Three fishmen stumble towards a hotel in Austin.

  They’ve just won a wrestling contest.

  And lost The Joe Rogan Experience.

  And are walking away empty-handed.

  They don’t yet comprehend how famous they are—or who might be watching.

  But who exactly is watching?

  The powers that be.

  And how are they watching?

  Vigilantly.

  One of the watchers is seafood industry tycoon Crawford Thorne. He sits in his unapologetically high high-rise, casually twirling a narwhal tusk in his already agitated hand.

  Crawford Thorne is a psychopath, and he’s not ashamed to be one either. In fact, he wears his psychopathy like a badge of honour.

  At age 43, he wrote a pro-psychopathy self-help book entitled Total Dominance: The Three Keys to Succeeding in Business.

  Crawford’s keys to business success are fairly straightforward. The first key is being a psychopath. The second is also being a psychopath. And the third… you guessed it—transcendental meditation! However, meditation aside, it’s hard to stress just how helpful psychopathy is when exploiting workers, cutting corners, fighting the unions, ignoring ecological disasters, and killing a string of seemingly useless assistants.

  “In business,” writes Crawford Thorne, “you have to make sacrifices—human, preferably, but in desperate times, beheading a goose can provide an acceptable return on investment.”

  Thorne’s 27th assistant, Jerry Lloyd, understood all too well the perils of his position. But as a work martyr, he believed, in his heart of hearts, that hard work was more important than living to tell the tale. And it was the promise of some extremely gruelling work that convinced Jerry to sign the waiver.

  Clause 17a of the waiver states:

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  Should Crawford Thorne determine, at his sole discretion, that the employee, Jerry Lloyd, has failed to adequately perform his duties, the penalty may range from a wet willy to immediate and irreversible termination—of both his employment and LIFE. Said life shall be forfeited to Crawford Thorne, who retains the exclusive right to END IT at a time and in a manner of his choosing.

  The employee also agrees whilst dying to provide a satisfying level of resistance, including but not limited to: wrestling, fighting, spitting, crawling, writhing, and flopping about on the floor. Bonus points will be awarded for screaming words to the effect of:

  “Help! Help! Somebody help! Oh God. Not the air fryer! Anything but the air fryer. For the love of God, help me!”

  Jerry knew that Clause 17a was a red flag. But on the bright side, he was getting paid just below minimum wage—which was generous in today’s climate.

  “Mr Thorne, sir,” he said with a deferential bow. “I take it you’ve seen the podcast.”

  Crawford Thorne had watched, analysed, and agonised over the podcast. He’d never accounted for the possibility of fishmen—let alone the havoc they might wreak. Only when he saw that freakishly obedient fish leap to its doom did he recognise the true threat.

  If they could control any and all fish, where did that leave seafood industry tycoon Crawford Thorne?

  In a way, he respected the ruthlessness of their demonstration. Were they openly mocking him? The markets certainly seemed to think so—his company’s stock had nosedived in the wake of their insanely viral stunt.

  And then, to add insult to injury, that cretinous Rogan had actually encouraged the fishmen to disrupt an entire industry—

  His industry.

  “How could you allow this to happen?” said Crawford Thorne, his grip tightening on the narwhal tusk.

  “I, uh…”

  “A real oversight on your part, don’t you think?”

  “I couldn’t have anticipated the arrival of the creatures, could I?”

  “You must be prepared for any and all eventualities, Lloyd.”

  “Please, Mr Thorne. I’ve worked hard for this company, bled for it.”

  “You haven’t actually bled. Not yet.”

  “I worked 169 hours last week.”

  “It’s not about numbers, Lloyd. It’s about never failing me, and you have failed me, haven’t you?”

  “No, sir, I—”

  “Come closer, Lloyd. I can barely hear you.”

  After a moment’s pause, Lloyd approaches. He’ll do anything to appease Mr. Thorne. It’s his job, after all, and he takes pride in it. Still, he can’t help but glance at the narwhal tusk.

  Thorne’s grip tightens on the tusk.

  "I— I can do better, sir," Lloyd pleads. "Please. I’ll work harder. I’ll—"

  Crawford Thorne lunges forward, raising the tusk on high. Lloyd screams.

  And then—squelch.

  Lloyd’s body convulses. His ear is… wet.

  Because inside of it is the pre-salivated finger of a monster, twirling relentlessly.

  A wet willy.

  Crawford Thorne smiles. “Let this be a lesson in accountability.”

  Lloyd falls to his knees, sobbing.

  “Now,” said Crawford Thorne, leaning back in his chair. “How are we going to destroy these fishmen?”