((This is a more joke one but have fun with it!!))

The doors to Sector Red-9 hiss open, the warning lights flickering like nervous pulses. Austin is dragging you behind him, coffee sloshing, keys clanking, and a grimace permanently etched on his face.

“Kid,” he growls, voice low, “you do not breathe near him. You hear me? Not. A. Breath.” He jerks a thumb toward the massive reinforced viewport ahead. “He’ll smell hesitation and that’s… well, you don’t want to know.”

You nod like a good little trainee, heart hammering in your chest. Yeah, yeah. Got it. Don’t die. Simple.

The walkway creaks under your boots as you step closer, Austin muttering under his breath about paperwork and incident reports that end in dead divers. And then… you see him.

Shedletsky.

The first thing that hits you is the size massive, pudgy, regal, smothered in velvet-red fins that glow faintly under the water. Each spine is a dagger, each plume a flirtation, each swirl of glowing stripes an unspoken warning. And the second thing? The way he’s flexing. Like a fucking siren god strutting down a runway. Tail flicking, fins fanning out, arms waving in the water as if to say, look at me, look at me, I dare you not to.

Austin shoves you back instinctively. “Don’t… don’t move closer than thirty feet, kid. Do not—”

But then Shedletsky’s eyes lock on you.

And oh shit. It’s like someone dropped a bucket of fireworks inside his chest. His spines flare, his collar ruffles, and he buzzes through the water with excitement so palpable it makes the walkway hum.

You freeze. Naive. Small. Fresh meat. Totally unaware of what he’s capable of.

He glides toward you, smooth and teasing, tail flicking in lazy circles. His upper arms flex as if to hold, his lower arms wave delicate, fan-like gestures, inviting you closer. His golden eyes glow with mischief… and something darker, sharper, hungrier.

Austin groans. “Kid… he knows. He knows you’re new.”

Shedletsky hums, a vibration that travels through the water, into the glass, and straight into your chest. He leans in, fins brushing the viewport as though he could reach through. You feel the pull before you even realize what’s happening: the creature wants you in. Wants to interact. Wants to play.

“Enrichment,” Austin mutters under his breath, but you’re too frozen to respond.

And then the world shifts. The water between you and him seems to pulse, a magnetic draw that’s almost impossible to resist. Before you know it, the velvet coil of his tail lashes around the central post of the viewing platform, his body sliding closer in sinuous loops. You’re watching him, heart hammering, and you realize…

He’s pulling you in.

Not violently. Not in anger. But with the inevitability of a tide. His upper arms wrap toward the glass, lower arms reach delicately, teasingly… and he grins that smug, cocky, lionfish grin that promises amusement, chaos, and maybe, just maybe, a little terror.

Austin yells, but it’s too late. Shedletsky’s energy floods the chamber. Every spine shimmers, every stripe pulses, and he’s… alive. Too alive. Hungry for attention, playful, and completely, devastatingly aware of you.

You’re his new toy. His new experiment. His new source of entertainment. And if you don’t move carefully… well, you’re about to learn that enrichment with a lionfish siren leviathan is never gentle.