The blue bioluminescence of the failing tank bathed the room in an eerie, aquatic glow, casting sharp, rippling shadows across the walls. The roar of escaping seawater was deafening. Mia screamed, her pink dress snagged on the splintered debris as the violent undertow threatened to drag her into the swirling abyss of the tank.
Leo stood frozen in his grey hoodie, eyes wide with terror, just inches from the torrential flood.
Arthur didn’t hesitate. But he didn’t lunge for Mia.
Sweat pouring down his face, chest heaving beneath his ruined white suit, Arthur bypassed the drowning girl entirely. Instead, he lunged at Leo. With terrifying, frantic violence, the old man seized the boy’s collar in a white-knuckled death grip, lifting him half off the floor.
Leo kicked and thrashed, his face twisting in horror. “Grandpa, stop! Help Mia!”
Arthur dragged the boy dangerously close to his face, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild and unblinking in the shimmering blue light. He ignored the boy’s frantic physical struggles. He ignored Mia’s watery shrieks echoing behind them.
“Shut up,” Arthur hissed, his voice a venomous tremor beneath the roar of the flood.
He stared deep into the terrified, pleading eyes of his grandson.
“You almost had me,” Arthur panted, his grip tightening on the grey fabric until the boy gagged. “But you made one fatal mistake.”
Arthur glanced down.
“Thousands of gallons of saltwater just exploded across this room,” Arthur growled, watching the boy’s faux terror suddenly melt into a cold, inhuman deadpan. “And your clothes are completely dry.”
Behind them, the screaming “Mia” dissolved into a distortion of light and water—a localized holographic lure.
The real apex predator was already out of the tank. And Arthur was holding it by the throat.