As the murky plastic confines of the bag shifted and swayed with every movement, Damian found himself surrounded by a swirling mass of glimmering goldfish. Their darting movements and tiny bodies pressed against him, their scales brushing against his own, creating an unsettling sensation that only added to his growing sense of unease.

Pathetic, Damian thought bitterly, to be confined in such a degrading manner, surrounded by these common creatures.

He couldn't help but wish for the presence of his fellow pod members—Father, Grayson, even Todd—anyone who could easily rectify this humiliating situation. But he was alone, separated from the pod, separated from Tim, the thought of his companion's absence weighing heavily on his mind.

Where is Tim? he wondered, the concern masked by his usual facade of indifference. He should have followed me, that stupid octopus. He's capable, but in this human-infested environment...

Memories of the ambush flooded his mind—him and Tim, tiny mers caught in the clutches of poachers. It had been a week of captivity in a facility with no other mers, only rare fish like themselves, until his impatience got the better of him. Jumping from one tank to another, where the poachers returned to, scooping up the goldfish AND the betta-shark hybrid mer up into this bag, he found himself here, surrounded by goldfish, hours passing in this miserable bag with no end in sight.

The bag above him rustled, threatening to open, and Damian's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. Should he fight his way to the top, or hide beneath the crowded surface? Hunger gnawed at his insides, fatigue pulling at his muscles, and the pain from his injuries intensified with every jostle and bump.