Trigger warning: Some scary imagery related to marine life trafficking and commercial fishing.

The gag muffled her scream.

She splashed into the tank a nanosecond later. Slime coated its discolored tiles, and the dirty water made her stomach heave again.

Heart pounding, Dea watched the man withdraw from her line of vision, and the grating of metal suggested a chair being drawn. The tenebrous confines of the chamber pressed in on her like a conscious entity, snuffing out all remnants of hope.

A long minute elapsed.

The pool absorbed the ripples and reverted to its stagnant form. She discerned a pipe on one side of the tank, its black mouth leaking water that dropped down with minute plops. Vertical pipes plunged below the waterline, which might have supplied oxygen to whatever creature was once imprisoned there.

Hands still bound, she swam up to a length of pipe and leaned onto it. When the adrenaline wore off, she was nothing but a cold, hollow husk. Pure exhaustion sank her into a doze.

The terror of her predicament melded with a nightmare and tormented her. She had no idea how much time passed, but the door creaked open, the noise amplified by the chamber's reverb. It startled her into full wakefulness.

Merlingo translated the exchange that took place. A human had brought some food for her captor.

"Apologies for the tardiness, machang," a gruff voice said. "Boats came in."

"Good haul?" Tattoo Guy asked, followed by the crinkle of wrapping.

"Very good." There was a pause. "Set to sail again at dawn—make the most of it while it lasts. Unpredictable weather nowadays, and the monsoon is nigh."

"Done processing?"

"Kinduri stays. We're sending the boats."

A crackle rent the air again, and Tattoo Guy said, "Ah, kottu."

"What animal are you holding here, machang?" the other man inquired, curiosity evident in his tone.

"Rare," he replied. "Can't specify. Boss's orders."

"Ah, hari, hari." The other man paused. "Ehenang, api giya."

The door shut again with a low bang. The air stilled, except for the distant drone of machinery and the occasional drip of the leaking pipe.

Anger geysered up and dissipated the fog in her mind. The inchoate form of new purpose crystallized into a plan. Dea drew in a long breath to steady herself.

Her jaw was stiff, and the foul lump in her mouth made her tongue recoil. She strained her ears to infer Tattoo Guy's movements. The rapid chewing noises informed her that he was busy wolfing down the food. All of a sudden, musical notes punctuated the silence, emitting a cheeriness that was eerie and discordant. It occurred to her it could be a ringtone.

Sure enough, the man answered his phone. Judging by his responses, it was a routine follow-up call. Then he dropped a few words that made her stiffen.

"These guys will set off at dawn," Tattoo Guy said briskly. "I'll transport the cargo afterwards and ping you on departure. Have the boat on location."

There was a pause, and she touched her earpiece. The murmur from the other end was too faint for translation, even at maximum sensitivity.

"Yes, understood," Tattoo Guy said and ended the call.

After a long wait, Dea got what she wanted. Faint snores wafted down.

She moved her bound hands down to her waist pouch and carefully extracted the pocket knife. Cutting the zip tie proved harder than she expected. After freeing herself, Dea rubbed her aching wrists and went about removing the duct tape. It came off with a burning sensation that she associated with a particularly sticky pore strip. Finally, she pulled out the wad of cloth from her mouth.

The items sank in the stale water. Dea spit in disgust, trying to erase the bitter aftertaste. She rolled her jaw with a popping noise, exhaled shakily and grabbed the pipe again. Her eyes gauged the distance to the rim of the tank.

She heaved herself up, arms quivering with the effort. Her tail tried to propel her body against the wall, but slid down the slick tiles.

Dea tried again, and this time, she jammed the blade of the knife into a crevice and used it as a handhold. As she slithered up, her peduncle scraped against a broken tile, and the sharp sting of pain made her wince. Halfway up, she pushed her flukes off the knife handle, and her palm landed splat on the edge of the tank. The wet hand slid on the tile, giving her only seconds to climb up.

All her muscles ached, pushed to the limits, and she struggled to mute her loud, shuddering breath. Water dripped down to the pool below. She almost expected Tattoo Guy to wake up and kick her down.

The snoring continued.

Dea pushed herself all the way up with one colossal heave and grabbed the bottommost rail. She crawled under it until her whole body was prone on the floor.

For a moment, she lay there and suppressed a sob. Leaning down as far as she dared, Dea yanked out the knife. A hint of red dissolving in the water below reminded her to check her wound. It turned out to be a shallow cut, which smarted and added to the slew of aches that now plagued her. As her heart slowed to a smoother rhythm, she rubbed her eyes and oriented herself.

Tattoo Guy was asleep on a chair, legs stretched out and head lolling against a shoulder. A discarded box, wrapped with human plastic, lay next to the chair. Dea's swollen eyes squinted against a lone light fixture, which cast shadows that elongated on the dirty floor.

Then she spied the Cypod, shining like rare loot in a video game. It stood just behind the sleeping human.

Dea carefully summoned it towards her, giving Tattoo Guy a wide berth. The land machine moved ever closer, its wheels whirring louder than it should in the maddening quiet.

When it was just a meter away from her, she let go of the breath she was holding. That was as far as it went.

A piece of plastic crunched under a wheel—a noise that cracked the stillness.

Dea gasped, at the same time the man jumped to his feet. His eyes were hard flint, gleaming in the light. They trained on her with baleful intensity.

He let out an exclamation and fast-walked towards her. Arms reached out as if he was about to catch a runaway animal. Dea panicked and did the first thing that popped into mind.

When the human was mere millimeters from grabbing her, the Cypod Terra jerked to action and rammed the human's legs.

He lost balance and went sprawling to the very edge of the tank. The surprise etched on his face made it clear that he had no clue about Dea's telekinetic abilities. Before he could clamber to his feet, she rammed him again. He slid through the rails and fell over the rim.

A splash sounded a second later, following by spluttering noises.

Wasting no time, Dea climbed into the Cypod and hugged her backpack. Then she made a scudline to the exit.

She only stopped to take a breath when she swung the door behind her. Its rusty hinges creaked in protest until it banged shut. She bolted it.

Her skittering heart refused to calm down, and she clutched the ogi. It contained a partial layout of the compound after she sonar-mapped it over twelve hours ago. Now, she shot out ultrasonic pulses to pinpoint her location and plot a course to the docking area, where the factory ship resided.

As she traversed the dingy corridors, she didn't encounter any humans. The percussive thrum of machinery had also ceased. Maybe this place would come alive again at dawn. The time on her ogi indicated that daybreak was too near for comfort.

Soon, the industrial doors that led outside appeared enticingly near, but the sonar feed indicated two approaching humans.

A rush of adrenaline flooded her system, and her eyes locked onto a stack of crates on one side. She rushed towards it and pushed one aside to make space. The Cypod scraped against the wall as she squeezed in to hide.

Seconds later, the humans rounded the corner and walked past the crates—just a few paces from her. That was when she tuned into their conversation.

"—they actually found it," a male voice said. "I went in to see when the boat arrived."

"Yes, it's only a young animal—probably crawled under the net last time," the other man replied in a thoughtful tone.

"Dugong is the proper word for it, eh?"

"No, not the same. This is a rare kind of sea cow. That's why they're all over it."

A chuckle came in response. "Funny to think the ocean has cows and grasslands."

Dea's heart stuttered, and it was as if the weight of the world fell down, slowly crushing her. She gulped in air, and her hand reached up to smother her gasping mouth.

"It must've been the last of them," the other man said, his voice receding as they disappeared around the corner. "By the way, I heard there was a problem—"

She didn't hear the rest. The ringing in her ears drowned out the Merlingo translations. The words cycled through her head and drove a knife through her heart. He's here...Burpy is here.

As Dea pushed out of her hiding place, her body shook like a frond of algae. They must've grabbed him from the meadows! The Cypod bumped against the crates and dislodged a lid, causing a handful of its contents to spill down. Dea's distracted eyes took in triangular shapes, pale yellow in the meager lighting. A bolt of horror rocked her again.

They were shark fins.

It was a spectacle that spoke of mutilation and slow death. She backed away, hand still clapped to her mouth.

Driven by panic, Dea streaked down the corridor towards the exit.

"Burpy...Burpy..." she said his name again and again, tears stinging her eyes.

When she pulled open the doors, she was met with the outdoor cargo area she escaped from during daylight—except, a dystopian filter appeared to have been placed on the scene, now plunged in the shadow of night.

Boom cranes, tarp and nets littered the concrete. Bodies of large fish lay on one side, glistening in the stark lighting from the vessels docked ahead. Dwarfing them was the factory-like bulk that she saw earlier—a formidable matriarch towering over the brood.

Her eyes bored into the massive nets, which made up half of the human plastic patch floating on the high seas. Some nets were coiled back into winch drums on the boat decks, their outlines barely visible in the dark.

She inadvertently simulated the horrific visual of them raking the seabed, devastating corals and indiscriminately scooping up entire eco-systems. Rooted to the spot in stunned silence, Dea assembled the pieces into a clear picture. These are the trawlers! They operate to this day, sweeping the oceans! An inferno erupted within, burning away all that was good in her mind.

Springing back to action, she raced straight towards the factory ship. Waves crashed and wind howled to the rhythm of her tumbling heart. The iron hand of fear choked her, making it hard to breathe.

The gargantuan vessel loomed near. Two flat arches, attached with pulleys and cables, tapered up from the clutter on deck. They rose even higher than the superstructure, which probably contained the bridge and crew quarters. A gangway extended out by its rear—a rusty maw perpetually open to devour a sea full of life.

The Cypod clattered up the ungainly ramp onto the deck. She could taste iron in the very air, mingled with salty wind. The floor was brown and slick under a chaotic jumble of rope, cables and other paraphernalia. Rusted metal bars and railings clogged up the rest of the space.

Dea dashed towards an open hatchway, which sloped down to the hold. The ogi indicated large spaces of storage in multiple levels, making the hunt for Burpy a daunting task. Dread escalated with each passing second.

Then she jerked to a stop, her limbs turning to lead.

If she had any doubts about the purpose of this ship, the carnage lay before her to prove her right.

Wild fish lay piled up in holding tanks, suffocated to death and some crushed under pressure. It was but the tip of the iceberg. The mere size of this deadly factory hinted at hundreds of thousands—and this was just one ship. Given the number of humans and their territories, her frenetic mind staggered at possibly a trillion fish pulled out of the ocean every year—a scale that eluded her thinking capacity. She knew that just counting to one trillion would take thirty thousand years.

Teetering on vertigo, Dea continued on.

Heaped in corners were the discarded corpses of dolphins, rays, turtles and everything else that got swallowed by the nets, which probably spanned up to half a kilometer. Dea wondered whether humans also took weapons into their terrestrial forests and killed all wildlife in sight.

More dolphin corpses lay on the floor. They seemed to have been mere pests done away with for endangering the fish haul. Numb to the core, she stared at a lifeless face, resting on a splotch of dark liquid—probably just a drop of the bloodshed enough to stain entire seas red. Her entire system spiraled into a state of primal fear.

Dea dredged up the last contents of her stomach and then dry-heaved. Spasms shook her as she propelled herself through the hellscape of the floating killing machine.

Among the countless creatures now staring with dead eyes, her only care now was for one individual—her sea cow. It was strange how the mind clumped everything into groups—unnamed and homogeneous. Burpy was the only "person". That made it easier to cope. Live animals must be down here somewhere!

The Cypod couldn't get through the steps or the chutes, which forced her to crawl. She avoided the machine rooms, where blades and conveyor belts lay idle. Panic powered her on. There were neither live animals, nor any trace of her cow.

Given that every animal she had encountered so far was dead, her only hope lay in the smaller boats. Oblivious to the passing of time, she fast-crawled to the Cypod again, assisted by the ogi's sonar. When she finally surfaced into the open air, a tinge of red colored the far horizon.

Shell-shocked and exhausted, Dea rushed to a smaller vessel.

It was empty.

The cargo it carried was probably unloaded to the factory ship or the "port" itself, which now occurred to her could be the main processing plant for this large-scale operation.

The third boat that Dea boarded appeared to be the only other vessel big enough to carry large marine animals. There was nowhere else to search. This is it! He has to be on this!

Her heart thundered painfully in her chest while she yanked at a hatch that led below decks. She finally got it open and burst in.

Empty tanks and containers met her stare.

No, no, no—he has to be here! Sobbing, she peered into them one by one as if Burpy would appear out of thin air and greet her. She almost reached the last tank.

Her heart stopped.

Lying on the floor was a broken collar studded with pink starfish.

Animal: Devil Ray

https://youtu.be/74mdJUaRNaA