Work Text:
"Pressure levels?"
"Green."
"Oxygen levels?"
"Green."
"Emotional levels?"
You toss your coworker an amused eye roll.
"Also green. But it doesn't matter, we're in too deep to back out now." You both share a confident look, eyes brightened with eagerness and ambition. You were ready for this.
You run the required protocols as you descend deeper, making sure all systems are functioning properly. The sound of the submarine's propellers fill the silence as the darkness scrolls by. A few arrowtooth eels and the occasional grenadier fish can be seen through the small window before they skitter out of the headlights' range.
"Okay, we're now officially deeper than Mt. Everest is high."
Awe filled you at the words from your partner.
Sure, exploring the Marianas Trench may not be as grand as standing on the highest peak on earth, but in terms of the farthest man can go, the Marianas Trench, the deepest location on earth, the closest to the Earth's core mankind has dared to venture, well— it certainly competes.
After several more minutes of tense silence, the momentum of the vessel slows to a halt, you feel the shift, as your partner in the pilot's seat pulls up on the controls, and you find yourself hovering merely a few meters above the seafloor of Challenger Deep.
"We've safely made it to the bottom, all systems are go. Clear to start exploring?" You speak into the radio, to your mission's control, while you and your partner wait in silence.
A brief pause. A short static sound from the radio. "You're clear. Give us an update in ten minutes if nothing happens before then. Congratulations on reaching Challenger Deep."
You whoop in triumph, and you and your coworker high-five.
While your co-pilot sets the vessel into a slow crawl forward, you retrieve your pen and paper pad, ready to start making a list of the species you both see.
You couldn't believe you were actually here. Sure, you may not have been the first scientists to reach Challenger Deep, but it was your first time, and that was what counted. That made it spectacular on its own. That, and the prospect of discovering new life, never before seen by human eyes.
Your submarine's camera feed was transmitting everything you were seeing to mission control, but it would be special seeing it in person. A first hand experience— nothing could compare.
To say it was dark outside the exploration sub would be a massive understatement. Literally no light reached the trench at the very bottom; the sunlight zone ends at two hundred meters, you and your partner were eleven thousand meters down.
The light from the submarine's headlights dimly illuminates the volcanic vents lining the seafloor, spewing forth dusty clouds of sulfur. You knew that teeming within those boiling plumes were thousands of microorganisms, invisible to the naked eye, but very much alive, even here.
The expeditions to reach this place alone were groundbreaking, but the surface had barely been scratched in terms of discovery. Decades later, still only a fragment of the Trench had been fully explored.
You were beyond the boundaries now, moving into uncharted— and unseen— waters.
You both point out a tripod fish resting on the seafloor, taking a moment to admire its weirdness, before you glance down to write its name on the paper.
In the next handful of minutes, you write down Giant Tube Worm, Cookie Cutter Shark, and Hadal Snailfish.
"Oh, look, a headless chicken!" You call out suddenly, pointing ahead, and your coworker startles.
"What?! Oh— heheh." The pale color leaves their face and a smile replaces it as they spot the oddly-shapen red creature that floats by.
You write down Enypniastes. It was a weird name for a species, but looking at it, you could understand why the sea cucumber would have earned the nickname 'Headless Chicken Monster'.
"Good sightings so far, but nothing new yet," you remark to your partner, who nods in response.
You continue your observation, and your partner continues piloting the vessel, and for a good while, it's quiet and predictable. And boring. Not really boring— this was still an incomparable experience, you couldn't believe you were here— but you hadn't seen anything new yet, and you couldn't help being both hopeful and disappointed.
A scanner on the submarine's console beeps— the pressure sensor, indicating a shift in pressure from above. Both of you glance up at the roof of the ship, as if able to see through it to tell what caused the shift. But you, being merely a pair of simple humans, could not.
"That's odd," your coworker says what you were thinking, and you glance over. "Check the internal pressure levels again?"
You check them, and they're normal, just as before. You both shrug it off.
You had barely moved two meters when there's a second pressure shift, setting off the scanner's warning again before the ship rocks around you, sending vibrations through your insides. It lasts for merely a few seconds, but it's enough to thoroughly rile you and your partner.
"Okay, what was that?" This time, you're looking to your partner for answers, hoping they have reassuring news. They glance over the console for several moments, silent.
"I don't know. We're seeing levels fit for a whale, but my readings say there's nothing but sand out there."
That wasn't reassuring.
Maybe something was wrong with the ship, then. "Should we resurface early?" You hated to be the one to say such a thing, but in your mind, cutting the mission short was better than drowning.
Your partner has no time to respond before the ship is jostled yet again, and the lights flicker out, you and your partner's terrified shrieks accompanied by the pained creak of metal.
The lights are only out momentarily, as immediately the orange glow of the emergency backup lights fill the interior.
A crisp static sounds before a voice comes through on the radio. “Come in. We detected a power blink. Are you both alright down there?”
You pick up the handheld to reply. “We’re alright. The emergency lights kicked in.”
“Copy that. Glad you’re alright. If anything else strange happens, let us know.”
While your partner checks the radars, you throw yourself out of your seat and further into the sub, checking the essential systems for possible damage. Some of the internal batteries would need to be replaced, if nothing else. You hear your partner take over communication with the surface team as you locate your task.
The ship was not a large vessel by any means. And yet, you'd never felt as confined in its familiar corridors as you did right now. It was all starting to dawn on you. You were seven miles below the ocean's surface, in a ship that would immediately buckle under the pressure of the water around you should it take the slightest amount of damage.
You fumbled with the internal batteries as you handled them, trying to quickly and efficiently replace the drained or damaged ones while your nerves set your hands shaky.
As you're working on your task, a flicker of movement outside the back window catches your attention, and you turn, staring out into the blackness.
And something stares back at you.
As you yelp, backing up unsteadily, whatever was looking at you disappears, and you hear your coworker call your name from the pilot's cabin.
When you don't respond, you're soon joined in the hall by your partner, who looks at you with concern. "Hey, talk to me. Are you okay?"
You try to swallow the lump in your throat. "It's— I-I..."
"Hey, take a breath." They step forward and place a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, and you follow their instruction. "Did you finish replacing the batteries?" You nod. "Alright. Let's go back to the front, then you can tell me what happened."
Your coworker leads you back to the pilot's seats, but you stop behind your chair, holding onto the back piece loosely as you stare out the front window.
"What happened back there?" Your coworker pries, and you take another breath.
"There's— there's some kind of monster out there. And it's huge."
They don't say anything in response as they stare at you, looking to be at a loss for words.
That doubtful look on their face. You know they don't believe you. You wouldn't either, if you hadn't seen it with your own eyes.
"I promise, it's really—"
A vibration rattles the sub. The metal creaks and groans.
You both turn, towards the front window, as a massive creature swims into view, taking up the entire open space in front of the vessel as it turns, with grace and agility and raw power, before it settles right in front of the ship, black orbs with blue pinpricks staring into your souls.
The both of you are frozen to the spot, only able to regard the creature with a very natural fear, and a somewhat foolish curiosity and wonder.
Its skin was a dark blue, almost black, and lining its body were several scutes of glowing lights. Some encircled the eyes, some dotted its shoulders - shoulders, this thing had shoulders - and many formed rows that traveled down its long, powerful tail, which made up a whole half of its body. There was some kind of protrusion on the back of its head that ended in an even brighter orb of light.
"Well, we found a new species," your coworker whispers, and you make a noise that's somewhere between a sneer and a whimper.
"If it doesn't kill us, this will probably win us some kind of award," you finally stutter, and the dry chuckle your coworker makes in response is a small comfort.
You both back up as the creature tilts its head, shuffling closer, but relax after it makes no other movements.
"What do you think it eats?"
"Tuna sandwiches?" You joke impulsively, and this time your coworker makes the strained whimper-sneer sound. You exhale through your nose, trying to think more clearly.
"Well, if there's something as big as this guy down here.. megalodons? Maybe there's just some megalodons down here and we've never found them. We never found this thing," you point out, gesturing to it.
"How old do you think it is?" Your coworker asks next, but you're too busy noticing something to pay attention to what they said.
"How come this thing doesn't have a mouth?"
Your partner's eyes widen, as they too notice what you had seen. "Woah."
Below its huge eyes, where a nose and mouth would be on a regular human face, were just smooth scales.
It wasn't uncommon for sea creatures to have different forms of mouths. Octopi, for example, have beaks below their tentacles. Jellyfish lack standard eyes, nostrils, mouths, and even brains. But this creature had forward facing eyes, and what your brain wanted to expect was a mouth below those eyes.
"Maybe.. it absorbs its food?" Your partner guesses, and you make a doubtful expression.
"I'm not sure. Maybe.. and this is a wild guess here.. but maybe we're looking at false eyes."
You both stare, trying to determine if that hypothesis was true. It certainly didn't blink, but most sea creatures don't have eyelids. You also felt, somewhere deep down, that it was deliberately looking at you, perceiving you.
"What else could it be?"
"Unless it has a hidden mouth somewhere else on its body, I have no idea. There's no way to know unless we see it eat something."
And, hopefully, it wouldn't be you.
You notice your coworker squinting, leaning forward as they fixate on a different detail of the creature. "What's that on its shoulder?"
You look for what they'd mentioned, eventually spotting a gray mark across one of its shoulders, underneath a small fin. "It looks like a.. scar. Can you turn the lights brighter? Maybe we could see it better."
Your partner steps forward to reach the console, finding the switch that corresponds with the deep sea lights and flicking it on.
As the light intensifies, the creature emits a high pitched sound, face pressing into the dirt in an agitated manner before it pushes off, twisting around in the narrow canyon and darting into the darkness.
"..Huh, guess it didn't like that," you murmur, something like sympathy, or perhaps guilt, twisting down in your gut.
You both stand uncertainly in front of the window for several moments, neither of you finding it in yourselves to move, as if expecting the creature to return with a vengeance. You're tense, and for good reason.
Right when you feel your muscles starting to loosen up, every single fiber in your body jolts as a new, equally massive face forces its way into the light. Huge, white eyes, and a rim of feathery antennae around its face. The antennae flicker and sway, as if thinking, as the creature tilts its head inquisitively. Its body is a pale yellow, with traces of red pigment, most prominent in the antenna.
Another one?
"Can you believe this?" You whisper to your coworker, as if the enormous creature staring you down could understand you, or even hear you, for that matter. Your coworker shakes their head.
As the mer— you were deciding to call these things mermaids— begins inspecting your vessel more closely, you catch a glimpse of blue glowing spots hovering at a distance, and realize the other mer had stayed nearby.
"You realize these are mermaids, right? Real, actual mermaids." This was certainly a discovery for the ages, on the off chance you hadn't both run out of oxygen and were currently hallucinating in your final moments before death.
"They're a lot less.. humanoid than I would have guessed."
You figured they meant they didn't look like Ariel. They certainly resembled the mermaid legends of old; with powerful shoulders and long limbs that ended in webbed fingers, the body plan was the same, but the flesh and colors were different. They were spiny, they glowed. They were covered in scales head to tail. The word 'leviathan' came to mind.
You remembered suddenly that you were supposed to be keeping tabs with your surface team. And that the sub was still transmitting live footage of this dive to said surface team.
You pick up the radio.
"Uhhhhhh..."
"Yes, we're seeing all this," is the response you get before you can articulate a sentence. "We want you to surface, but wait for an opening first. Don't agitate them."
Easier said than done. It was too narrow to turn around in the trench, and one of the mers was currently halfway on top of the submersible. You were trapped, essentially.
"Got it," you respond anyway, to ensure the team knew you'd heard them, before returning the radio to its holder. You glance at your partner.
"Try turning the lights down. Maybe the blue one will come back."
Silently, your companion complies, flipping the same switch again, this time the other way. The range of what you can see shrinks, but the other creature's bioluminescence is still visible.
Slowly, the blue mer swims forward, and as it comes more into view, it's paired with a low chitter, which causes it to glance up, above the sub, where the yellow mer was resting. It makes a gurgling chitter back, and the yellow one bristles, its sound morphing into something almost reminiscent of a hiss, as it shifts, putting itself in front of the viewing window, obscuring the view until it's curled up in front of the lights.
"Do you have any idea what's happening?" It's you who finally blurts something out, words spoken towards the window, as your gaze remains locked on the creatures outside of it.
"It looks like they're having a petty fight," your coworker comments back, as the blue mer finally makes a submissive sound, tensely skirting the yellow one's tail, gliding up and over the view of the window as the yellow mer's gaze tracks it.
"Actually.. I agree. That seemed very… 'siblings intentionally starting shit' to me."
"Could they really be siblings? Do you think they're the same species?"
"That's a lot of dimorphism for one species, even if they're different sexes. But does it seem any more plausible that they're two separate species, and aren't competing for the same territory?"
Symbiotic relationships could occur in nature, even in the ocean, but two creatures as big as this surely wouldn't have enough food to occupy the same space. Right?
On the other hand, some types of fish, and many types of mammals, could have different colored offspring. But these creatures were vastly different, and yet the same. One had bioluminescence, the other had gills bordering its face. One was yellow, the other was blue. One had white eyes, the other black orbs with glowing pupils. Both of them had the same body plan.
They both fit the exact description for a creature that had never been seen and recorded by human instruments, but that had certainly been spoken of.
"It's like they're straight out of a fairy tale," you wonder aloud, finally sidestepping around your chair and leaning slightly over the console to observe the yellow one closer. Its head swivels to look back at you, and its body shifts as it turns around and faces the window again. Moments later, the blue mer reappears, hovering over the yellow one and also eyeing you.
Fueled by curiosity, you reach your hand forward, splaying your fingers as you press it to the glass. You wait.
The yellow mer makes a curious sound, and shifts again, resting its weight on one arm as it reaches the other out, and presses a single webbed claw to the glass, dwarfing your own. You can't help giving a breathless chuckle, staring in awe at the massive creature as you share what you were perceiving as, for all intents and purposes, a moment of communication.
"Wow," your coworker states in a whisper, and you look over your shoulder to smile at them.
But when you look back, you notice the mer has withdrawn its hand, and both creatures' gazes are fixed over the top of the sub. You're suddenly gripped by the distinct feeling that they're aware of something you're not.
A low, droning sound cuts through the water, echoing off the cavern walls, and for several moments, you can't tell if it's outside the ship, or the ship itself.
The sound intensifies into a roar, and the mers back up defensively, fins and spines raised in agitation, just moments before a set of huge black tentacles slam down on the glass, and the alarms in the sub start blaring.
Pressure warning. Proximity warning.
You and your partner scramble, as they grab the radio and call to alert the above ground team, while you reach for the button to activate the pressure compensator.
As you panic, the unidentified creature tightens its hold on the vessel, setting off more alarms, while glimpses of the mers can be seen through the wider gaps between the tentacles.
A shrill screech combats the droning roar of the monster, and you look up just in time to see the mers' faces split open from the bottom, revealing rows of huge, sharp teeth, as they both torpedo up and over the ship, out of view.
Very soon after, another screech is heard, loud and pained and haunting, and the tentacles disconnect from the glass, retreating, while some of the alarms fade and then fall to silence.
It had all happened in less than a minute, and you were still reeling from the realization of 'giant tentacle monster', dazed, until your partner snaps you out of it, and you jump.
"We need to surface, this is our only chance!"
"Do it then!" You bark, quickly seating yourself in your chair, and your partner follows the motion a split second later.
That was all the motivation it took for you to begin your ascent, with a damaged hull and shaken souls.
Your heart was racing.
It was only after you were both certain that you were out of harm's way that you finally relaxed, falling into a dead silence as you both recall and comprehend the last few moments.
You were grateful to have made it out of that deadly situation in one piece, but a small part of you couldn't help mourning the opportunity to learn more about the creatures in the depths.