There was the Rat Kid, watching the dock in the distance with borrowed binoculars.
Why? Well, the dock had turned into a floating favela. Structures of rotten wood and scrap metal piled up over the water, connected by suspension bridges made of algae and cables. And swarming around there… A kind of community of fish with legs.
They are ugly as shit.
[Customs officers.]
[[[[THEY ARE NOT!]]]]
The girls and company don't seem to agree with my assessment. Obviously, they are wrong.
[Anyway, what do we do now?] Auntie asks.
[Fish skewers?]
[Ugh, how fucking disgusting.] Brother-in-law's suggestion turns my stomach; I almost vomit at the mere possibility. I'll complain to Carmelia later.
[Hey, not for nothing, but… can we talk about what destroyed that bridge? There won't be anything in the sea… right?]
Little sister-in-law points to the half-destroyed bridge in the distance, with a grim expression.
[[[[…]]]]
The monkeys look at her with some surprise, but then make a face as if they remembered something important, and their faces turn pale.
...….
[J… just to clarify… how big do you say that thing is?] Sister-in-law finally asked anxiously after the girls filled her in.
[Like this, bi-gi-gi-gig.] I extend my hands to the max and make a circle around me. Very big.
[That says absolutely nothing…] The receptionist bitch complains with a skeptical look, just like the others.
[So big…] On the other hand, sister-in-law turns pale as she covers her mouth with her hands.
[WHAT THE HELL DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?] Brother-in-law yells at her exasperated. What don't they understand?
[And… comparatively, how small is… this truck?] Sister-in-law also ignores everyone and keeps asking me.
[[[[SO, YOU REALLY DIDN'T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING!]]]
[Like thiiiiis, ti-ni-ni-niny.] I put my hands together and make a circle as if holding a ping-pong ball. Very tiny.
This time there are no complaints; instead, everyone swallows hard.
Kekeke, sweet, sweet despair. Their fear feeds me.
[Ahhh, well. We have to cross anyway, right?]
Carla arrived to ruin my fun. At her words, everyone regains focus.
[Tsk, you annoy the Rat Kid.]
[Hey, who is the one interested in going back there?]
[You?]
[Me why?]
[How can you ogle me if not?]
[I DON'T NEED TO!]
This bitch is rebellious.
[Well, although it is troublesome, I don't think it's a particular problem with this inventory.]
Before I can put this bitch in her place, 9 hands me a tablet with the screen on a file titled "Weapons Inventory".
[What the fuck?] I blurt out involuntarily while scrolling. There are enough weapons and ammo to bring democracy to four Arab countries.
I look at Grandpa and the cops skeptically, but they just look away.
There are even missile launchers here. Now that I think about it, I think something exploded on the Orc Boss's back before I lost consciousness. Was it a missile?
Did they launch a missile at the Rat Kid?
["Cough" Well… it was for emergencies and such…]
What emergencies? A fucking alien invasion? … Wait…
[It's likely it was an emergency protocol in case they tried to take the hard drive.]
When 9 reminds me of the Andras matter, something clicks in my mind, but I push it aside, because even if it's real, none of that matters anymore.
[Do we need to go through in teams?] I ask. [Please and thank you.]
While I was planning my next move with 9…
["Cough" … Anyway, what's the plan? Should we just assault?] Auntie demands my attention and asks.
Now everyone looks at me as if waiting for orders. What is this? Am I recognized as Tarzan, King of the Monkeys?
The Rat Kid doesn't want such a horrendous title, but I won't deny its incredible utility.
On the other hand, what to do?
Technically, we can shoot them from here and wipe them out; it's relatively safe.
But, at the same time, we don't know how tough they are or if the noise would attract unwanted attention.
Besides, if we don't kill them fast and they hide underwater, or if it turns out they can tame huge sea monsters, they could be a problem later…
[Ahhh, found them.] Ana's voice sounded suddenly, drawing everyone's attention.
When we look at her, she happily hands me another tablet.
It was my diary… Now that I think about it, we had internet at the hotel. Did 9 give it to them? Well, it's fine anyway.
DIARY ENTRY Nº 043
SCIENTIFIC NAME: Homo fluvius communitas
REGIONAL ALIASES:
Lovecraftian Folklore: The Deep Ones
European Folklore: The River Folk
Network Slang: The Fish-Men
NICKNAME (ASTRAD): Walking Sushi
📊 THREAT ASSESSMENT CLASSIFICATION: Territorialis Structured amphibious society. Their identity, livelihood, and worldview revolve around their body of water. They don't attack out of pleasure or anger—they do it out of property. They are a civilization with borders as defined as a private server: if you enter without permission, you are an enemy by default.
DANGER LEVEL: YELLOW (★★★★☆) — Conditional An isolated individual out of water is clumsy, although still as dangerous as a trained human. In their element, the advantage is absolute: night vision, stealth, underwater communication. A clan defending its territory can dismantle an armed platoon with the coordination of a swarm.
AGGRESSION LEVEL: REACTIVE They do not seek confrontation but respond with surgical precision to pollution, fishing, or intrusion. Their hostility is less biological than diplomatic: pure amphibious realpolitik. There are records of successful bartering (metal for food or information), although negotiation usually feels like talking to a bank: cold, ritualistic, and potentially suicidal.
🧬 COMBAT SHEET (TL;DR) TYPE: Humanoid / Beast (amphibious) AFFINITY: Water
🎯 MAIN WEAKNESSES: Rapid dehydration in dry environments. Vulnerability to electricity and fire. Dependence on their water source.
📌 KEY STRENGTHS: Absolute superiority underwater. Ambush tactics and acoustic stealth. Slippery skin and slight bioluminescent camouflage. Tribal swarm coordination.
📚 ORIGINS AND COMPARATIVE MYTHOLOGY
Mythical Hypothesis: Clerics of fear call them The Lesser Deep Ones, biological bastards of the cults that invoked Dagon long after the fall of Innsmouth. They do not share the immortality or the fanatical faith of their progenitors, but they do share their amphibiousness and their silent disdain for the surface. According to coastal myths, they were not born of the sea, but of exile: they were the imperfect children cast out from abyssal cities to repopulate the contaminated rivers of the continent. If The Deep Ones look toward the cosmos, these look toward the mud. Their existence contradicts both science and Lovecraftian dogma: they are the ocean's biological heresy.
Rational Hypothesis: Amphibious human tribe, similar to the Bajau or the Moken, whose ancestors would have undergone extreme genetic adaptations to continuous diving. The "gills" could be ritual scarifications, the scaly skin a cultural protection, and the myth of their underwater origin a product of isolation and inbreeding.
Men who became fish or fish who learned to use knives? The question is useless. In the end, only one truth remains: they dominate the river, they smell like fish, and they don't want you near. The rest is wet philology.
📝 DETAILED ANALYSIS Physical and Sensory Description: Thin and fibrous bipeds, with greenish-blue skin, viscous to the touch and with metallic reflections under the moonlight. The eyes—black, abyssal, lidless—suggest adaptation to low-light environments. Interdigital membranes allow for rapid propulsion and impossible turns in the water. Some individuals present retractable dorsal fins and functional gill sacs. The smell is unmistakable: mud, ozone, and marine decay. They are perceived better before seeing them; they smell like the end of a summer in the delta.
Behavior and Ecology: They form organized clans with tribal hierarchies. Their floating villages—a mix of stilts, scrap, and vegetation—are efficient. They are hunter-gatherers with lithic technology and a tactical command of the aquatic terrain comparable to that of ants in their anthill. Their language combines clicks, whistles, and underwater vibrations. Ritual use of sound has been documented, suggesting a primitive form of singing or collective communication. Hostility towards humans seems to derive from territorial and ecological competition.
☣️ ENCOUNTER PROTOCOLS (Theoretical) DO: Approach slowly from dry land, without direct lights. Offer metals or shiny tools; they seem to be their only "currency". Use neutral body language; keep a low, non-defiant posture.
DO NOT: Pollute the water or fish without invitation. Navigate their channels at night. Assume silence is consent. Attempt to touch or capture one: the response will be immediate and collective.
Field Report — Merchant's Diary (1890): "They are real. We saw them. They live on stilts, like the Warao, but they are not Warao. We left three machetes on the shore. Nothing happened. Then, a pale head emerged. It looked at us. It sank. At dawn, the machetes were gone. In their place, three pearls and fresh fish. I think we traded. But I don't plan on shaking their hand."
🎤 Astrad's Notes (the only shit that matters): Fuck, if anything disgusts me more than a monster that wants to eat me, it's an "almost monster" that wants to negotiate with me. What the fuck are you supposed to do? Buy them a beer?
This is what Lovecraft warned us about in Innsmouth, but with fewer cosmic sects and more smell of rotten fish. They aren't "evil". They are just... disgusting.
Are they humans who adapted? Are they fish-men? I don't give a damn. The point is they are organized, have spears, and don't like you using their pool. If you see them, you better have something shiny in your pocket that they like more than the idea of using you as catfish bait.
----------------------