CV
A tentacle slams into a stack of boxes, knocking over the entire pallet, freezing it solid. Frost explodes across the floor. Charles and Debra are nowhere to be found. I can only hope they found a good place to hide themselves.
I grab Daryll's arm. "We have to stall her. Or trap her somewhere."
Irene fires another shot. It barely slows the kraken.
"We need to get her to the galley," I say, breath fogging. "The freezers are solid metal. Industrial. Reinforced. If we can lure her inside—"
Daryll's eyes flick toward me, sharp and bright. "You want to lock a kraken in a walk‑in freezer."
"Yes."
He grins. "I adore you."
Another tentacle whips across the hold, slapping a crate and freezing it instantly. The kraken's elongated torso writhes between luggage stacks, her black eyes sweeping the room, searching for heat, for pairs, for us.
"We need a good male voice," I say quickly. "Something loud. Something that can carry. A phone, a speaker — anything."
Irene doesn't hesitate. She digs into her bag and tosses me a burner phone. Kaito grabs a Bluetooth speaker from a crate marked LOST & FOUND.
He hands it over. "Battery's full." Perfect.
I shove the phone into Daryll's hands. "Your time to shine, Hat—" I catch myself. "I mean Daryll."
His grin widens. "Pet, you can call me anything you want."
"Sing," I say. "Make cute guy sounds. Make her think you love her. Sound something like her husband. Do you think you can do it?"
He lifts the speaker, rolls his shoulders, and gives me a look that is half mischief, half deadly seriousness.
"Of course, pet," he says softly. "Playing a role is my specialty."
Behind us, the kraken shrieks, a sound that rattles the beams overhead and sends frost crawling up the walls.
Her tentacles whip toward us.
Daryll steps forward, taps the speaker, and inhales.
Then he begins to sing.
Not loudly but with a soft, warm, human tone that cuts through the freezing air like a memory of summer. His voice is gentle, coaxing, threaded with longing.
The kraken freezes. Her tentacles stop mid‑air.
Her black eyes widen. She hears him. She believes him.
Daryll's voice deepens, softens, becomes something tender, something a grieving creature might mistake for the man she lost.
The kraken shudders. Her tentacles curl inward.
Her elongated torso twists toward the sound.
She begins to move towards the speaker, towards the galley, and our trap.
Daryll glances back at me, eyes bright, voice still flowing like warm water.
"Lead the way, darling," he murmurs. "Let's go freeze a kraken."
We reach the galley doors just as another blast of cold air sweeps through the hold, sharp enough to make my teeth ache. Irene shoves the door open, and we rush inside — stainless steel counters, industrial ovens, metal shelving. Everything here is solid, reinforced, built to withstand storms and heat.
Perfect.
The walk‑in freezer sits at the back — a massive steel box with a thick insulated door. The kind meant to hold hundreds of pounds of frozen food.
Or one grieving kraken.
We place the Bluetooth speaker inside, setting it on a crate of frozen vegetables. Daryll keeps singing into the burner phone, voice warm and tender, echoing through the freezer's metal interior.
The kraken shudders at the sound, tentacles curling inward. She's coming.
Kaito's radio crackles again. His voice is sharp, urgent, controlled.
"Backup is ten minutes out. Bring a shit ton of tranquilizers, and anything that works on sea creatures. Bring stun grenades, and if those don't work, we'll electrocute her. Bring the zappers!"
The reply is faint but clear:
"Copy. Tranquilizers for cold‑blooded megafauna. Electric batons. Nets. ETA eight."
Eight minutes until our saviors arrive.
The kraken's tentacles slap against the galley floor, freezing tiles solid. Her elongated torso squeezes through the doorway, boneless and fluid, hair‑tentacles whipping like angry ropes. Her black eyes sweep the room, locking onto the freezer.
Daryll's voice softens, becoming heartbreakingly gentle. "Come to me, darling. I'm here."
The kraken lets out a trembling, guttural sound, grief and rage braided together, and drags herself forward, tentacles sliding across counters, suction cups popping against steel.
Irene whispers, "Get ready."
Kaito grips the freezer door handle. The ship's freezer and deep and extra cold, enough for several hundred passenger's worth of meat and frozen meal preparation.
Daryll steps back, still singing, still coaxing, the Bluetooth speaker blaring. The kraken reaches the freezer. Her tentacles curl around the doorframe. The elongated torso stretches inside.
Kaito slams the door. Irene throws her weight against it.
The latch clicks. The freezer seals. The hat man and I push a large metal prep table against the door, we all sit on top, adding weight and resistance.
The kraken shrieks, a sound that rattles every pan, every shelf, every bone in my body, but the steel holds. For now.
Daryll exhales, lowering the phone. "Well," he murmurs, "that was dramatic."
The freezer door bulges inward.
Frost spreads across the metal.
The pounding starts immediately, hard and violent.
Each impact rattles the steel door, sending vibrations through the galley floor. Frost blooms across the hinges, creeping outward like white veins. The kraken's tentacles slam again and again, suction cups popping, her elongated torso twisting inside the freezer as she tries to force her way out.
But the door holds. Tempered steel is industrial and strong, several inches thick to keep the cold inside. Now it was keeping in another kind of sea creature.
The pounding grows softer. Less furious. More desperate.
Her shriek fades into a low, trembling moan, a crying sound that vibrates the metal like a heartbeat. The frost spreads, but slower now, as if her strength is ebbing.
Then, we hear it. A feminine sob. Echoing through the freezer walls.
Debra covers her mouth, tears streaming as she walks in through the door with Charles. Charles pulls her close, trembling as he's accompanied. Irene lowers her gun. Even Kaito's expression shifts not pity, but recognition of something ancient and terrible.
I turn to Daryll, and he does something I never expected.
He steps closer to the freezer door, places one hand gently against the cold metal, and begins to sing.
Softly, gently, warmly, tenderly. He started to sing a gentle love song. Not meant to lure, but to comfort.
His voice pours through the steel like warm water, threading into the cold, into the grief, into the creature curled inside. The melody is simple, gentle, the kind someone would use to soothe hurt feelings.
The kraken's sobbing quiets. Her tentacles stop slamming the walls.
The frost stops spreading.
She presses herself against the door from the inside as if leaning against the door, not to escape, but to listen. Her tentacle‑braids go still. Her massive octopus arms curl inward, trembling.
Daryll keeps singing, eyes closed, voice steady and heartbreakingly soft.
I watch him, the hat man, the dancer, the trickster, and see something new. Something human. Something kind. Something that understands grief deeper than most mortals ever will.
He sings until the pounding stops completely.
Her sobs fade into quiet, shuddering breaths.
He sings until the freezer becomes still.
Kaito lowers his radio, voice hushed. "Backup in five minutes."
Irene whispers, "Keep her calm."
Daryll doesn't stop.
And in the freezing galley, surrounded by frost and fear and the echo of a monster's heartbreak, I realize:
We didn't just trap her. She's listening.
We gave her a moment of peace she hasn't felt since the storm took her groom.The pounding on the freezer door grows weaker, each strike softer than the last. Her tentacles slap once, twice… then drag downward, leaving long streaks of frost. She's still trying, but the steel won't budge. Not even for her.
Her tentacles stop slamming the walls.
Her massive octopus arms curl inward, trembling like a frightened child.
She presses herself against the door from the inside, listening.
Daryll keeps singing, voice steady, heartbreakingly gentle.
And that's when the soldiers arrive.
The galley doors burst open, marines flooding in — armored, armed, faces set in grim determination. Electric batons crackle. Stun grenades hang from belts. A medic carries a case marked TRANQ — MEGAFAUNA.
Kaito steps forward, voice sharp. "She's contained. Drill the port."
A marine with a portable drill moves to the freezer, placing the bit against the steel. The kraken inside lets out a soft, confused moan — not rage, not fear, just exhaustion.
Daryll keeps singing.
The drill bites into the metal, sending sparks across the floor. Frost crawls up the drill casing, but the marine works fast, punching a small hole through the reinforced wall.
Another marine steps up with a hose attached to a pressurized tank.
"Sleeping gas," he announces. "Cold‑blooded formula. Enough to drop a Humboldt squid."
Kaito nods. "Pump it in."
The hose slides into the hole.
A hiss fills the freezer.
Inside, the kraken lets out one last trembling cry — a sound that makes my chest ache — then quiets. Her tentacles thump weakly against the floor. Her elongated torso slumps. Her hair‑tentacles droop like wilted vines.
The marines watch the gauges.
Thirty seconds. Forty. Fifty.
Her movements stop.
The frost stops spreading.
The kraken lies still.
When they open the freezer, she looks almost peaceful, her human torso curled gently, her octopus limbs folded beneath her like a sleeping creature. Her tentacle‑braids rest softly around her shoulders. Her blackened eyes are closed.
Less frightening now. Less monster.
More like a woman who loved too deeply and broke too completely.
Debra whispers, "She looks… human."
Charles squeezes her hand. "She was in love."
The marines move in with nets and restraints, careful, respectful, almost gentle.
Daryll steps back from the freezer door, his voice finally quiet.
I look at him and see the softness still lingering in his expression.
"She wasn't evil," I say softly. "Just heartbroken."
He nods, eyes warm. "Grief makes monsters of us all, pet."
And as the marines secure the unconscious kraken, frost melting slowly from the steel.
The marines work fast.
They wheel in a reinforced transport tank—steel walls, thick glass, hoses pumping chilled seawater through the interior. It looks more like a mobile lab than anything meant for a living creature. The kraken lies inside, unconscious, her human torso curled gently, her octopus limbs folded beneath her like a sleeping child. Her tentacle‑braids float softly in the water, drifting with each pulse of the pump.
Less monstrous now.
Just… tragic.
The marines seal the tank, lock it, and attach it to a motorized dolly. They move with practiced efficiency, barely speaking, barely looking at us. This is routine for them. Monsters, anomalies, things that shouldn't exist—they've seen worse.
Debra mumbles too low to hear, tears slipping down her cheeks. Charles presses his forehead to hers. The marines finish securing the tank and begin rolling it toward the loading bay.
We follow them outside.
The sky is pale blue, the ocean calm—too calm, like it's holding its breath. A motorboat waits at the lower deck, engines humming. The marines load the tank aboard, securing it with heavy straps.
Then the boat pulls away.
The kraken's tentacle‑braids drift in the water behind the glass enclosure, limp and still. Her human face is peaceful, almost serene. The boat becomes a dot on the horizon.
And beyond it, A warship.
Medium‑sized. Gray. Silent. Waiting miles away.
Its silhouette is unmistakable—angular, armored, bristling with weapons. If they wanted, they could have bombed the entire cruise liner and called it an accident. A tragic maritime disaster.
The thought sends a shiver through me.
Daryll wraps his arms around me from behind, warm and steady, pulling me close against the cold. His chin rests lightly on my shoulder, his breath soft against my ear.
"Easy, pet," he murmurs. "It's over."
The ocean stretches out, endless and quiet.
I lean back into Daryll's warmth, the chill finally easing from my bones.
But the image of the warship stays with me. The hat-man and I could easily become like the kraken, sealed away in boxes, experimented on, erased from existence.
It was reminder that the world is bigger, stranger, and far more dangerous than anyone on this cruise ever imagined.