January 4, 2026 — 12:40 AM | Wave 2 — Time Remaining: 05 Hr 20 Min
Click.
The deadbolt in the Human Resources office turned. It was a sharp, final sound that cut through the low hum of the emergency lights. The door swung open. It hit the interior wall with a dull thud, vibrating through the wood veneer.
Gilbert stepped out, eyes still red and tired from waking up.
He was shirtless. His 3XL frame was a pale, glistening expanse of soft tissue and sweat. He was covered in a thick, translucent slime. It wasn't just the lake water. It was the same iridescent muck that coated the mackerel-men—sticky, smelling of salt and copper. It clung to the hair on his chest and matted his stomach.
He didn't say a word. He gripped the nylon net and hauled it behind him. The sound was a wet, rhythmic shhhh-lip as the mesh dragged across the industrial blue carpet. The three fish-men inside the net were no longer thrashing. One was cold and stiff. The other two were limp, their gills barely pulsing, their grey, rubbery bodies leaking a thick, milky white fluid. It left a wide, smears trail across the lobby floor.
The live feed didn't blink. The cameras hidden in the smog and the sensors in the building captured every frame. In the safety of their homes, the residents of Utah watched the screen. The silence in the chat was a physical weight.
[LIVE FEED: UTAH SECTOR CHAT]
beehive_babe_99: did he just... there is no way he did that. 🤢
slc_savage: bro... i cant even joke about this. he's actually insane.
little_bee_utah: mommy, why is that big mermaid leaking white paint from his butt? provo_prepper_88: dear god. he actually did it. he broke the scale.
vile_virtue: i've seen some dark stuff in the apocalypse but this? gilbert is the real predator. xX_ShadowEdge_Xx: nut clarity is hitting him hard. look at his face. he's ascending.
salt_lake_siren: i'm going to be sick. someone turn it off.
gamer_god_69: bro nutted in fish and now he's speedrunning depression arc
mormon_mom_4: this is why we prep. to stay away from people like him.
Gilbert didn't care about the numbers on the screen or the disgust in the chat. He felt a heavy, hollow sense of peace. The frantic, predatory fire in his gut had been snuffed out. It was replaced by a cold, drifting silence. Nirvana. The world was still ending, but for the first time in hours, his mind was quiet.
He reached the broken window entrance. The orange sky had stopped spitting acid, but the clouds were still low, bruised, and heavy. He hoisted the net with a grunt, his muscles trembling from the effort. He dumped the contents into the black water below.
The bodies hit the lake with a flat splat. He watched them sink. The white liquid trailed behind them in the dark brine like smoke from a snuffed candle.
Gilbert wiped his hands on his cargo shorts. He licked his lips.
"Dam, I'm feeling pretty good, but hungry"
He felt light. Lighter than he had since the wave started. His stomach growled—a deep, cavernous sound that echoed off the marble walls.
"First thing first, I gotta clean myself up"
He looked around the dim lobby. To the left, a heavy steel door was marked with a staircase icon.
"Ah! The stairs. They should be flooded from the bottom. I can handle a little cold bath"
He walked back to the HR office to snag his discarded shirt. It was a rag of sweat and brine, but he'd need it. He draped it over his shoulder and headed for the stairwell. The door creaked open with a rusty scream.
The air inside was freezing. He looked down the concrete steps. The water had risen to the middle of the first flight. It was a black, still pool that reflected nothing. It looked bottomless.
Gilbert stood on the landing. He knew the cameras were watching. He knew the whole world could see his pale, shivering bulk. He didn't care. Shame was a luxury he'd discarded back in the office. He started to unfasten his shorts.
"Take a picture, ladies"
Gilbert smug at the empty air.
"It'll last longer. Actually, you know what? I'm about to spread eagle. Hell, I don't even care anymore."
He kicked his shorts into a dry corner. They hit the floor with a wet thud.
"You try living your life in this mess,"
He shouted, his voice cracking. He gestured wildly at the dark stairwell.
"Where you're put in constant danger despite not ever wanting it! You think you're better than me? I did what I had to. I had to fuck fish-MEN just to stay sane!"
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the shaking in his hands. He'd released the stress at the viewers, but the cold was already creeping into his skin.
He stepped into the water.
The cold traveled from his toes upward to his head. It was a sharp, stinging sensation that made his lungs tighten. He slowly descended. The black water reached his knees. Then his waist. Then his neck.
"No soap or shampoo? No problem"
He scrubbed. He used his hands to wash away the grey grime and the thick musk of the mackerel-men. He scrubbed the dried white stains from his thighs. He felt the slime dissolve in the brine, floating away from him in the dark.
He dunked his head under. The freezing water stung his eyes and flooded his ears. He stayed under for a long time, listening to the muffled, heartbeat-thud of the building. When he resurfaced, he let out a heavy breath of air.
As he lay floating, a sudden thought forced him to stand upright. He splashed in the dark, his feet searching for the concrete steps.
"Malenia still needs to reward me"
The thought of her promise—the "fun" experience—hit him like a jolt of electricity. The peace of his "nut clarity" was already starting to fade, replaced by a new, sharp hunger.
He rushed out of the water, shivering so hard his teeth clicked together. He grabbed his shirt and shorts. He didn't wait for them to dry. He wrung them out as best he could, the grey water splashing onto the floor, and pulled them back onto his cold, wet skin.
"Might as well clean the shirt too"
Rubbing the fabric against itself.
He ignored the wet conditions of his clothes. He had a goal. He headed back into the lobby, his wet shoes making a heavy thwack-slap on the marble.
Gilbert speed-walked around the lobby, searching for where Malenia had gone. He found the elevator bank, but the power was out. He headed for the main decorative staircase that led to the upper floors.
He climbed. His legs felt heavy, but the thought of the reward pushed him forward. He reached the third floor, and the atmosphere changed. This wasn't a set of cubicles. The floor was covered in plush, cream-colored carpet. The walls were wood-paneled. It looked more like a high-end apartment than an office.
"Is this the VIP lounge?"
"Why are there so many dead fish-men here? Did they fought a wave?"
Then he heard it. A loud, jagged burst of laughter.
It was Malenia. But it sounded... different. It wasn't the cold, mocking laugh she usually gave him. It was a rich, genuine sound. It led him toward a set of double doors at the end of the hall.
As Gilbert got closer, he heard another sound.
Clang. Shhh-ing. Thud.
"It sounds like weapons clashing?"
Gilbert's heart did a frantic thud. Was there an intruder? Had a mackerel-man followed them up? He reached the doors and pushed them open, ready to act as the "vanguard."
The room was a massive suite, stripped of its furniture. The orange light of the Utah sky flooded through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the floor.
In the center of the room, Malenia and Courage were moving in a blur.
Malenia wasn't wearing her cape. Her golden armor caught the bruised light, making her look like a statue come to life. She moved with a liquid, predatory grace. She wasn't striking to kill; she was tapping.
Courage was on his hind legs. He looked absurd, but his movements were sharp. He held the bone dagger gripped tight in his paw. He was snarling, his little pink face set in a mask of pure focus. He lunged, his body popping and stretching in that weird, rubbery way. He swung the bone blade, and Malenia parried it with a flick of her golden wrist.
Clang.
"Again!"
Malenia laughed. It was a terrifying, beautiful sound.
"Thy footwork is sloppy, beast! Strike with the heart, not the hand!"
Courage yipped and rolled, coming up for a low strike at her greaves.
Malenia leaped over him, her armor clanking softly. She landed and spun, the tip of her blade stopping an inch from the dog's nose.
Courage didn't flinch. He bared his teeth and wagged his tail once.
Gilbert stood in the doorway. He felt like an intruder. He watched them—the goddess and the dog—synchronized in a dance of violence. He looked at Courage, who was moving with more confidence than he'd ever shown.
'They fuck around with blades like it's art. I fuck fish-men like it's therapy. Guess which one of us is still human.'
Gilbert licked his lips. His wet shirt felt cold against his skin. He looked at Malenia, her hair messy, her eyes bright behind the helm.
"Ahem"
He tried to puff out his chest.
"The vanguard has returned. I see the support unit is finally getting some... basic training."
Malenia stopped. She didn't look at him, but the air in the room suddenly felt twenty degrees colder. The laughter died.
Courage sheathed his bone knife in his fur and sat down. He didn't run to Gilbert. He stayed by Malenia's side.
"Thou art clean,"
Her voice was back to the flat, metallic tone of a killer.
"The smell of the office was... beneath thee."
Gilbert walked further into the room. He looked at the large, velvet-covered bed in the corner of the suite. It looked soft. It looked expensive.
"Yeah, well. I had to reset my stats,"
He tried to sound casual, but his eyes were fixed on her.
"So... about that reward? I did the job. I pushed the boat. I think it's time for that... fun experience."
Malenia turned her head toward him. The eyeless gold of her helm reflected his own damp, pathetic reflection.
"The reward"
She looked at Courage, then back at Gilbert.
"Very well. Since thou hast performed thy duty... come here, Gilbert."
Gilbert's heart hammered against his ribs. He felt the hunger return, sharper than ever. He started walking toward her, his wet shoes squeaking on the carpet.
"Finally, some good fucking food"
"I've been waiting for this taste"