Bruce Brody's Guide To Romance: Issue Three

 

 

From the Pages of The Scrap Pile

Landshark

in

“Bruce Brody’s Guide to Romance”

By Kurtis Kenobi

Issue Three: Lovesick Shark

 

Present Day

Lightfoot Island

The Atlantean Aquarium and Fish Emporium

Storefront for The Scrap Pile’s less-than-secret headquarters

 

“Hey, kids,” Bruce smiled at the two little girls, both sporting matching ribbons in their hair. “You don’t want to tap on the seahorse tank. Seahorses are shy and stress easily.”

The girls ignored him and tapped again.

Bruce pointed to another aquarium.

“You should say hello to Sparky the pufferfish. Look, he’s checking you out!”

Sparky drifted over, curious as always, following the girls with oversized eyes. Like every display fish at the front of the store, he’d been named by Bruce. Little stickers with those names decorated each tank.

The cheaper fish destined for everyday customers hadn’t been named.

Sorry, you brave little terranauts.

“Nobody is better with fish than Dorian!” Bruce boasted to the girl’s father. “He’s away on a deep-sea research expedition for the next couple of weeks, but he taught me everything I know. I manage the store tanks and can set up your aquarium myself.”

Technically, Bruce still lived in The Scrap Pile’s custody. Torpedo had cleverly turned that arrangement to his advantage by indenturing Bruce to help with the store.

Bruce didn’t mind. He hated water but loved the creatures that called it home. Scraparella helped run the cash register, but he was genuinely a skilled fishkeeper.

After all, he was a shark.

“Uhm… yes. You mentioned that.” The surly father in the flannel shirt and brown Bring Cleveland Back ball cap rolled his tongue, giving Bruce a cold stare.

He glared at Bruce’s name tag.

SHARK

Torpedo did not require Bruce to wear a name tag of any kind.

The girls kept tapping on the seahorse tank.

Swift-Fin and Kelp clung tightly to their crimson gracilaria branches. The rest of the herd cowered behind Coral Mountain.

Bruce sighed.

“Would you two like a lollipop?” He reached for the candy jar on the counter. “Fair warning, someone ate all the lime ones.”

Naturally, that someone was Bruce.

“Girls, don’t take candy from the strange man!” the father barked.

Bruce slowly lowered the jar.

“I’d rather wait for…” the man paused, searching for the name, “Dorian.”

“No problem!” Bruce forced another smile. “We’ll get you scheduled once everyone is back.”

Saved him the trouble of finding a driver for the Minivan of Justice.

Smuckers, the brainless jellyfish, bobbed in approval from their aquarium.

“We?” The father asked.

Bruce nodded.

“I help with all the installs.” He flexed his arm to show off a massive bicep. “Mostly the heavy lifting.

“Oh. I see.”

Ugh. Here it comes.

“I think we’ll shop somewhere else.” The man tapped Bruce’s name tag with a finger.

“Shark.”

         He pointed to a framed photograph of the Scrap Pile hanging behind the register. Torpedo, Disco, MaJaiTek, Saturn of Nine, and Landshark. Even Toss -Up, Cygnus, and The Comet squeezed into the picture, despite not being official team members.

Right in the middle, Disco had been caught goosing a shocked Bruce’s butt.

         The Scrap Pile were Z-lister heroes.

Bruce however…

People knew Landshark.

Mostly for earthquakes. Property damage. Court appearances.

         “I know who you are, Mister Brody. You seem friendly enough.” The man’s voice softened for just a moment. “But I’d like for my house to be standing after you leave.”

“I’d never-“

“And you’re the last person I’d let near my daughters.”

The girls looked up, confused.

Come on. We’re leaving!”

         Bruce’s face flushed. His blood boiled. He felt his eyes begin to darken.

         He swallowed his words.

         “You might try The Sea King’s Treasures across town,” Bruce said flatly. “They’re the second best on Lightfoot Island.”

         Maybe that was petty. The Sea King overcharged.

         The father snorted.

         “You’re an uncontrolled monster, Mr. Brody.”

Ouch.

“Shame on your keepers for letting you off your chain.”

         He adjusted his ball cap.

“Have the day you deserve.”

The bell over the door jingled. One of the girls turned to wave goodbye to Bruce. The father pulled her through the exit.

Thunder rolled outside.

Bruce stood perfectly still until the family disappeared around the corner of 4^th Street.

Then he locked the door.

Flipped the open sign to closed.

         Silence settled over the shop.

Bruce rested his head against the glass.

Then slowly slid to the ground.

He hugged the candy jar against his chest.

And plopped a lollipop in his mouth. Had to settle for cherry.

All the store’s bags of fish gravel rattled on their shelves. Two neon sacks fell to the floor.

         This day!

         Had left Bruce raw.

The look on Jay’s face when he walked away carrying Mister Chompers.

Bruce had insisted Jay take the little Xolo with him.

It was too cold to bring a puppy along on Bruce’s walk to work.

Still, Bruce could use some puppy kisses right now.

Jay should keep Mister Chompers.

How could Bruce accept a gift like that after saying no?

The dance.

The mariachi band.

The puppy.

He NEEDS me!

And I let him down.

Music drifted through the store speakers.

Lovesick Sharks (You Bit Me First) by Melted Sun.

A frenetic speakeasy wrapped around a playful sing-song chorus. One of Bruce’s favorite jams.

“Scraparella?”

Overhead track lighting shifted from green to blue.

“You frequently use music to regulate your mood,” the AI observed. “Your mood currently requires regulation. I also like Melted Sun.”

Bruce crunched his lollipop.

“I’m in love with Jay.”

Without warning, the song changed. An old disco song Bruce had never heard before.

He’s an illegal alien…

The magic man on the moon…

A romeo novio…

Look at him boogie woogie…

He’s my boyfriend.

“You should go on a date with him,” Scraparella declared matter-of-factly. “I would have accepted. No one has ever given me a puppy.”

“I… can’t.” The lollipop stick bobbed between his teeth. “It would break both our hearts. I can’t get close to anyone, not like that. When I was a teenager, I tried dating. Tried sex. Tried pretending I was normal.”

“I’m not normal.”

“The earthquakes are bad enough. Then come the panic attacks.”

He stared at the floor.

“Sometimes I throw up.”

A long silence.

“No one forgives the puking.”

“Those might be solvable problems.”

Bruce shook his head.

“I’m not a solvable problem. My whole life,” he swallowed hard. “I’ve brought nothing but rubble and ruin. I can’t do that to Jay.”

His chest ached.

Rain began tapping against the store windows.

A lake squall had reached the island.

“You and Jay care deeply for one another. Perhaps this is a conversation you should have with him. Not me. Allow Jay to make his own choices.”

 

 

Five Weeks Ago...

Sisters of Mercy Nursing Home (Formerly Orfanto Casa de Sombras)

Tampa, Florida

 

Karnak!

Mother Judith watched the unseasonable storm from her office window.

Rain pooled against the warped sill, worming its way through an old leak.

She took another sip from her cup-o bourbon.

“You have unfortunate timing. Hell of a thunderstorm.”

Her queer guest remained silent.

Judith glanced over her shoulder.

“I expected you to be more direct.” She swirled her bourbon. “So many questions about Bruce. Nothing about the monster.”

More silence.

She faced her visitor.

“That thing is why you’ve really come.”

She settled back into her chair.

“It’s been almost fourteen years.”

She exhaled slowly.

“I still hesitate to speak its name, as if I might accidentally summon the beast.”

“Leviathan.”

The word seemed to make the room colder.

A rattle of thunder dimmed the lights.

Her silent guest sipped their tea. Not bourbon. Not coffee. Tea!

Damn, them!

“We knew when the creature was hunting.”

“Blowing in like a child’s nightmare.”

She gestured toward the window.

“An innocuous storm rolling across the Bay.”

She shook her head.

“Leviathan didn’t command the weather.”

“It didn’t have to. The storms answered its mood.”

“When it hungered…”

A flash of lightning illuminated the office.

“… they darkened.”

When it grew cruel…”

Thunder rolled overhead.

“… they lingered.”

Black oily water seeped beneath the window.

Neither Judith nor her guest noticed as it gathered into a thin, writhing ribbon that slithered down the wall.

“You could lie to yourself.”

“It’s just a storm”

“The wind might shift.”

“Maybe it will miss us.”

She laughed once. A bitter, tired sound.

“But deep down…”

“You knew.”

“You knew the storm belonged to him.”

She emptied her cup. One gulp.

“We listened for the laugh…”

“The one that hid in the wind. The rain. The thunder.”

“We waited to hear it whisper the name of whoever it wanted next.”

Black, oily water seeped beneath the window. “Petrified, we listened for the viscous laughter in the wind and the rain. Calling the name of whoever it craved this time.”

“The storm never ended until its rage, its hunger…”

“… its lust…”

“… was satisfied.”

Another crack of thunder shook the building.

“We always knew when it was coming.”

A long silence hung over the building. Now, Judith drank directly from the Maker’s Mark bottle.

“And every single fucking time,”

She took a deep breath.

“… we prayed…”

She closed her eyes.

“… that it had come for Bruce.”

 

 

Present Day...

The Atlantean Fish and Aquarium Emporium

 

Bruce Brody braced himself to battle his most persistent enemy.

The linoleum floor.

Thunder rattled the storefront windows. The lake squall battering Lightfoot Island had gotten nasty. Growing meaner by the minute. Rather than walk home through the downpour, Bruce decided to wait it out by cleaning the floor.

Normally, he was very mindful of storms. This one had snuck up on him.

All he thought about was Jay.

         Those sparkling brown eyes. Rebellious curls that refused to be tamed. Cheeks every little old lady wanted to pinch. That smile. It could melt glaciers.

         He calls me Papi Shark.

         Bruce smiled despite himself.

         Never “Bruce.”

His Bruce.

A gust of wind whined around the building.

Loud. Really loud.

Bruce wrung out the mop while Scraparella filled the store with another Melted Moon song.

         His favorite band.

         Well… second favorite.

After the Deaf Hounds, of course.

The punk mariachi band made up of Jay’s friends.

They had assembled this morning, instruments in hand, ready to serenade the two of them.

But they were turned away.

Idiot shark!

Lightning flashed across the storefront window, lighting up the street outside. Inside, the lights flickered. Thunder answered.

Bruce winced at the deafening boom.

         How did everything get so complicated? Why couldn’t he say “yes?”

         He desperately wanted to!

         His loafers splashed.

         Bruce frowned.

         That was a lot of water around his feet. He looked to the front door. Was it leaking?

         He mopped once.

         The water rushed back.

         Strange.

         Another clap of thunder. Closer.

         The puddle spread across the floor. Where was the water coming from?

         Movement! Out of the corner of his eye…

         Something dark darted behind one of the display shelves.

         Bruce froze.

         Probably a rat sheltering from the storm. Lightfoot Island had plenty of rats and mice.

         Bruce wasn’t about to let it move into the shop!

         Gripping his mop like a spear, Bruce crept towards the shelf, his wet loafers squishing on the floor. If it was a rat, he’d trap it in an empty tank until morning.

         The wind shrieked.

         Bruce stopped.

         Did someone laugh?

         He listened.

         Only the music.

         He edged around the shelf.

Something wiggled and writhed between stone aquarium decorations Bruce sculpted for sale.

A worm.

No. Not a worm.

A black, oily ribbon of tainted water. Finger-thick.

It twisted. Another beside it. Then another. Then six. A dozen!

They danced across the shelf like oily snakes.

Bruce screamed. His feet slipped out from under him. He crashed to the floor hard.

The mop clattered away.

         “No…”

         Scraparella was saying something. He hadn’t heard a word.

         The track lighting shifted from blue to crimson red.

         “You… you can’t be here!”

         His voice sounded small, like a frightened boy.

         Stupid, stupid shark!

         You weren’t paying attention.

         You should have listened to the storm.

         Thunder exploded overhead.

The lights died. The aquariums went black. The filters stopped humming. The music vanished. Scraparella went silent.

         Only Bruce’s heavy breathing remained.

Rain. Wind. Dripping water.

Then…

Thump.

Bruce held perfectly still.

Another thump.

Something heavy struck the front door. Slowly. Deliberately.

Laughter drifted through the darkness. Wet. Gurgling.

         Weeewoooohahahahahahahaha.

         Bruce turned. Very, very slowly

         A towering silhouette stood outside the glass door.

Broad as a bear.

Rain streamed from a yellow slicker.

Beneath it, a black clerical shirt. A white collar.

         The figure lifted one enormous hand.

Thump.

The glass shivered.

Thump.

         Weeeoooo….Bruuuccceee….

         Another long, bubbling laugh echoed through the rain.

         “Hahahahahahahahahaha…”

 

 

Fifteen years ago…

Orfanto Casa de Sombras

Tampa, Florida

      Bruce crept down the dark stairway of de Sombras, clutching Captain Finn tightly against his chest.

The anthropomorphic plush shark dressed as a pirate belonged to Bruce. That made him special.

At de Sombras, almost everything was considered community property. Toys. Clothes. Books. Anything the children might need. Each orphan was allowed to claim only one or two things as their own.

Bruce had chosen Finn.

He was very protective of him.

The other children might do him harm.

Bruce would hold onto Finny for a lifetime.

Fifteen years from now, he still had a place on Bruce’s nightstand. Worn. Faded. A little threadbare in places. Still loved and mostly intact.

Lightning flashed through the stairwell window. Thunder rolled across the building.

Children weren’t supposed to be downstairs after Lights Out.

They certainly weren’t allowed in the galley.

But Bruce was thirsty. The water upstairs tasted awful.

He wanted juice.

He briefly considered raiding the cookies. Then he remembered Sister I grid. The old nun that ran the kitchen claimed she counted the cookies each night before turning in.

Bruce believed her.

Stealing cookies was a cardinal sin.

Juice however…

Mother Judith might forgive an extra glass or two.

Bruce reached the bottom of the stairs.

The darkness of de Sombras felt different tonight.

Too quiet.

Children and staff had begun to disappear.

         Father Matthews said the children had run away. The nuns reassigned.

         Sweet Mateo was gone. The latest to leave.

         Matteo hadn’t seemed unhappy.

         He and Bruce had held hands that day!

         Maybe that was why Mateo left.

         Bruce slipped into the galley, leaving the lights off.

         The refrigerator opened with a soft hum.

         Glorious chocolate milk sat directly in front of the juices. Bruce considered it a sign.

He grabbed the bottle.

         Hey! You know what went well with chocolate milk?

         Cookies!!!

         He looked toward the cookie jar.

No. He shouldn’t.

Then he looked again.

The ceramic white Jesus frowned sternly.

I’M WATCHING YOU.

The stenciled words on the halo warned Bruce.

Bruce set Captain Finn on the counter and ignored Jesus. grabbing a handful of cookies. The Power of Christ was no match for chocolate chip goodness.

Thunder rumbled.

         The galley’s bay doors exploded open!

Bruce yelped!

A green blur rolled onto the floor, collapsing in a heap.

“Eddie?”

Bruce stared.

The lizard boy was naked except for a badly stretched pair of underwear that barely hung on.

His scales were wet. Slick and oily.

Red eyes filled with terror.

Not anger.

Not hatred.

Fear.

“Run!”

         “Eddie, what are you doing?”

         Father Matthews’ boxing lessons had successfully brought the boys closer. They weren’t friends, but they had a mutual respect.

Bruce made a peace offering.

“        Cookie?”

         “I said RUN, you tard.”  Eddie scrambled to his feet using one hand to hold up his underwear.

Oily water dripped from his green skin.

“He’s coming!” Eddie ignored the cookie and hobbled to the back door.

         “Who is coming?” Bruce’s smile faded. “What the Helly Jelly is going on?”

         Eddie slapped his free hand to his forehead.

“Of course, you don’t know.”

He turned back to Bruce. Something like pity crossed his face.

“He hasn’t come for you.”

Bruce frowned.

Eddie’s voice dropped.

“Hasn’t made you suck his dick or bend over.”

Bruce only understood Eddie’s fear.

“Gross! Why would anyone want me to-”

“He’ll drown you and beat the shit out of you until you can’t fight back.” Eddie spat. “Then he’ll do whatever he wants. Once he’s finished, he’ll beat the shit out of you and drown you again. Just for funsies.

         Bruce’s stomach churned,

         “I’m getting the hell out of here.”

Eddie grasped the door handle, then stopped.

“Come with me.” He closed his eyes. Shook his head. “You don’t want to stay here.”

Eddie’s scales paled to a lighter shade of green.

“Save your ass. You might be a dim shit, but I could use your muscle.”

He looked to the main hall.

“Someone to watch my back wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Eddie…”

“Our brothers and sisters didn’t run away.”

Bruce stopped breathing.

“Neither did the nuns.”

Eddie’s voice cracked.

“They’re gone just the same.”

The storm raged outside.

“Your friend, Matteo? Probably fish food in the Bay.”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“Just like the others. Maybe there are still pieces of him left in the attic if you want to look.”

“…Mateo?”

Something inside Bruce locked into place.

He didn’t believe Eddie. Not completely. But he had to know.

         “I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce looked to the dark hall. “This place is our home.” It was the only home the boys had known.

Bruce didn’t understand evil. Not yet. But he understood hurting people.

And he knew he was strong. Of all the young supers living in de Sombras, Bruce was probably the strongest.

That meant protecting people that couldn’t protect themselves,

Maybe that was what being a hero meant.

         Another crack of thunder.

         Eddie sighed, "Suit yourself, Brucie.”

He pulled the door open. “You’re one thick-headed dumb ass.”

The wind nearly knocked him over. Rain battered his scaled body. He desperately held onto his underwear as he stumbled into the storm.

"Good luck, meathead.”

He glanced back.

“Stupid shark!”

         “Eddie!” Bruce called after him. “You’re naked!!”

Eddie kept walking.

“Your tail is showing!”

“I DON’T FUCKING CARE!”

With that, Eddie the Lizard vanished into the storm.

         Bruce stood alone in the silent galley.

         He should grab Captain Finn. Take his cookies. Go back upstairs.

         Now.

         Stupid feet didn’t want to move,

         Something dark seeped beneath the backdoor. Black. Oily. Water.

Bruce stared at it.

         The clomp of heavy boots echoed from the main hall.

Slow. Methodical. Getting closer.

Bruce had nothing to fear. He was a shark.

He ate a cookie.

He should have run.

The bootstrap came came closer still.

The galley doors slowly creaked open.

“Oh, Bruce!”  A disheveled Father Matthews slid into the dark kitchen. “What are you doing up so late, kiddo?”

The priest slunked as he moved toward Bruce.

Lightning flashed through the window. For one terrible instant Bruce could see the priest clearly.

Torn shirt.

Soaked skin.

Fetid, oily sweat dripping from his body.

His skin a sickly shade of blue.

The side of the priest’s face drooped like melted paraffin.

“Stealing cookies?” Matthews gurgled as his gaze swept the room. “Naughty.”

Bruce gulped. He couldn’t move.

The black water collected at Bruce’s bare feet. The tainted puddle was growing and growing.

“Father Matthews?” his voice trembled. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” The thing that looked like Matthews giggled. “I'm fine. Thank you for asking.”

The creature snorted. It wandered through the galley searching. Avoiding eye contact with Bruce.

“Have you seen Eddie?” Its jaw hung at an unnatural angle.

“We were playing a game. He left before I finished. We were just getting started, actually.”

“You were playing…” Bruce forced himself to breathe, “in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, Bruce,” the creature turned its head and licked its lips, “the best games are played at night.”

“I know. I know!” Its dead black eyes locked on Bruce. “Naughty.”

“Where did Eddie go?” It asked.

“Eddie left.” Bruce’s voice shook, but he did not back down. "I don’t think he’s coming back.”

Cold black water crept up Bruce’s leg, sending a chill through his body.

“Too bad,” the Matthews thing shrugged.

Its lips moved. The voice echoed from elsewhere. From the pantry. Under the stove. The outside storm.

“Bruce – sweet, beautiful Bruce”

“It’s time we had a little talk, kiddo. A long overdue lesson.”  A wet gurgle bubbled from its throat. “Something I’ve wanted to show you for a very long time.”

Bruce’s knees trembled.

“Let me go first,” Bruce hoped he sounded brave. He did not.

“You’ve been doing something to my brothers and sisters...”

The water climbed higher.

“And the nuns.”

His voice cracked,

“That stops now.”

The creature threw back its head; laughter exploded through the kitchen.

Giggles. Sobs. Screams.Cries of despair.

They came from everywhere,

“Kiddo, we haven’t begun to play.”

Cold, dark water wrapped around Bruce’s feet. Climbed up his legs.

“You’re not going to hurt them anymore.”

More of the tainted water wrapped around Bruce’s body. Heavy. Alive. Foul.

Bruce clenched his chattering teeth.

The creature continued to laugh.

“Before you touch anyone else, you’ll have to hurt me!”

The monster stopped.

Bruce had always been Matthews’ favorite. Maybe he had found something left of the man.

“Do you hear me, you soggy freak? Try and hurt me.”

The creature smiled.

It did.

Hurt him.

Oh, yes.

It did.

Captain Finn watched from the counter, His little toothy grin frozen in place.

And Bruce Brody got a lesson on true, monstrous evil.

The first of many.

 

 

Present Day…

The Atlantean Fish and Aquarium Emporium

 

 

Bruce froze.

He was a kid again.

Staring at the monster through the window.

It was on the hunt.

Had come for him.

Again.

If he held very, very still, the creature might not see him.

But if he hid…

Didn’t make himself the target…

More of his brothers and sisters would… disappear.

Now Leviathan was here.

Outside the shop.

Hungry.

Knocking.

Thump!

The floor crumbled beneath Bruce's fingers.

They tore through linoleum. Dug into the concrete. But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“Don’t be shy, Bruce!”

The thing’s wet, gurgling chortle seeped through the glass.

“I can see you.”

Lightning flashed across the street.

Bruce saw the spear first.

That was new.

A ceremonial weapon with an intricate gold blade. Decorated with sickly black opals.

Then he saw Leviathan.

Its body rippled beneath rotted clerical garb.

There was no flesh.

No skin.

Only oily black sludge held together in the shape of a man.

One dead obsidian eye peered through the window.

The other was gone.

A thick scar twitched where it had once been.

I did that!

Black shapes squirmed up the storefront.

Eels.

The same oily things he’d seen crawling on the shelves.

Only they were much bigger.

They crossed over one another, pulsing with each thudded knock at the door.

“Little shark.”

Thump.

“Little shark.”

Thump.

Bruce’s fingers dug deeper into the floor.

“Fuck it!”

Leviathan raised the spear.

“I’ll let myself in!”

THUMP!

The eels thrashed.

Glass exploded!

Bruce threw up his arms to shield himself from raining shards.

Leviathan stepped through the ruined door, its old heavy boots clomping on the floor. It brushed a piece of glass from its sleeve.

“So rude.”

The creature ambled past the register, reaching out to knock the candy jar off the counter. Lollipops scattered on the filthy floor.

Bruce’s black eyes narrowed on the monster.

He said nothing. The Earth answered anyway.

The building trembled. A few pieces of merch tumbled from the shelves.

Leviathan looked around.

“No hello?”

Another tremor.

“No witty comebacks?”

It smiled, moving further into the store.

“Is this what you’ve been doing with yourself, kiddo? Working in a hobby shop?”

Leviathan paused to inspect Sparky’s tank.

“Disappointing.”

Bruce’s hands shook.

Leviathan’s smile widened.

“Not that I expected much from you.”

Water poured in from the broken doorway. A black, filthy wave flooded the store in seconds.

“Don’t…” Bruce backed away.

Leviathan raised a hand.

Snapped its fingers.

There was no sound. Just a wet splatter.

The water inside Sparky’s aquarium turned black.

Foul and tainted.

Bruce’s heart stopped.

“No.”

The water churned. The pufferfish twitched once. Then went still.

“Sparky!”

The tank exploded.

The next aquarium darkened.

“Smuckers!”

And another.

Tank after tank turned black. Then burst. The dark water spread through the store.

Bruce watched his little world die.

Fish friends, he’d named.

Cared for.

Fed.

Talked to.

Sang to when no one was listening.

Gone.

All except the seahorses. Leviathan stopped beside their stunning coral home. It winked at Bruce. Gently stroked the glass. Swift-Fin and his frightened herd hid amongst the rocks. “I’m suppose you’ve been fired.”

Bruce screamed. A raw, savage, visceral sound.

He launched himself across the flooded floor.

Leviathan didn’t bother to move.

A massive water tentacle rose between them. Slapped Bruce out of the air.

He crashed on his back.

The spear flashed

Bruce rolled. Too slow.

The blade ripped into his bicep.

He cried out.

Blood splattered into the black water.

Leviathan swung again.

Bruce backed away.

The spear sliced through his shirt. A burning line opened across his chest. Bruce stared at the blood,

That wasn’t supposed to happen. His skin shouldn’t have broken so easily.

This was no ordinary blade.

The floor shook beneath him.

Bruce crab-crawled backwards.

The water tentacle snared his ankle. Yanked.

Drug Bruce through the wreckage.

Glass. Gravel. Broken aquarium decorations.

His body slammed into a shelf.

Then another.

Leviathan smashed him face-first into the seahorse tank.

Broken glass. Water. Coral. Fish. It all came down around him.

Swift-Fin! Rocky! Kelp! Bubbles and Bernardo!

Lost.

Swift-Fin’s tiny eyes found Bruce one last time before his rigid little body washed away in the filth.

“NOOO!!!

The tentacle tightened around his neck.

Smaller tendrils branched to pin his arms.

Shredded his favorite t-shirt.

Coiled around his chest.

Grew hungry little mouths.

Searching. Touching. Pulling.

Snaked down his pants.

Bruce thrashed.

“Remember how scared you used to be, little shark?” Leviathan’s voice echoed. “Still, you came.”

         The monster pulled him closer.

         “So frightened.”

         The tendrils tried to work their way into Bruce’s nose and mouth.

         “So eager,”

         Bruce spat coral and glass.

         Said something that sounded like “Fuck you!!” That couldn’t be right. Sharks don’t curse.

         Long ago, a very bad monster had left a young boy broken.

         So, the boy pasted fractured pieces back together using his strongest memory.

         The simplest thing.

         He was a shark.

         That’s how Bruce rebuilt himself.

         Piece by piece. Year by year.

         Not a joke. Survival.

         And now the old fissures reopened.

         He roared. The ground shook. The old building groaned.

         Fluorescent fixtures dropped into the water.

         Leviathan clapped. “Now that’s what I like to hear, Little Shark!

The backup generator cracked to life,

         Dim emergency lights flicked on.

         Dry tank filters restarted with a horrible mechanical grind.

         Scraparella rebooted.

         “Bruce…”

         The AI’s voice crackled through wet speakers.

         “Bruce, stop it now! I am detecting –”

A brilliant red beam erupted from the ceiling. It struck Bruce and Leviathan simultaneously.

Pain!

Blinding.

Searing.

Bruce hit the floor with a scream.

He watched the creature’s man-shaped form collapse inward.

And then...

Darkness.

 

         “Bruce?”

Scraparella’s voice called from somewhere far away.

“Bruce, are you alright?”

He scrambled to his knees.

The Atlantean Fish and Aquarium Emporium was destroyed.

Broken glass. Broken shelves. Dead fish.

Water dripped from the walls and ceiling.

Bruce looked at the wreckage.

Torpedo had trusted him.

This was the second Scrap Pile base Bruce had ruined.

“Ma…” He tried to speak.

“Mah…” The words wouldn’t come.

“My name is Bruce,” his voice was weak, “and I’m a shark.”

“Bruce, are you alright?” Scraparella repeated.

         “No.” Bruce ran a finger along the gash across his chest. Winced. “But I’m back. At least I think I am.”

         “Leviathan?”

         “Gone.” Scraparella’s voice remained flat. “My stun blast disrupted his powers, and he fled. I apologize for subduing you, but your earthquake would have destroyed the building.”

          Bruce looked out onto the storm.

         “He’s waiting for me.”

         The floor beneath his feet trembled.

         “Bruce…”

         “Open the basement.”

“Yes.” A hidden panel slid open, revealing a staircase. “You should take shelter immediately.”

         “I’m not hiding.” He climbed to his feet. “I’m suiting up.”

         “Communications are offline; LAN and satellite communications have been severed. Your phone and watch are also nonfunctional.”

         Bruce checked his watch. The screen was black. A thin line of oily sludge seeped beneath its casing. He didn’t bother checking his phone. He already knew.

         The Scrap Pile’s conference room waited at the bottom of the stairs. A large oval table sat beneath the dim emergency lights. Mismatched chairs surrounded it.

         Torpedo’s resembled a modest throne.

         Disco’s was a giant carved-out disco ball.

         The grey egg chair with a shark fin attached to the top belonged to Bruce.

         The rest of the seats were chosen for comfort, not campy style.

         “Bruce, you can not go after Leviathan alone.”

         Bruce crossed the room.

         A panel on the wall opened another hidden door. An uncomfortably small locker room.

         Four unique uniforms waited inside Bruce’s locker.

         Each different, but the same basic design. Vest. Bracers. Fin.

         The newest was black leather. Disco’s creation. Bruce had never worn it. Too many zippers made it look like something to wear to the club. Disco claimed inspiration from the dark superheroes in movies.

         The old costumes were familiar. Safe.

         The black leather wasn’t.

         Maybe that’s what he needed.

Bruce pulled it from the locker.

         Landshark: The Movie!

         He squeezed into the leather pants.

         Snapped on the bracers.

         Buttoned his vest.

         Adjusted the head fin.

         He stared at himself in the mirror. Tired. Bloody. A little lost. He didn’t recognize the man looking back.

         Bruce touched the reflection. “Leviathan surprised me. I… I forgot who I was.”

He straightened.

“It’s time for that monster to meet Landshark!”

         “Leviathan’s appearance is extraordinarily convenient.”

         “No shit.”

         Bruce gasped, putting a hand over his mouth.

         Language!

         Bruce looked at himself again. Something was still wrong. He wasn’t himself. Not completely. The pieces were all there. He’d just put them back together.

         “It waited until the Scrap Pile were away. Disco would have handed Leviathan its butt in seconds. No telling how long it’s been watching me.”

         He fastened his vest.

         “Do I need to point out that you were in the middle of a crisis involving your childhood trauma when the source of that trauma suddenly reappeared after fourteen years?”

“Can you say that again…,” Bruce scratched his head. “…in English?”

“All of this has been orchestrated.”

Bruce frowned.

“Are you saying Leviathan wasn’t real?” Bruce rubbed the gash on his arm. Ouch!

“No.” Scraparella’s voice was immediate. “Leviathan was very real.”

“I am also required to point out that you are not authorized for solo missions.”

“I know. I don’t care.” Bruce considered wrapping his wound with medical tape, but decided he shouldn’t keep Leviathan waiting any longer.

“You are currently grounded for violating that exact protocol.”

“Technically.” Bruce looked at himself one more time. The black leather still didn’t feel right. He didn’t have time to finish rebuilding himself.

“Leviathan attacked our headquarters.” He headed for the stairs. “We need the Scrap Pile.” His hand tightened on the railing. “And right now, I AM the Scrap Pile!”

“Oh, Shoot!”

Bruce stopped at the top of the stairs.

“I’m gonna need some cardboard and a Sharpie.”

         A few moments later, Landshark disappeared into the night. Hunting for evil. Leaving behind the wreckage of The Atlantean Fish and Aquarium Emporium.

Red lights flashed through the ruins.

A woman’s monotone voice repeated, “Security Alert. Security Alert.”

         Where the front door once stood, hung a crooked piece of cardboard.

         Printed in thick marker:

         “Stepped out to fight evil.”

         “You no steal.”

         “XOXO -Landshark.”

 

    Bruce insisted that I let you know that no seahorses were harmed in the writing of this chapter.

Up Next: Issue Four: Sharko y Psycho!