Exharks #1 - New Horizons

Author’s Note: Exharks directly follows the short story Eprologue, which itself is a follow-up to the short story Imaginator.

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The dawn saw Sharkerbob leaning against the metal rail that surrounded the garden balcony off the stern of his hovering base. He stared down into the valley below, wondering if this would be the day he’d finally work up the nerve to actually leave his vessel. One would think three months of complete isolation would have made him eager to run towards civilization at the first opportunity, but when the moment of truth came, he’d found himself freezing up at the thought.

He was, after all, in a completely alien world now. Sure, the surrounding mountains and the valley below looked Earthlike, and his improved vision even spotted some more-or-less Earthlike fauna. But even with Tabitha’s assurance that the local wildlife wouldn’t be “much” of a threat to him, that still left the possibility that something could harm him. This was, after all, the Endless Frontier. The fantastical creatures and supernatural phenomenon and hyper-advanced technologies and alien civilizations of thousands of worlds had been thrown together into this nigh-infinite plane of existence. And while most such phenomenon tended to remain within the world shards in which they originated, on an effectively infinite scale, there could be an effectively infinite number of exceptions crossing the borders. Even if the local environment was relatively safe, who knew if an invasive creature or hazard might have meandered into the area that he could stumble upon?

At present, he was in no condition to defend himself. Even with Tabitha’s ichor infusion rendering him functionally immortal, restoring his youth and health and giving him a healing factor, he was still just a guy, who’d grown up on an Earth full of mundane conveniences, where the vast majority of threats were, for him at least, easily avoided. He had no combat experience, no hunting experience, not even farming experience. Supposedly he had the capacity to learn some degree of magic now, but he didn’t even know where to start with that.

He knew there was already a city he could go to, just a couple miles away. He’d moved his hovering base, which he had decided to name the Sky Shark, just over the mountains to be able to spot the settlement. He’d hoped it would turn out to be one of the superhero cities he’d created and thrown into the Frontier, that maybe he’d be able to contact one of his superhero teams he’d written about, as he had done during the scrapped SalQuest storyline. But no. While the buildings looked mostly like modern Earth architecture, a larger business district with some suburban sprawl stretching out away from the mountains, he didn’t recognize it as any city in particular. Not that he’d done much detail work on his settings’ skylines, but he had the feeling he’d have recognized if it was a place like Blue Haven or Cyrene City.

He could have just driven the Sky Shark to the edges of the city limits, dropped down using the teleport pad, and strode right in. He could be doing that right now, in fact. He really had nothing left to do to prepare himself. But as the moment came, he found he just couldn’t do it. Maybe three months of isolation had had the effect of making him even more of a homebody hermit.

Five days had already passed since his arrival. To busy himself, he had gone over the functions and features of his vessel, which he decided to call the Sky Shark, about thrice over. While not much bigger than the original design he’d built in Minecraft, the whole thing appeared to function like a magic artifact, with multiple enchanted appliances to accommodate flesh-and-blood living. For example, unlike an actual Minecraft build, the vessel had an functioning toilet that just vanished the waste, while the furnaces burned from some self-recharging internal heat source that gave off no smoke. The chests in the supply chamber had a stasis field effect that kept items within frozen in time so long as the lid was fully closed. Even the soil in the garden magically grew vegetables at accelerated speed, and the trough of water through the center occasionally produced fish out of nowhere, granting him theoretically limitless food, albeit with a very lean, limited menu. There was even some kind of field around the vessel that kept the internal weather and air pressure ideal. And, most useful of all, the thing could actually fly via some kind of levitation/propulsion effect, which Sharkerbob found he could control via a simple console installed into the ship’s forward.

It was a very accommodating mobile home, to be sure. As such, it was tempting to just keep holing up in here until he either went crazy, or something in the vessel outright broke and forced him to leave.

And he could have. He really could have. As the SalQuest storyline had proven to him, when he’d still been part of the Author, Sharkerbob the character was decidedly not an adventurer or superhero or action-protagonist. He could understand Tabitha dumping him into this world just to let him have a shot at a life of his own, without risking him using in-universe knowledge to mess around with things and compromise continuity in other worlds of his. And despite her gifting him with his new immortality and the Sky Shark, he was sure there was a little catharsis in her that he was nonetheless still at risk of danger in this world. But the Author?

What, did the Author really think he was suddenly going to go trapesing around being an adventure hero just because he was in a fantastical world? Fuck that. A drop of ichor and a floating base didn’t change the fact that he was just a guy, and what was probably going to happen was when he finally managed to move his ass and go visit the city past the mountains, he was just going to find a part time job for some local currency and keep his head down. Maybe this time, though, he’d actually try to keep up a social life or something, study some magic as a hobby. Hell, maybe he’d even go back to writing and drawing eventually.

But going out spelunking for treasure, battling radioactive skeletons and mutant goblins and robot dragons, joining a superhero team? Nah, not his speed.

And of course, he knew that by saying that, he was going to somehow get wrapped up in something ridiculous that would force him to engage with such things. And the longer he waited it out, the higher the likelihood that one of those things was going to fly up and knock on his window. Sharkerbob sighed, watching the sun creep higher over the mountains.

“Alright. Fifth day’s the charm. Let’s actually try this time.”

***

One problem with piloting a hovering base was where exactly to park the damn thing. Sure, he could leave the Sky Shark floating high in the air, but he wasn’t sure how the city would feel about a stranger leaving a blimp-sized vessel just floating in their air space. In the end, he opted to drive the thing up to a spot a mile from the city limits, right at the edge of the mountain’s initial upslope, and use the teleport pad in the central chamber’s transparent floor to drop down to the clearest stretch of grass near an outer road.

The road was a two-lane stripe of asphalt that cut into the city, with wide sidewalks even out this far. The city appeared to be structured in a circular grid, divided by eight major roadways, with curving connecting roads between them. It was an almost spider-web like layout, albeit the suburban sprawl opposite the mountain broke apart into patches of subdivisions that threw the whole grid off. It was clear only some of the roads were made for vehicular traffic, which mostly took the form of trams. It was otherwise designed as a walkable, or maybe bike-able city.

As he walked the road, he noted one of the trams. Steel and wood paneling, rubber tires. It didn’t make any engine noise, though it creaked a little as it stopped and started. He wondered what powered the thing.

He noted the buildings as being more or less similar to the American constructions he was used to, a lot of square buildings forming apartments or smaller stores. There was a uniformity to most of the materials, with nearly every building composed of brick walls and steel frames, with copper piping running through and between buildings where one might expect power lines. The tallest buildings were in the city center, of course, the highest being maybe twelve stories. The central feature of the city, however, was a huge metal-frame structure in the city’s center, looking almost like a massive radio tower, nearly double the size of the tallest building.

As for the citizenry, they came in three distinct flavors. One was a presumably human species (they looked human, but there was honestly no telling just from a first glance in the Endless Frontier) with very dark skin, but pale colors of wavy or curly hair, ranging from white to blond to tan. These were by far the most populous, maybe 90% of the people walking around. Their fashion was an alternating mix of brown and tan cloths worn as tunics or trousers with vests, with some of the women wearing dresses of much more colorful silks. He wasn’t much of a fashion guy, but the design work on some of the clothing looked stereotypically Native American, while the hats reminded him of African headwear. Some small part of him felt vaguely racist for making the comparison.

He didn’t recognize the species from any project of his in particular. Maybe one of his much older fantasy stories? The thing about the Endless Frontier was that it was basically the sort of setting you could procedurally generate as you went. The Author could just make shit up on the fly and plunk it down as one of the World Shards any time he wanted. Knowing his, and thus the Author’s, penchant for always creating new stuff, Sharkerbob was certain there was a fair chance he was going to be bumping into stuff “he” hadn’t even made up yet on a routine basis.

The other two peoples were blatantly demihuman, and of a type he did recognize. One was a species of blue-furred folk with short, flexible yellow beaks and yellow eyes, dressed in brown cloaks. Despite their furry appearance and lack of wings, they were actually bird-people, as noted by their chicken-like feet. These were the Du’Rast, a nomadic tribe as he’d pictured them. He wasn’t sure if the small group he’d seen were actually residents or if they, too, were just stopping through.

The third he recognized as a race of arachnid-themed demihumans called the Tryth. They were a light-brown-skinned people with some natural armor plating on their shoulders, along their spines, framing their heads, and along the outer parts of their limbs. The males had scorpion tales coming off their backs and their hands each sported a large claw-like spike that protruded from the knuckles. By contrast, the females instead had four spider-like extra limbs sprouting from their backs. Both sexes had visible fangs protruding from under their lips, and crimson eyes. Their manner of dress was very sparse, wearing little more than leather thongs and open vests, with optional moccasins for shoes. Even the women’s chests were mostly exposed, although their breasts had very little swell to them to stand out as lewd.

The Thryth and Du’Rast were both desert peoples, though the region was more of a savannah leading to the mountain range. Neither came from the same world as each other, or the dark-skinned humans, whom he had to presume were the initial founders of the city, while the others migrated in.

Sharkerbob himself stuck out like a roman candle among the populace. A pale, freckled red-head, dressed in black slacks and a blue tee-shirt and sneakers, gazing about like a tourist. He got plenty of looks, some with vague curiosity, some with indifference, some with wary trepidation. Unfortunately, none of the languages he heard were any he recognized, nor was any of the writing he saw on signs familiar. Even they had spoken any number of Earthly languages, English was the only one he knew. If no one here spoke that, and why would they aside from narrative convenience, then he might be in a bit of trouble.

He walked for nearly an hour, heading towards the city center, making a point to avoid eye contact with anyone, even as he kept glancing around to take in the sights. He was a little surprised no one had tried to talk to him, no cop pulling him aside to see what his business was, no street merchant trying to pull a fast scam on him. He was certainly being kept an eye on, but he supposed that until he tried something crazy, no one was going to grab him. This was the Endless Frontier, after all. The gods alone knew what any given random foreigner striding into town was capable of. That benefit of the doubt might be the only thing keeping him safe from any foul play, or it could be the people here were just a mind-their-own business type to a fault.

So, he just kept walking. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. He supposed it was enough to just get a lay of the land today. As he reached the bigger buildings ringing the city center, and noticed one of the shops along the ground level appeared to be a book store. He paused. Maybe there was a chance there was something in there with English writing? If nothing else, maybe he could somehow pantomime his way through negotiating getting a notebook and some pens. He glanced over the windows to see if there were any hours of operation. He didn’t recognize the writing here, either, but a flip-over sign was in the window, and the squiggly text was colored green. That was probably still the universal color for “go”, right? He tried the door. It swung open with a little clinking of a bell hung attached to the door frame.

He entered the shop, a cozy wooden-floored facility with three main rows of shelves dominating the floorspace, while the walls were also lined with shelves. To the right of the entrance was a check-out station with three mechanical-looking registers but no one in attendance. Lighting was provided by way of a triple-set of chandeliers, ringed with softly glowing crystals, attached to the ceiling by way of more of the copper piping he’d seen.

A musical voice rang out from the back shelves, and a woman came out to greet him. She paused and blinked, stopping short when she saw him, her eyes doing a quick appraisal. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, and she moved easily, but her hair was pure white, throwing him off on guessing her age. Maybe late-twenties? Mid-thirties? Forty-nine with a great skincare regiment?

“Hello,” he said, his voice coming out almost a mumble. He cleared his throat. “Hello,” he repeated. “I don’t suppose you speak English?”

She said something, a fluid jumble of syllables which he couldn’t place. He sighed internally. He wasn’t a linguist, never made any languages of his own, although the thought had occurred. He wasn’t even particularly good at studying real world languages, despite taking a couple years of German and Spanish in High School.

She tried again, this time speaking in a throatier tone, with a different cadence. When he didn’t respond, she tried something that sounded like a truly incomprehensible jumble of slurring babble.

He shook his head and made a shrug, giving her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t understand.”

She made a little frown, glancing him over again. For a second, her gaze flicked to the side, looking behind him, but it bounced back to him a moment later. He couldn’t help but look back over his shoulder. He saw some people across the street engaged in a discussion, but no one was tellingly observing them from the outside. The woman cleared her throat, and he turned back to her.

She gave him a disarming smile, then put her hands up in a slightly reassuring gesture. She spoke again, then tapped her lips. He quirked an eyebrow at her. She pouted slightly, then held her hands up, touching her thumbs to her finger tips to mimic a pair of hand puppets. She flapped the fingers of one hand up and down, then the fingers of the other, then had both hand puppets shake their heads. Then, she held up a finger, winked at him, then formed the hand puppets again. She touched the tips together for a moment, pulled them apart, then flapped the fingers again to mimic talking. This time, the two puppets opened their “mouths” in surprise and nodded, then proceeded to “talk” some more. She then opened her hands in a ta-dah, gesture, with another wink. She then gestured between the two of them and tapped her lips again.

All due credit to the woman's improv sign language skills, Sharkerbob instantly figured out what she meant only because he already had insider knowledge on the matter. He was normally horrible at reading hand gestures, but given the context of the situation, he knew what she was trying to convey. She was going to transfer the knowledge of “Common”.

He cleared his throat again and nodded. He took a couple steps forward and clasped his hands behind his back, to hopefully show he wasn’t going to grab her. She smiled primly and did the same, putting herself just close enough that if they leaned forward, they could touch lips. Which they did.

It was barely a lingering peck, their lips pressing gently for about three seconds. He felt the faintest sensation of an electric jolt tingle across his lips, and for a second, he felt his thoughts scramble. And then, she was pulling away, and his head was clearing. He still shook it, as if to clear out the cobwebs, as he suddenly found himself knowing how to speak another language, as if he’d been taught it from birth.

“Can you understand me?” she said.

He nodded, still trying to parse the data load.

“Just relax and let the information settle. It can take a minute. My apologies for the awkward ritual, but it’s the only way to pass this particular spell. I’ve just given you Common, a mystical communication technique that automagically grants you understanding and use of its unique language. Simply try to speak in it, and you will.”

Sharkerbob nodded, and said, “Hello.” He wasn’t speaking English, but as the babble of words left his lips, his mind translated it so naturally, he almost couldn’t even recognize he was speaking otherwise.

The woman smiled back. “Hello!” Again, the same babble-language that seemed to auto-translate in his brain. It was a slightly heady experience, but only because he was paying attention to it. If he just rolled with it, he wouldn’t even notice.

“I take it you’re from out of town,” she said, easing into a relaxed stance.

Sharkerbob let out a little chuckle. “What gave it away?” Tabitha aside, it was the first conversation with anybody he’d had in months. And it was with a complete stranger to boot. And, well, it was with a pretty lady he’d just touched mouths with. He had to swallow down his nervousness.

“The pants, mostly,” she said with a prim smirk. “So! How can I help you? I might presume my humble store is your first stop?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “As you can tell, I don’t know the local languages. I was kind of hoping I would luck out and find something in here that might be in English.”

“English? Hmmm. Doesn’t sound familiar. What Sector do you come from?”

“Sector?”

“World Shard. We call them Sectors.”

“Ah. Um. I’m not sure? I kind of just got here.”

She paused tellingly. “Just got to this Sector, you mean? Were you lost? You must be from a pretty distant place if you didn’t already know Common.”

“You could say that. I’ve been traveling.”

She nodded. “We don’t get too many drifters through here, but it’s been known to happen.” She gestured out the window, where one of the Du’Rast was passing by. “Those bird folk swing through once a decade, stay for a season before moving on. Always an interesting time to see them.”

“What about the Thryth?” he said.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know them?”

“I know of them.” That was certainly true. “Uh, heard a few stories about them,” he added needlessly.

Her look was bemused. “You’re not a good liar,” she said. She held up a hand before I could say anything. “Not that it’s my business.” She gestured back outside, where a couple Thryth could be seen. “They came here as refugees a generation back. Their settlement had been leveled by a giant tree monster, I believe.”

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow or two. “Tree monster?” He could imagine a few such creatures from his stories.

She waved him off. “Don’t worry, the thing hasn’t been spotted in this or any adjacent Sectors in decades.”

“That’s a relief,” he said. He glanced to the shelves. He walked over, picked up a random book, and frowned at the unreadable script. “I don’t suppose they invented a written form of Common?”

“Not possible,” she said. “The spell itself resonates on an entirely audio basis, and does not actually have a constructable language. When you’re speaking it, it doesn’t even sound like any form of coherent speech. There’s no consistency of wording to decode.”

Ah. So that third attempt she’d tried before the download was probably what Common sounded like to those who didn’t have it.

“I guess everyone here speaks it, at least?” he said.

“Most do. It doesn’t transfer to the young, not until about puberty, at least. Supposedly it was designed that way to ensure the spell doesn’t interfere with early linguistic development.”

He nodded. “Sounds smart.”

The woman smiled, glanced to the door again, and her smile thinned a bit. Sharkerbob followed her gaze, and noticed a few people lingering outside the shop, glancing in. “Um… am I… interrupting your business?”

The woman waved at the people, beckoning them to come in, and finally one of them hesitantly entered. He was an older man, and he gave Sharkerbob a cautious glance. Sharkerbob gave an apologetic smile and nod back, but didn’t say anything. He looked back at the book he’d picked up and flipped through it, seeing if maybe there were any pictures, of which there were none. He closed the book, and only then noticed the cover. A picture of a young man with his shirt open and rippling in the breeze, his arm clasped about a pretty young woman with coppery-red hair, both leaning against some steampunk-looking rendition of a Cadillac, while gazing with romantic wistfulness at the setting sun. One should not necessarily judge a book by its cover, but Sharkerbob was pretty sure he could guess the genre, at least. Good to know trashy romance was a universal appeal across the Multiverse.

He put the book away, and took a few minutes to glance through the shelves, wondering if perhaps they sold any comic books. Alas, the Objectively Best Form Of Literature did not appear to be present in this shop. Not that he had any of the local currency with which to purchase anything. He made his way back to the front of the store, trying to ignore the odd looks he got. The woman from earlier was at her register, chatting up the older man in their native language, but she paused as she saw him.

“I’m guessing nothing here was to your taste?” she said, noting a lack of items in his hand.

“Sorry,” he said. “Actually, I don’t have any money.”

“Depending on the currency you do have, I might be able to accept it,” she said.

“Oh. Um. No, I mean, like, I’m broke.”

She sighed and pursed her lips. “It figures.”

“Sorry. Especially since you helped me with the Common thing. If I can get some cash, I’ll come buy something.”

“I do have a shelf of books from other Sectors,” she said, nodding towards the back corner. “Most of them I don’t even know how to read. You might find something back there.”

He nodded. “If nothing else, I could use some notebooks, probably. But, um, you have any idea where I could make some quick cash? Pawn shops or the like?”

She thought for a moment, then spoke to the older man, who’d been flagrantly staring at him the whole conversation. He glanced to the woman, said something else, and she nodded. She looked to him. “Harko here says Old Jaim takes rare artifacts for study. You could try him. She pointed towards the city center. “Three blocks inward, one block clockward. You can’t miss it.”

He smiled and said, “Thank you.” He looked to the man and made a little boy. “Thank you very much.” The man just nodded back, still giving him a wary look.

“Good luck!” said the woman. “Come back when you got some cash!” She grinned in such a way as to imply she was mostly joking, but, like, no really, come buy something sometime.

“Thanks again!” he said, and walked out before he got guilted into making it a promise.

***

Three blocks inward, one clockward. The place was indeed hard to miss, even despite not being able to read the sign. The windows displayed an array of what he could only call doo-hickeys. Devices that looked like props from a techno-fantasy film set. He went inside, and there was an old man at the counter, with wild frizzy platinum blond hair, dressed in overalls and some glasses with flip-down magnifiers. He was presently looking over something that looked like a rusty gearbox, while a particularly small and lanky Thryth girl gave him a pensive look. Both were wrapped up enough in the moment to not notice Sharkerbob as he entered, until the old man looked up to give the girl a gruff retort. Halfway through the sentence, he saw Sharkerbob and paused. He gave him a quick once over, and he looked down at the girl, who was still resolutely pouting up at him. He made a grumble, then fished some coins out from a wooden drawer under his counter, and handed them to her. She snatched them up, rattled off something as she bowed, the tips of her spider legs touching together and she clasped her hands over her chest, then she whirled and rushed out the door. She did a double take as she spotted Sharkerbob, but didn’t stop her stride.

The old man tossed the gearbox-looking thing into a shelf behind him, then looked Sharkerbob squarely in the eye, standing tall and crossing his arms. He spoke, the same language the bookseller had first tried. Sharkerbob shook his head. “Sorry. I just know Common right now.”

The man nodded, unsurprised. “Good. Didn’t want to have to give it to you myself.” He nodded out the door. “Guessing you’re the guy people been talkin’ about. The one from that cross-ship.”

Sharkerbob blinked. “You, uh, know about that?”

He made a thoughtful sniff. “Sentries spotted you three days ago. We been wondering when or if you were gunna make a move. Guess today’s the day.” He nodded out the door again. “That’s an exceptional Relic you seem to have in your possession. Man in my position would kill to get his hands on it.”

Sharkerbob grinned nervously. “You’ll understand my neglecting to want to sell. Or get killed.”

He waved him off with a scowl. “Obviously. But if you’re here, that means you got something pretty interesting to part with, I’ll bet.”

Sharkerbob frowned. “I regret to say I don’t have anything especially impressive, or on my person at the moment, but, um, what would you be looking for?”

“What have you got?” he said. “Relics are common enough, but each one tends to do something unique, or at least uncommon. Bring something in, and I’ll see if it’s worth my time.”

“Okay,” said Sharkerbob. “I’ll have to go through my stuff and see what’s worth parting with.” He glanced around. “Um, mind if I take a look?”

“Look with your eyes, not your hands,” said the man.

“Thank you.” Sharkerbob once again clasped his hands behind his back as he turned to glance over the shelves. More knick-knacks, bobs and bits, a few melee weapons, some guns that looked cobbled together with spare parts and scrap. A few wands. A set of medallions that had runes etched onto them. He didn’t recognize the symbols, but he wondered if the things were related to Rune Magic. The shop was easily twice as big as the bookstore had been, so there were plenty of shelves to peruse. A couple other people appeared to be workers, dressed in similar overalls, and they kept a keen eye on him as he searched. He noted the mirrors mounted on the corners and ceilings, and could feel multiple gazes reflected onto him.

Sharkerbob rounded a corner and came upon a row where several articles of clothing were carefully folded. He could only imagine what the items could do. Bullet-proof tee-shirts, perhaps? Fire-proof gloves that shot icicles? That would be cool. His eyes then fell upon a wrinkled old wizard hat.

He stopped in his tracks and stared at the thing. Made of ancient leather, once a deep maroon, aged to a dirty auburn. The thing was wrinkled in such a way that it almost made the impression of a vague face on the front. Sharkerbob leaned forward, unclasping his hands and reaching out for the thing.

“Hey! Eyes only!” yelled the old man from the counter.

Sharkerbob had to actually force himself to stop, his hands still outstretched. The old man, spry for his age, hopped the counter and strode towards him, as one of the other workers walked over to flank him, both men closing him into the space. Sharkerbob blinked and shook his head as he looked up at the old man. “Uh, sorry, sorry,” he said. “I just, uh…” he gestured to the hat.

“What? That useless thing?” The old man laughed. “Worst investment of my life. Thing looks like it’s brimming with magic power, but there’s no way to activate it. Been returned three times, and I don’t normally do take backs. Half tempted to throw the thing in the bin, but you don’t want something like that just sitting around. And the incinerator might just make it explode.” He noticed how Sharkerbob kept glancing at it, then grinned. “But you seem quite interested!”

“How much?” said Sharkerbob cautiously.

“How much you got?” said the man.

“Nothing,” Sharkerbob said. “Which is why I’m here to see what I can sell.”

“Well, tell you what. You go back to your fancy little vessel, scrounge up some crap, and I’ll figure out what might be worth an exchange.” He motioned to the man on the other side of the aisle, who’d retained a calm, but coiled lean against the wall. He then pointed to the hat. “Box that up and put it in the reserve vault.” Sharkerbob furrowed his brow and the old man’s grin widened. “Just keepin’ it safe for ya. And if you do get it, no take backs! This is the last time!”

“Of course,” said Sharkerbob. “I’ll, uh, let me go see what I got. How late are you open?”

“You got eight hours,” said the man. “And I’m closed tomorrow.”

“Got it. Be right back.” So saying, Sharkerbob exited the building. He resisted the urge to start sprinting, figuring it would look suspicious if he just started booking it out of the magical item shop. He waited until he got back to the main street he’d first come down before going into a jog. Even then, he tried to make it clear he was running just to get somewhere, and not frantically trying to escape a pursuer. He still drew plenty of strange looks, but thankfully, no one stopped him.

Equally thankfully, he realized the two-mile long jog back to where he’d parked the Sky Shark barely left him winded. Even at his most fit, sometime in his actual early twenties, he’d be feeling worn out after walking and jogging so many miles. He hadn’t actually tested himself yet until now, and it was a pleasant surprise to realize just how much Tabitha’s ichor transfusion had transformed him.

He didn’t give himself time to revel in it, though. Right now, he was concentrated on the task at hand. He had to get that hat! It was, after all, one of his characters.