’re not catching me off-guard windows today!”

Once his feet touched the water, once both of his unwanted guests were well and truly gone, he gave pause. 

They’d obviously outnumbers him—sure, he could fight and swim and hold his own, even without his pelt, but he’d still be little match for one harpy’s talons, let alone two of them. Not onl that, but thos specific harpies—as well as their many peers he’d had plenty of encounters with in the past—were usually quite content to try and screw around with him, both in and out of work. 

Why did they leave in such a hurry? 

Before Casey could start panicking over the idea that something bad had been planted out here, another figure caught his eye:

A seal was draped along the rocks, halfway submerged in the water that trickled in through the cave’s mouth to form a small, churning pool around his home. 

Another selkie, Casey knew without a single doubt. He didn’t even need to see the seam on its chest; his instincts just told him, plain and simple. 

Besides, the way this selkie stared at him…its dark eyes shone much differently than those of a normal seal. They offered an advanced intelligence and understanding. 

Deep, bitter envy wasted no time snarling its greedy fingers around Casey’s brain as he stared. 

This selkie’s pelt looked much different from his—where his had been silver and adorned by dozens of darker spots, this one was almost completely black. Almost, because a set of thin, pale stripes wrapped around its neck, its sides, its tail, almost like waterproof body-paint. 

The other selkie stared right back, tilting its—or, her head (Casey knew that was presumptuous, but this one just seemed like a her, and that felt a bit less rude that being called an it) in an inquisitive manner. She seemed to be analyzed him, looking him up and down. 

And the longer she watched him…the more it felt like she was recognizing him. Knowing him. 

Which was very disconcerting, as he was certain he’d never seen a selkie that looked like her in his life. 

After a while, he blinked without meaning to, and then the selkie was gone, having slipped under the water. 

He waited for a moment to see if she would come back up. 

When she didn’t, he found himself walking forward again, not entirely sure why. 

But before he could make much progress, his nose caught a familiar scent, and he halted yet again.

A few dead fish had been strewn about a clutch of stalagmites near one wall, well out of the water’s reach. As fresh as a dead fish could be. 

Walking closer, Casey soon recognized the whiskers that hung limply from around each one’s  mouth. 

Catfish—and judging by the size of them, they hadn’t come from the ocean right outside his home. No, they’d likely been sourced from the public butcher market that congregated on the boardwalk every Saturday… 

Casey tossed another glance at the sea-cave’s mouth. 

The other selkie still failed to materialize—she had to be long-gone by now. 

Casey was hungry, and as far as he could tell, nothing had been done to these fish. But he hadn’t survived in his investigative career this long by being gullible. So, he took only one of them into his hands and turned back, intending to thoroughly gut it once he got back to the kitchen. 

Just to be sure.

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