Tall, narrow buildings of colorful coral stood like a wall in the distance. They looked like fingers sprouting from the ground, clawing for something unseen near the distant surface of the ocean.

  After the Crests, there were no other neighborhoods for Father to get lost into. A straight road led past the narrow buildings and into a small valley. Parks spotted the natural low point between rows of narrow buildings.

  Father slowed on the bridge, watching the peaceful families swing and play. They either knew of the horrors of the Hardbody Crustaceans and chose to ignore them, or they were entirely clueless of the criminals that lived and operated in their neighborhood.

  The next row of tall buildings passed, which led Father to a literal and figurative stop. He pulled aside as the road split into left and right turns. Even thinking about killing himself to fight Holo again just to get directions was agonizing.

  His luck was lower than before, but that didn’t mean it was gone. He had to rely on his attributes to get him what he needed. It was there. It just needed some encouragement.

  Father tapped his claws on the steering wheel, willing himself to push on. If he got lost and had to backtrack, at least he would know what he had already accomplished and could retrace the positive steps.

  It was all a step forward.

  Father took a right turn and just had to hope—

  The car squealed to a stop as a leather jacket-wearing lobster sprawled to the ground. A dent was left from the impact. Father was immediately out of his seat with the katana in hand.

  “Hardbody Crustacean,” Father said.

  “Ugh.” The lobster rolled over. Cracks spread across its shell. Bloodshot eyes flicked to Father, then to the katana. “Who the hell are you?” He coughed and let his head fall back to the asphalt.

  “Who crosses the street without looking?” Father pressed a foot against the lobster’s abdomen.

  “I expect people to look while driving.” He lifted his head again. “You look familiar.”

  Father pressed firmly with his foot. “Do I?”

  “Ugh. Yeah.” The lobster pointed with his claw. “Do you have a Son that we kidnapped?”

  “I do.”

  The lobster’s eyes widened. He looked back at the katana. “Oh.”

  Father swung the katana down, nicked the lobster’s shell, and kept the point at the crustacean’s throat. “And you are going to lead me to my Son.”

  “Uh, no.” The lobster let his arm and head flop back to the asphalt. “I’ll stay here.”

  Just a little pressure of the katana caused the cracks to spread through the lobster’s shell.

  “Fine, ow, stop.” He held his claws up. “I give up.”

  “You already lost. You can’t surrender when you’re on the ground like this.”

  The lobster pulled his arms back in, cradling them close to his cracking shell. “Fine. Then I unsurrender. I declare war.”

  Chill

  Icy tendrils quickly spread through the prone lobster. He slowly reached his claws up again. “I don’t have a white flag.”

  Father pulled his foot away. For a Hardbody Crustacean, the lobster was pathetic. He watched with contempt as the gang member reached his feet and brushed pebbles from his jacket.

  “Where’d you get a katana?” the lobster asked casually.

  “Mayor Borokurk of the modestly deep trench.” Father extended the sharp point in the lobster’s direction. “Are we walking or driving?”

  The lobster was still moving slowly with chill’s tendrils binding his limbs. He tried pointing, but Father grew bored of waiting and tossed the sea creature into the passenger seat. Father sheathed the katana and sat with an arm across his lap, aiming a handgun at the lobster’s face.

  “Don’t try a thing.”

  The lobster nodded in slow motion. “Understood. We kidnapped the wrong lobster, huh? Who would’ve guessed the Father of the Sexiest Lobster was so dangerous?”

  “I didn’t start this way.”

  Father drove alongside a row of the tall, narrow buildings. They appeared to be primarily apartment buildings with a corner store every few blocks. It took less than a mile for Father to find a whole group of Hardbody Crustaceans. There were more gathered on the streetside than there had been in the parking garage. Driving past would be easy, but Father knew he would regret leaving even one alive.

  He stopped the car and pressed the handgun’s barrel into lobster’s head. “I’m going to kill all your friends. Stay here if you intend to live.”

  The lobster shivered and used his head to nod backward. “You know this is a pigfish car, right? You could toss me in the back.”

  Father tapped the gun against the lobster’s head. “Get in the back.”

  “Right.”

  Father stayed in the driver’s seat until the Hardbody Crustacean got out of the car, opened the back door, and locked himself inside.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “All set, boss.”

  Father slipped the handgun back into his shorts and walked out with the shotgun hanging loosely in his claw. If things went according to plan, he wouldn’t need it.

  Rock Throw

  There was more than enough road. He ripped out most of the opposite lane and lifted it. Only one Hardbody Crustacean really started to notice, but it was far too late. Father sent the boulder of asphalt and stone flying. It crashed into the fish and shellfish like a bowling ball, crushing the pins into pulp.

  Ten Hardbody Crustaceans were gathered farther back. After watching their friends get crushed, they became furious rather than terrified, as Father had expected. That was fine with him.

  They surged forward, pulling out guns, knives, machetes, clubs, and more.

  Fireball

  Liquid fire deformed in the air, splashing over the first crab, onto a wrasse, and into the rest of the crowd. Father flinched as the spell detonated and launched sea creature meat. Guts and molten shells splatted against the nearest apartment tower. Viscous remains dripped down the coral, getting stuck in the bumps and crevices.

  Father watched until a clump splattered on the sidewalk. “Perfect.”

  The lobster in the back seat was silent as Father sat down.

  “Which direction?”

  “Uh, left,” the lobster said.

  Father put the car in drive and set off down the street. He turned left away from the pulped remains of the gang. “You were walking to them when I hit you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you glad I hit you?”

  “Yeah.” The lobster tapped the cage-like barrier between them. “Are you actually going to let me live?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Ah. What if you did? I promise I can do a lot. I can be your assistant. Do you need an assistant?”

  “No.”

  The lobster slumped back into his seat. “I’ll think of something else,” he muttered.

  Father followed the lobster’s directions, winding through narrow streets, over channels, and into another narrow street.

  “What if I promise to jump into traffic the next time I think about doing something remotely criminal related?”

  “No,” Father said.

  “Hm. I’ll keep thinking. Take a left.”

  Instead of a single street with narrow coral towers on each side, the street Father now found himself on zig-zagged between two sections of more intricate coral buildings. They stretched over in arches, making the streets shadowed like a deep sea trench.

  There were no more families playing in parks or people walking about. He had found the true home of the Hardbody Crustaceans. Gang members stood outside most doors. Guns and all sorts of melee weapons were clearly visible. Pigfish wouldn’t be visiting such a desolate, dangerous place.

  Beady eyes tracked Father in the most conspicuous car he could’ve possibly picked.

  “They’re ready to kill.” The lobster pressed his face against the window. “Oh, is that Steve?” He tapped loudly. “Steve!”

  “Shut up.” Father let off the gas, slowing the car in the middle of the street.

  The lobster immediately rattled the cage. “Whoa, hey. Don’t slow down.” His claw tapped the glass. “They’re ready to start blasting.”

  “Where’s my Son?”

  “End of the street! End of the street!”

  Father watched the Hardbody Crustaceans lining the street. There were dozens of criminal bottom feeding scum, and as much as he would love to kill every single one of them . . . He was probably going to die right after seeing his Son.

  It was better to spend the rest of the run finding where he needed to go. He had already spent so much time navigating and learning. Life after life, repeating steps just to find out where to go next. If he did that now, he could show up the next time with a hunger for violence.

  He could snack on crab all day.

  Father slammed the gas down and sped down the street. Some stray bullets chased after them but didn’t manage to hit Father or anything important in the vehicle.

  “There!”

  Father stopped outside an especially intricate coral building. It was like a cathedral dedicated to the Reef itself. Colorful spires reached for the surface, sprouting at angles from the dome-like roof.

  “It looks like a villain’s base from a movie,” Father said.

  “Well, uh, you know. Sometimes things make sense.” The lobster tapped the window again. “Can I get out?”

  “No.”

  Two groupers about the same size a Magaleus stood outside the main doors. Coral steps led from the sidewalk to the wall of massive fish that eyed the car with obvious concern.

  Other Hardbody Crustaceans lingered on the street corners. Discarded bottles littered the ground. Their movements were slow and clumsy as they nudged and pointed at the police cruiser.

  “A bunch of drunks just stand around?” Father asked.

  “What else are you going to do? Unless you’re in the inner circle, you know. Everyone in the Buttress had to join or flee.”

  Father stopped the car and checked the shotgun. He loaded a shell from his bandolier. “Those families in the parks. Are they—”

  “Part of the Crustaceans? Yeah. Well, uh, yeah.”

  Father set the shotgun in the passenger seat, grabbed a handgun and turned as far as he could while sitting.

  “Really?” the lobster asked. He put his claws up. “After everything we’ve been through?”

  “You’re holding families hostage.”

  The lobster frowned. He lowered his claws and tugged on the collar of his leather jacket. “You don’t think I joined for survival too?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.” Father pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the barrier and into the lobster’s forehead. Blood splattered on the back window as the Hardbody Crustacean fell limp in the seat.

  The gunshot stirred the drunken crabs into some type of consciousness. Father grabbed the shotgun, stepped out of the car, and nodded to the groupers. They both pulled shotguns from their backs.

  Rock Throw

  Father sent a boulder of asphalt at the drunken Crustaceans. Meat splattered into the water. He had missed a few, but a few quick bullets found their targets and added more corpses to the pile.

  A grouper tried his shotgun from afar. Buckshot hit the ground near Father’s feet and pinged off the hood of the car, but nothing hit him.

  Father pointed his claw.

  Fireball

  An ember appeared at the tip of his claw and spun, pulling in more fiery energy. Both groupers looked at one another, then stepped forward as the fireball flew through the water. It spread out just far enough to catch both groupers in the head.

  Fire dripped like syrup down the right grouper’s arms and torso. He bellowed in pain. The left grouper managed to fend off most of it with his shotgun, collecting the molten liquid around the barrel.

  Father smiled as the explosion decimated both groupers and tore apart the front of the coral building. Bits of debris floated through the water as Father stood his ground, waiting for the destruction to clear.

  The doors had been blown in, revealing a lavish entryway. More Hardbody Crustaceans were already arriving from within after hearing the explosion. These weren’t drunken, throwaway recruits. Father didn’t recognize any of the sea creatures, but he did recognize the way they carried themselves. They were confident in their abilities.

  These were the real Hardbody Crustaceans. A fiddler crab led the pack, carrying a knife in its small claw. Some clownfish flanked him, with some groupers and mud crabs farther back.

  “I’m here for my Son,” Father shouted.

  The Fiddler swung his head back and forth, looking at the crushed drunkards and the mess from the fireball. Bits of grouper meat burned at his feet.

  “I see that.” Fiddler clacked his big claw a few times. “Do you have the money?”

  Father pumped the shotgun. “I’ve got lead.”