Alex sat at the harbor, watching the gulls fight over a scrap of fish guts. The air smelled of brine and diesel, a familiar sting in his throat. He traced a crack in the weathered wooden bench with his thumb, the splintered edge catching on his calloused skin. Out on the water, a rust-streaked trawler was anchored, its deck falling apart. It hadn't moved in years.
His phone buzzed again. The screen flashed with the loan shark's name. Alex silenced it and shoved the device deep into his pocket. He knew the numbers by heart: $42,000 owed, plus the interest that compounded daily. His father had taken a loan for his aquarium shop, but when the fish plague wiped out the stock, the shock led to his father's heart attack. Now Alex inherited both the grief and the debt. The collectors had started circling last week, leaving broken glass on his doorstep and whispered threats in his voicemail.
The sea below the pier looked strangely inviting. Dark water lapped against the barnacled pilings, swallowing the afternoon light. Alex imagined the cold rush filling his lungs, the weight of his body dragging him down. He stood up, the wind biting through his thin jacket. One step. Then another. The wood creaked under his feet. He gripped the rusted railing, knuckles white, watching a plastic bottle bob in the oily swirl.
His phone buzzed again, a persistent vibration against his thigh. He ignored it, leaning further over the edge. The height made his stomach lurch. Salt spray stung his eyes. He thought of his father's face, pale against the hospital pillow, the beeping machines suddenly silent. The crushing weight of the debt felt heavier than any ocean. He pictured the collectors' sneers, the shattered glass on his welcome mat. Jumping would be quick. An end to the dread gnawing at his ribs.
One boot slid forward, the worn sole scraping on damp wood. He focused on the bottle below, caught in a lazy whirlpool. It spun like his thoughts – useless, trapped, going nowhere. His knuckles ached where he gripped the railing. The wind whipped his jacket open, cold biting through his thin shirt. He could just… let go. The water would swallow the sound of his phone, the debts, everything. He leaned into the emptiness.
Without a second thought, Alex pushed off. The railing vanished from his grip as the harbor wind rushed past his ears. For one terrifying, weightless moment, he hung suspended between the decaying pier and the dark water below. His stomach flipped. Salt spray stung his eyes. Then gravity took hold.
The impact punched the air from his lungs. Cold—deeper and more brutal than he'd imagined—slammed into him like a truck. Water flooded his nose and mouth, thick with the taste of diesel and decay. Panic seized him. He thrashed, limbs heavy and uncoordinated, fighting toward the dim light above. His waterlogged jacket dragged him down. Stupid, he thought. So stupid. The surface seemed miles away.
Bubbles streamed from his lips as he sank. Pressure built in his ears. Below him, the harbor's murky depths swallowed the light, turning everything to shifting shadows and gloom. His thrashing slowed. Exhaustion numbed the panic, slowing his movements until he drifted like the trash caught in the currents. The cold was absolute now, seeping into his bones, a strange counterpoint to the burning in his lungs. Forty-two thousand dollars, the thought surfaced, absurdly clear amidst the drowning chaos. And the interest. Always the interest. The collectors' faces flashed behind his closed eyelids – flat, merciless eyes above cheap suit jackets. His father's aquarium, tanks empty and gleaming under fluorescent lights, the smell of bleach where saltwater should have been. The image of broken glass scattered on his own doorstep like malevolent diamonds. The water pressed in, a physical manifestation of the debt, cold and inescapable. He stopped fighting. Let it take him. The surface light wavered, distant and unimportant.
Fish System activate.
The thought sliced through Alex's drowning haze, sharp and alien. Not his own. Pressure built in his skull, a sickening pop behind his eyes. His skin prickled, then burned as if dipped in acid. He gasped reflexively, inhaling not water, but something thicker, colder. Gills? He felt them flare raggedly along his neck, a raw, tearing sensation. His legs fused, bones grinding and reshaping into a powerful, sinuous tail covered in shimmering, iridescent scales the color of tarnished silver. His hands curled inward, fingers webbing together, hardening into stiff fins. Panic surged again, primal and overwhelming, but it was the panic of a fish trapped in a net, not a man drowning in debt. The crushing weight of the harbor depths felt suddenly… navigable. Natural. His thrashing ceased, replaced by an instinctive, undulating rhythm. He wasn't sinking anymore; he was swimming.
He darted sideways, a flick of his new tail propelling him away from the sinking shadow of his own jacket. The murky water, once a suffocating shroud, now teemed with information. He sensed the vibration of a distant boat engine like a low drumbeat against his lateral line. Particles of silt, microscopic algae, and the faint, decaying tang of the fish guts he'd watched the gulls fight over – each registered with startling clarity. He could taste the diesel slick, a bitter metallic film on the water, and the overwhelming salt was no longer a sting but a familiar embrace. His round, lidless eyes scanned the gloom, taking in the forest of barnacle-crusted pilings, the swaying strands of slimy seaweed, and the darting shapes of smaller fish – minnows? – scattering at his sudden, clumsy presence. He was small, maybe the length of his former hand, a silvery ghost in the murk. The crushing despair was gone, replaced by a hyper-alert, single-minded focus: Survive. Move. Find food. Avoid the bigger shadows.
Name: Alex
Form: Fish
Level: 1 (0/10 Exp)
Size: 15 cm
Status: Disoriented, Hyper-Alert, Hungry
Skills: Manipulate - Can control/transform fish smaller in size and level
What is this going on? Alex thought. His mind felt stretched thin, pulled between the frantic calculations of a drowning man and the simple, consuming instincts of a fish. Hunger gnawed at his belly, sharp and immediate, overriding the lingering shock of transformation. He flicked his tail – a clumsy, jerky motion – and darted behind a thick cluster of mussels clinging to a piling. The rough barnacles scraped against his delicate scales. He froze, gills fluttering rapidly. Above, the distorted silhouette of a harbor seal slid past, a dark, sleek predator scanning the murk. Alex's entire body tensed, every nerve screaming HIDE. The seal turned, its whiskers twitching, then vanished into the gloom with a powerful thrust. Alex remained pressed against the piling, heart hammering against his tiny ribs. Survival wasn't abstract anymore; it was the taste of fear in the water, the vibration of danger thrumming through his bones.
The hunger returned, insistent and raw. It pushed aside the terror, demanding focus. Around him, thick green strands of hair-like algae swayed in the gentle current, anchored to the concrete base of the pier. It looked… edible? In his human life, the thought would have been revolting. Now, the scent – a damp, earthy, slightly sweet tang – pulled at him. He darted forward, a silver flash in the dim light, and nudged a dense patch with his snout. It felt soft, yielding. Instinct took over. He opened his small mouth and sucked. A mass of the green strands filled his mouth, cool and slippery. He chewed instinctively with bony plates in his throat. The taste was bland, watery, but it was sustenance. A faint warmth spread through him.
Ding! +1 Exp
The notification chimed in Alex's mind, crisp and mechanical. He blinked—a slow, deliberate sweep of his translucent eyelids—and swallowed another mouthful of algae. The texture was strange, fibrous yet dissolving into nothingness as he ground it between his throat plates. Each bite eased the gnawing emptiness, but the instinctive drive for more pulsed through him. He darted along the piling, grazing like a frantic underwater goat, his silver scales catching slivers of filtered sunlight. Ding! +1 Exp echoed again. And again. With each patch consumed, the warmth spread, a faint current of energy threading through his new form. He didn't notice the subtle changes at first. The algae became easier to tear, his movements less jerky.
Ding! Level Up! The chime echoed sharply in Alex's mind as he swallowed the last shreds of algae clinging to a barnacle cluster. A sudden surge of warmth flooded his tiny body, like sunlight piercing the harbor's gloom. His silver scales shimmered brighter, edges sharpening, and he felt a ripple of new strength along his tail. The constant, gnawing hunger subsided, replaced by a humming alertness. He darted sideways, testing his fins. The motion was smoother, faster – less frantic minnow, more purposeful hunter. His gills flared, drawing in the water with newfound efficiency, filtering not just oxygen but a symphony of scents: the tang of decaying wood, the oily whisper of diesel. Status he thought.
Name: Alex
Form: Fish
Level: 2 (0/25 Exp)
Size: 17 cm
Status: Normal
Skills: Manipulate - Can control/transform fish smaller in size and level
Oh Good so the leveling means I can grow and get stronger, Alex thought, the concept cutting through the fish-brain haze. He flicked his tail, testing the newfound power. It felt smoother, more controlled. But the algae suddenly tasted like wet cardboard. His instincts screamed for something richer, something alive. He scanned the murk. Nearby, a school of tiny minnows darted in unison, silver flashes like scattered coins. Hunger sharpened into predatory focus. Smaller than me. Level 1? He remembered the skill: Manipulate. Could he… command them? Alex focused, picturing a minnow stopping, turning. A strange pressure built behind his eyes. One minnow twitched, breaking formation. Triumph surged. He pushed harder, picturing it swimming towards him.
The minnow obeyed, darting close. Alex lunged, jaws snapping. It vanished in a gulp. Warmth bloomed – richer, denser than algae. +5 Exp! The notification chimed. Faster. He decided to target the entire school, broadcasting a frantic, irresistible signal: FOOD HERE! SAFE! The minnows looked confused, then didn't look at all.
Too many targets, Alex realized, the frantic minnows scattering like shrapnel. His mental command had been too broad, too desperate. He needed precision. He focused on a single straggler, picturing it freezing mid-dart. The pressure behind his eyes sharpened, a focused beam. The minnow locked rigid, suspended. Alex darted in, jaws closing with a satisfying crunch. +5 Exp! Warmth pulsed through him.
He repeated the tactic. Target. Freeze. Consume. +5 Exp! Each minnow fueled him, sharpening his instincts. Eating more two the familiar sound pinged his mind.
Ding! Level Up!
The chime echoed sharply as Alex swallowed the fifth minnow. Warmth surged through him, stronger this time, a current of raw energy making his scales shimmer with an almost electric intensity. He felt his body stretch subtly, the harbor's murk seeming slightly less oppressive as his senses sharpened. Status, he commanded silently.
Name: Alex
Form: Fish
Level: 3 (0/60 Exp)
Size: 20 cm
Status: Normal
Skills: Manipulate - Can control/transform fish smaller in size and level
Level up again, Alex thought, a flicker of triumph cutting through the predatory haze. The harbor seemed less oppressive now. His senses sharpened; he could taste the distinct fear-scent of a nearby crab scuttling over silt, feel the thrum of a distant ferry through his lateral line. He again decided to target the whole school of minnows. He focused, broadcasting a powerful command: STOP. STAY. The pressure behind his eyes intensified, almost painful. The entire school froze mid-dart, a shimmering, paralyzed cloud. Alex surged forward, jaws wide. He gulped down three in rapid succession. +5 Exp! +5 Exp! +5 Exp! The notifications chimed like a rapid-fire drumbeat. The warmth was intoxicating, fueling his aggression. He targeted another cluster, freezing them effortlessly. +5 Exp! +5 Exp! He was a silver blur, methodically harvesting the paralyzed fish. The last minnow vanished down his throat. Ding! Level Up!
The surge of power was undeniable. Alex felt his body lengthen, muscles coiling with new strength beneath his now-brighter scales. He darted a few experimental circles, the water flowing past him with exhilarating ease. Status, he commanded.
Name: Alex
Form: Fish
Level: 4 (0/125 Exp)
Size: 23 cm
Status: Energized, Slightly Bloated
Skills: Manipulate - Can control/transform fish smaller in size and level
Suddenly, a shadow blotted out the dim light filtering through the water. Alex froze, his lateral line screaming danger. Above him, the sleek, torpedo-shaped silhouette of a harbor seal glided silently, its dark eyes scanning the murk. Alex's instincts screamed PREDATOR with such force that his gills clamped shut. He darted sideways, pressing his silver-scaled body flat against a cluster of barnacles. The seal turned, whiskers twitching as it caught his scent—or his fear.
He didn't wait. With a frantic flick of his tail, Alex shot toward the maze of pilings beneath the pier. The seal surged after him, a burst of speed that churned the water. Alex zigzagged, weaving through thick strands of kelp and rusted chains. His heart hammered against his ribs, the sound echoing in his skull. Too close. He could feel the displacement of water as the seal's jaws snapped shut inches from his tail fin.
Deeper into the shadowed forest of wood and concrete he fled. Barnacles scraped his scales as he squeezed through a narrow gap between two pilings. The seal rammed the opening, a dull thud vibrating through the structure. Trapped. Alex pressed against the slimy wood, gills fluttering. The seal's whiskered snout probed the gap, nostrils flaring. Alex's mind raced—human fear tangled with fish instinct. He remembered the skill: Manipulate. But the seal was massive, powerful. Too big. Way too big. Yet desperation clawed. He focused not on the predator, but on the swirling silt kicked up by its thrashing. Distract it. Hide me. He pushed a command into the murk: SCATTER! MOVE! The silt particles didn't obey, but a startled school of tiny shrimp, hidden in the sediment nearby, erupted in a frantic cloud. The seal jerked its head, momentarily confused by the sudden burst of movement. Alex didn't hesitate. He shot upwards, tail driving him toward a thick curtain of swaying kelp near the surface.
He burst through the rubbery fronds into a pocket of slightly clearer water. Sunlight, fractured by the waves above, dappled the sandy bottom. Panting, Alex scanned the small clearing. Safe. For now. But the seal's presence was a chilling reminder. He needed power. He needed size. He needed… out. The thought crystallized, sharp and sudden. Human. I need to be human again. How? He had no idea. The transformation had been forced upon him by drowning despair. Could he will it back? He pictured his hands, his legs, the feel of air in his lungs. He focused with every fiber of his being, straining against the alien biology. Human. Now! Nothing happened. Only the gentle sway of the kelp and the distant thrum of a boat engine. Frustration bubbled. He flicked his tail angrily, dislodging a small crab that scuttled away. Think. The system activated when I jumped. When I wanted… escape. Death? He shuddered, scales rippling. He didn't want death now. He wanted… control. He wanted the shore. He pictured the weathered bench, the smell of diesel, the cold metal railing under his palms. He poured his desire into it—not despair, but fierce, burning need. Change back! he commanded the silent system.
A jolt like electricity shot through him. His scales burned, then dissolved into a searing ache as bones snapped and re-knitted with brutal speed. His tail split, agony tearing through his spine as legs reformed. Gills sealed shut with a wet, sucking pop, forcing a reflexive, choking gasp. He doubled over, retching harbor water onto the sandy bottom, his newly formed hands scrabbling for purchase. Air! Sweet, burning air filled his lungs. He coughed violently, saltwater streaming from his nose and mouth. He was human. Naked, shivering violently in the cold water, but human. He pushed himself upright, legs trembling, staring at his pale, water-wrinkled hands in disbelief. He was kneeling in waist-deep water under the pier, the kelp forest brushing his sides. Above, the pier loomed, its shadowed underbelly familiar and terrifyingly close to where he'd jumped.
He stumbled towards the nearest piling, barnacles scraping his bare skin. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. The transformation hadn't magically dried him or clothed him. He was exposed, vulnerable, and freezing. He needed to get out of the water, now. He waded towards the sloped concrete edge of the harbor wall, his feet slipping on slimy rocks. Phew, I made it. He thought. Shit! But where are my clothes? He remembered his phone, his wallet, his keys – all sunk with his jacket and boots. Oh God. I have to look for them. But lets wait at least till the seal goes away.
After some time, he took a deep breath and focused. Change back to fish. The transformation was faster this time, a dizzying rush of scales and streamlined muscle. He darted down, a silver arrow seeking the spot where he'd hit the water.
His enhanced fish senses cut through the gloom. He found his waterlogged jacket snagged on a jagged piece of rebar jutting from the harbor floor, the pockets bulging. His phone was a dead brick, but his keys and sodden wallet were still there. He nudged them free with his snout. Now, how to carry them? He pictured his human form, as he transformed back. The brutal reshaping hit him again – bones cracking, gills sealing – as he held his belongings as he swam up. He surfaced gasping, naked and shivering, clutching his possessions. He scrambled onto a submerged ledge, barnacles biting into his knees.
He shook out the heavy jacket. Saltwater streamed from the fabric. With numb, fumbling fingers, he wrapped the sleeves tightly around his waist, knotting them securely over his hipbone. The wet denim clung, heavy and cold against his bare skin, but it covered him from waist to mid-thigh. It was crude, ridiculous, but it was modesty. He stood, legs trembling, the improvised garment dripping. Definitely need to go back home he thought.
As he walked back to the harbor, Alex scanned the water's surface. His boots—salt-stained and worn—were floating near the pier's shadow, laces tangled in a clump of seaweed. One bobbed upright, water sloshing inside its hollow; the other lay on its side, half-submerged like a sinking ship. He waded in, the cold biting his bare legs, and grabbed them. Water streamed from the cracked leather as he emptied them. The right sole had split cleanly along the seam, a casualty of his transformation or the harbor's teeth. He shoved his feet into the icy, sodden mess. Each step squelched, the ruined boots offering no warmth, only the grim satisfaction of not being barefoot on salt-sand beach as it stained his boots.