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Finley sat on a fallen log, staring through the trees dotting his surroundings. He could barely see a foot in front of him, yet squinted, searching for any sign of movement among the firs. The Mist was known for its lack of Mother Nature’s events, so any of the trees’ movements could not be attributed to the wind, but rather, something— or someone, trekking through the forest.
The lone fish never knew of the existence of forests prior to his entrance into the Mist, as he was acquainted with the underwater forests known as coral reefs. However, he had grown fond of the ones on land. It was quiet, sparse yet dense in certain areas, and a place where he could conduct his business without interruption.
His business consisted of nurturing any injuries he may have sustained from a younger girl’s softball bat or an older man’s issued firearm, or simply coughing up the oil that polluted his body. He loathed it. Right now, he was nursing some burns he received from the softball star’s blonde-haired friend, hissing at the pain.
How did he put these on again? Finley racked his brain while clutching a roll of bandages tightly. Everything was blurry, and all he could see were somewhat distinguishable blobs of color. A large reddish spot coated his free hand, indicating a burn. He foolishly tried to block the flame earlier, thinking it would do something. All it did was make holding his weapon of choice, his spear, uncomfortable.
He wrapped the gauze around his hand, but groaned in pain, immediately yanking the bandage off. Why didn’t the Mist heal this godforsaken burn already?! His uncovered eye twitched out of annoyance.
I didn’t think I’d need help with this. He groaned as he got up, abandoning the log he sat on. He resorted to walking into the forest, unsure of where else to seek help other than a place he came to know like the back of his scaly hand.
Arlo’s cabin. A place he occasionally visited whenever Arlo forgot to visit his cabin to replace his bandages, located on the outskirts of the survivor campsite. It worked out in his favor, he wouldn’t have to worry about receiving stares from wary survivors. He didn’t need anyone talking about how he needed a human’s help with caring for an injury despite his innate hatred for humans anyway. For others like his fellow killer Cole… not so much.
He trudged through the dense forest, pushing aside stray branches and bush leaves, vaguely recounting the instructions to reach the camp. Soon enough, a wooden cabin came into view. It exuded a grim aura yet was previously a source of comfort for Finley. Keyword: previously.
He strolled to the door and knocked on it thrice with his good hand.
No response.
He knocked again.
Still no response.
He glanced at the window next to the door. There was a lack of light coming from inside. Arlo wasn’t here. So much for help. He growled in annoyance, turning around to leave. Maybe if I sleep it off it will go away.
On his way back to his own cabin, he heard the soft crashing of water. He was nearing the beach. His pace picked up, trying to get himself not to look at the ocean. If he did his mind would fill with old memories he would never relive again. Of broken promises and lost friends. Of his mother whom he would never get to see again. He instinctively ground his teeth, attempting to ignore the swirling of the waves nearby. No way would he ever be ready to confront the tragedy that was his past. He would rather seek solace in the repetitive yet satisfying act of killing humans who deem themselves innocent and free of sin. He knew they were all guilty, even Arlo.
A familiar voice interrupted his train of thought, preventing him from continuing to berate humans in his head.
He whipped around, glaring at the sea. His eyes widened as his vision landed on a recognizable figure standing in the water, facing away from him. He wore what looked like a gray (and perhaps blue as well? His eyesight was poor, he couldn’t tell if it was the ocean or the figure’s) wetsuit, and something black around his waist (an utility belt? He knew the Watcher, a fellow killer, sometimes donned one along with his white hoodie and teal medical mask). His dark hair was dripping wet as if he had just taken a dip in the salty water. Finley felt dread creep up his spine just from watching the figure.
And then he turned around.
Both men locked stares, shocked by the other’s presence. Finley gulped, though that proved to be a mistake as he ended up coughing and breaking the thin veil of silence between them.
“What are you doing here?” A simple, innocent question, yet Finley felt his internalized hatred manifest, clouding his mind.
“What does it matter to you? You, who corrupts the water with your presence,” he spat back. The human frowned.
“Why does me taking a swim offend you so much? Besides, this is nothing like the real ocean.” Finley already knew that, he had been here before. The Mist made a mockery of his home with the replica, and if a human like him recognized that, then Finley could at least revel in the fact that nothing could compare to the authenticity of his former aquatic home in the real world.
“I’m aware,” he replied through grit teeth, balling his fists. The man’s eyes scanned Finley before landing on his injured hand, gasping.
“Your hand!”
“What about it?” He raised his eyebrow.
“You have a burn.”
Finley scoffed at the obvious being pointed out. “So what?”
“I can help-”
“Absolutely not,” he rejected, cutting off the human’s suggestion.
“But you usually have Arlo replace your bandages, and he’s in the middle of a round right now.” He flinched at the human’s words. It appears news of his and Arlo’s now strained relationship had made the rounds through the survivor camp. He grumbled.
“So… can I?” the human asked nervously. He sighed.
“Fine. But only because Arlo isn’t here.” The human nodded.
“Hang tight. I’ll go grab my first aid kit.” He quickly dashed off and out of sight, leaving Finley alone with his thoughts. Why am I trusting another human again? Am I really that desperate? He pondered what changed his mind as he sat on the rough, grainy sand.
He wasn’t alone for long though, as the human from earlier quickly returned. With him, he brought a box with a handle, decorated with a red cross similar to Arlo’s medical kit. He quickly ran up to Finley and kneeled, placing the box on the floor and opening it by flipping the clasp up.
“Wait. Did you get to run your hand under cool water?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Finley shook his head. The man frowned. “At least I have a water bottle. Give me your hand,” he said after uncapping a plastic water bottle (Finley grimaced at the sight, remembering the large amount of similar bottles floating through the sea), stretching out his hand. Finley placed his burnt one on the human’s, and almost chuckled at the size difference, his tasteless attempt at easing the situation through humor.
The only thing that stopped him was the feeling of cool water hitting his hand. He hissed, the pain nearly making him want to scream. The man noticed and immediately stopped. Finley pressed his mouth into a thin line, before noticing something… interesting.
His fingers were clasped around the other’s hand, encasing them in his firm grip. He let go, yanking his hand away and nervously looking up.
The only people whose hands he held in such a way were his mother’s, and his former lover’s. A sign he was vulnerable and susceptible to sympathies he normally wouldn’t hold for humankind.
It terrified him.
But the man (he just remembered the man was called Dakari) didn’t seem to take notice. He put down the water bottle, making sure it didn’t tip over and pour out onto the sand.
“I-I’m so sorry, I should’ve warned you,” he apologized, tripping a bit over his words. Finley could taste the agitation and fear coming from the smaller man.
“…Don’t be,” escaped his mouth, a reassurance he didn’t intend to share. The human nearly jumped, startled by the response. Oh, how he wanted to tear his hair out— this isn’t how someone like him should be acting, especially around a human! Yet he found himself succumbing under the care of one.
He didn’t know how to feel anymore.
“Normally, you’re supposed to run your hand under cool water for a-about 10 minutes to ease the pain, but the only cool water I have is in this bottle and the sea. D-do you mind if we move closer to shore?”
“No, I don’t mind.” The pair got up, took the first aid kit, and walked to the shoreline, sitting down in the wet sand. Finley dunked his burnt hand into the water and almost cried. It was indeed cool like Dakari said, but the constant movement intensified the pain. He felt an arm snake around him, and a small hand loosely clutch his submerged wrist. He glanced over at Dakari, who simply focused his gaze on his hand.
“It’s going to hurt, but a-after a couple of minutes the pain should subside. If the pain becomes unbearable, please let me know immediately, okay?” the human whispered, loud enough so his voice wouldn’t be drowned out by the crashing of the waves.
“…Okay.”
A couple of minutes passed by, and Finley finally felt the pain ease a bit. He turned to look at Dakari, who noticed and immediately let go of him, allowing him to pull his hand out of the water. Dakari then nabbed a small tube from the open kit beside him and uncapped it, squeezing a small paste onto his finger and then applying it on Finley’s burn. He slowly smeared it, making sure it covered the entire mark while avoiding hurting the fish even further.
His attention to detail surprised the fish man. Finley recalled how, within rounds in which he is pitted against the human, he has seen him patch others up slower than Arlo. Yet here was the same man working swiftly to help him. Was it because it was a small and almost insignificant injury? Or was it because he was simply better at nursing animals back to health instead of other humans?
Amidst his pondering, he noticed Dakari reach into the first aid kit, sifting through its contents for a roll of bandages to cover the wound. He quickly nudged Dakari, prompting the human to stop what he was doing.
“Wait.” He reached into his pockets and took out his own roll, handing it to the human. “Use this instead.” Dakari nodded, taking it and unrolling it. He carefully bandaged Finley’s hand and then finished it off with a quick rip, fastening a bandage clip on it to keep it in place.
“Seeing as you already have bandages all over you, I think you know what not to do,” he said, closing the kit. Finley nodded in confirmation. “Then that’s that. You may go now.” The pair got up and Dakari turned around, beginning the walk back to the survivor’s camp. Finley stood there for a few seconds before running after him.
“Wait!” Dakari stopped and turned around again, only to nearly jump as Finley stopped right in front of him.
“Woah! D-do you need something else?” he asked, spooked by the taller one of the two.
“No, I just wanted to say… thank you.” A phrase that still felt foreign on the fish’s tongue, yet familiar enough to use. After all, Dakari was not obligated to help him and could have run away at the mere sight of him.
Instead, he stayed. While many others would have run away or tried to take a fighting stance, he helped.
Dakari flashed an awkward smile, unsure of how to feel about the taller man being super close and uncharacteristically nice to him.
“Well, uh, y-you’re welcome, Finley.”