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It’s a few weeks into the long Blaseball siesta, an entire year without the splort. You relax in your living room, unsure of what to do with the balmy evening outside. In uncertain boredom you flick on your TV, presenting you with the local news channel, which is also the local splorts channel and thus the only channel that matters, aside from TLBS. Your aunt changes it to TLBS during the holidays to watch Big Bang Thleory, a show she thinks you like and that you can tolerate after a few strong holiday-adjacent drinks.
The weather segment finishes out, the studio’s meteorologist at the tail-end of a protracted and likely unfunny skit about how the weather sucks this week and will continue to suck until Axel Trololol, star pitcher, is unshelled and allowed back into the water. The Old One misses his afternoon company in the bay, and while attempts have been made to float him in the shell, the Old One refuses to accept it as Axel. You would care more about the weather if you spent more time outside, but you don’t go out much these days.
“Thanks, Cole,” the anchor says. She’s a woman you know as Jane Gametendo, a newer hire by the news studio. She’s new to the area as well, a constant source of humor in her segments whenever a funny local tradition or custom comes to light, such as the annual crab-walk race where the faithful contort themselves in a desperate struggle to get to the bay first and receive a blessing from the Old One. Boy, was that a shock to her.
“Now, we’re going to show you a special segment, which is going to be broadcast nationally tomorrow.” Jane began, “It’s a deep dive into the process many of you know and potentially love, carcinization. The studio got a number of experts together to really break down the how, what, and why of the process, and we all agree it will go a long way to correct some misinformation on the process.”
Jane shuffled some papers at the news desk for a moment, taking a moment to breathe before continuing. You aren’t sure if she’s nervous or excited to start the segment, but either way you’re ready to see it.
“Without further ado, we here at your local news station present ‘No Claws for Alarm: The Truth Behind Carcinization’. Please enjoy.” Jane says, eyes downcast at her desk as she finishes. The screen flickers for a moment, changing to a title card. In white text you see the title repeated, followed by credits you don’t really care about.
“Carcinization,” the narrator apparent of the documentary begins. You like their voice, which sounds like a bird of prey about to pounce on some young animal, a vole perhaps. “Despite occurring in Baltimore for centuries, little is known about the mysterious process. Little focus has been put into how a person becomes a crab, in part or in full, even within the sclientific community. We put together a team of experts to correct that error and are excited to report our findings.”
The scene shifts to a doctor’s office, a nurse interacting with someone who’s mostly a crab, bipedal but otherwise shelled and clawed. It cuts to a doctor of some description sitting in a chair, their face unreadable and dimensions variable.
“Dr. Dreamy, a relation that manifested alongside well-loved Crabs player Sutton Dreamy, works at the Baltimore Feel-Better Clinic and has apparently worked there for decades despite existing for less than one. He agreed to sit down with us and talk about his medical opinions on carcinization.”
“Thank you for taking the time, Doctor.” The interviewer asks, voice adjacent to the narrator’s but not quite the same. You notice they are offscreen, the hard-to-perceive doctor being the only loosely defined person on screen.
“It’s always a pleasure.” Dreamy replies. His voice carries a general paternal quality to it, fatherly in the right ways to make a person feel safe.
“So, what can you tell us about carcinization?” the interviewer asks inquisitively, keen as a knife.
“Carcinization, or the process of becoming a crab, is fairly unique to the Baltimore area. There are similar processes in other parts of the world, but they’re less common and harder to nail down. About forty percent of the Baltimore population is carcinized, with only half of them being fully carcinized. This number doesn’t include land crabs, people magically or otherwise suddenly turned into crabs, or people pretending to be crabs because it’s fun.”
“Fascinating,” the interviewer replies, “Why does it happen?”
“Exposure to a number of things seems to cause it, such as eating a lot of shellfish from the Baltimore area, ingesting a lot of Old Bay seasloning, or getting Forrest Best’s signature.” Dreamy says, gesturing vaguely with even vaguer limbs. “Typically, they induce the process, and when they’re removed from a patient’s life, they usually return to whatever their original state was.”
“So, it’s not permanent?” the interviewer asks, “Or is it mostly not permanent?”
“It only becomes harder to get rid of a few years into the process, when we’re starting to see some internal compaction to get smaller and more crab-like. It can still be stopped then, but the patient is typically smaller or a different kind of shape, but otherwise healthy.”
“That’s fascinating, doctor, thank you for your time.” The interviewer says, the audio mixing giving the bizarre impression they’re behind you in this moment.
“Thanks for having me!” Dreamy replies, “Oh, and Claws Up!”
The screen-scene changes again, focusing on a wide shot of a pier. Text on the screen identifies the location as the Outer Blanks of North Carolina, a place consisting of sandbars and islands supposedly left over from a mass sinking of the state. A crab stands in the distance. Narration follows.
“Vendredi Friday is a former Baltimore resident who moved to the Outer Blanks five years ago. They own a salvaging business, which focuses on the deep ruins of Charlotte and other large pre-sink cities. They have been a crab for ten years and agreed to talk with us about their experiences as a crab.”
“A lot of people told me I was being dumb when I decided to stay a crab.” Vendredi says to the camera, seated for an interview. “They told me I wasn’t gonna be able to do much with buttons, and other stuff that doesn’t really matter cause I’m a crab now.”
“The way I see it, being a crab’s a real advantage for me. I can get way lower than anyone else, and don’t even need some diving gear to do it. Made a lot of money out of it, really.” Footage rolls from divecams, shots of Vendredi hauling car parts and safes to the surface from deep, abandoned houses.
“Honestly, I think people are afraid of the power of being a crab. Makes ‘em feel like humans aren’t the top of the food chain anymore. They might be right; I think I’m legally allowed to eat human flesh now without it being cannibalism. But I wouldn’t. I’m not that kind of crab.”
“Really, all I’ve got to say is this. Being a crab rules and I have no regrets.” More footage rolls of Vendredi attempting to put on a button-up shirt to no avail. You aren’t sure if it’s supposed to be sad or funny, but you read somewhere that the best comedy is tragedy. Or something like that, you read a lot of stuff without knowing if it’s really accurate.
The scene changes again to a shot of somewhere in Baltimore, B-roll footage you assume. You don’t know what that really means, but you heard it once and bring it up a lot. Narration resumes.
“We hope you learned a lot about Carcinization tonight. We all did. Maybe you’ll consider it?” says a voice very unlike the previous narrator. It now has a definite corvid quality, a mocking raven perhaps. Something with wings and talons and an impulse to go for the eyes. The segment ends, and the screen returns to the studio.
The desk is empty, but that’s normal because they switched to Lyle Elbert, the invisible anchor. You turn the TV off, and go to your kitchen, considering the horde of Old Bay you have and the crabs in your fridge.
You have been given a key.
Will you open the door?