“Can I take your order, sir?”

  “An olive tuna mayo footlong with, uhh… American cheese. You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ every time, Mason.”

  “It’s store policy, Sharkz.” The shopkeeper gently laughed, his blue eyes bloodshot from working overtime shifts.

  “I mean, I’m basically the one keeping you guys in business, and you know my order—so why’d you make me say it again?”

  His slightly jaundiced shark tail waved in slight irritation.

  Mason’s tired eyes carefully followed the tail. “I know. I’m just trying to get a raise from this dick of a boss! Every time, I’m the one who covers for others. I’m the one who’s willing to work an extra shift. Nobody ever shows up!”

  His anger slowly dissipated as he sighed. “A Sprite and two chocolate cookies?”

  “Yeeep.”

  “I’ll get right to that, sir—I mean, Sharkz.”

  Alright, you’re probably wondering who the fuck this dude is.

  No, I’m not talking about the Mason shopkeeper dude.

  I’m talking about the guy who has a literal shark tail.

  Well, I’m just your average shark person or whatever. I never thought about what I was, and I was never asked, so it isn’t really a problem. I do sometimes get some questionable looks. It’s probably because of the hair and, well, the tail and stuff.

  I mean, I swear it’s natural—I was born with blue hair. Something your average anime protagonist would say, right?

  Well, a bit of background. I came to this island a few years ago, and it’s pretty chill. The mayor gave me a free apartment in exchange for protecting the city, which is pretty easy. I mean, it’s not the best apartment, but I’m not complaining—I’ve lived in worse conditions.

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  I collect a nice amount of cash for doing jobs like rooftop delivery and acting as a hitman (revenge kills only if anyone’s interested, by the way).

  I guess I’ve said enough. It wouldn’t be nice to lore-dump about me to our new reader, right?

  Back to the shooowww!

  “How’s surfing for you, Mason?”

  “I haven’t had time for it,” he said sadly while wrapping his footlong, his blond greasy hair shining under the yellow lights of the shop.

  “You know what, Mason? Go surf.” He handed him a 500 bill.

  “Dude? For real?” Mason’s face lit up.

  “Nah, I totally get you. I hate when I can’t do what I want. Plus, I do agree—Ray is indeed a ‘dick.’”

  “Thank you so much, man. I really needed this. Rent’s been ti—”

  “Blah blah, finish your 9-to-5 B.S. and give me my shit.”

  “Of course!” He hastily put Sharkz’ order in a bag.

  “Well, thanks, Mason. Enjoy your week, man.”

  “Thank you so much, dude. I can’t thank you enough.”

  His tired face now full of energy.

  Now exiting the store, he checked his phone.

  “Shit. Carias called.”

  Hurriedly, he calls her back, and she picks up.

  “Bro, where were you?”

  “I was getting my footlong.”

  “Another Sandwich? Are you fucking serious?”

  “Chill out. I can’t even eat now? You know I’m always hungry.”

  “Anyways, that wasn’t the fucking point. I found Ashwin in your room. He’s talking about something you guys were gonna do near the crane.”

  “Shit, I forgot about that. Well, tell him I’ll be there in two.”

  “You lazy cocksucker, you could be here now!”

  Aaaaand now, he thinks to himself.

  “Also, before you leave, could you get me some shrimp ra—”

  “Nope, ain’t doing that.” He stuck out his tongue as he ended the call.

  “Splotch, wanna have a bit of fun?”

  A petrol-smelling speck of goo came out of Sharkz’s pocket.

  “It wouldn’t be cheating anyway—I left my gear at home,” he says as he winks to the alien-like being. It latches onto his left arm, making a noise that sounded like a cat’s purr but much rougher and louder.

  “And away we go!” he sarcastically said while attaching himself to a streetlight.