Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A transaction was a simple thing.

Really.

You give, you receive. That's all there was to it. Azul knew that very well.

He knew enough to know that it was something easy to manipulate. That you could become a magician, slowly increasing the lot of what you received while lowering what you had to give.

He knew enough to know that sometimes, if you were good enough, you wouldn't really have to give anything at all.

He knew transactions were everywhere. They never stopped. They could deal in everything; it wasn't always money. It could be deeds, companionship, even love.

Or people.

And Azul knew enough to know, that as of now, he had become the product.

You could be on the wrong side of a deal. You could risk losing everything. But it was something very different to be the subject of the transaction, not one of the participants. To have all control and freedom stripped from you.

Yes, being a commodity was a horrible thing indeed.

Azul had tried to hold on. To anything he could.

He'd tried to discern the direction the boat had gone in, but looking back on it he'd been undoubtedly drugged, so that endeavor had been doomed from the start. Secondly, he'd attempted to keep track of time. This turned out to be similarly hopeless as well. Even after he and the other mer had been transferred to whatever destination the ship had arrived at, Azul hadn't seen a shred of daylight since he was shoved below that deck. Sometimes he'd get the notion that it was day or night, but he knew that it was likely nothing more than a passing delusion.

He'd tried to keep track of Floyd as well. At first, it hadn't been so hard. He hadn't been placed next to Floyd in the row of tanks on the ship. But he'd gotten a brief glimpse, seen a flash of viridian fighting and thrashing, even in spite of the drugs that must've also been pumped through his system. After that, he kept a strict mental note of Floyd's location; just two to his right, only two. He kept telling himself that, as if the information would do him any good. As if the tanks weren't separated by thick, solid dividers anyways. But still, through his hazy mind, the small fact persisted.

Just two.

Two to his right.

But once the boat had reached its destination, even that had been taken from him. He hadn't been awake when it happened, a detail he was sure was arranged by their captors, a simple sedative that must've been slipped in somewhere.

When Azul opened his eyes again, mind much clearer than it had been for who knows how long, he wasn't on the ship anymore. This ground didn't sway and move with the rhythm of sea travel. It was solid, undeniably so. And Azul was trapped.

He'd looked up only to see another row of tanks staring back at him. Tanks each holding a singular mer, without doubt a mirror to the row he occupied.

There were still dividers between the tanks, but Azul knew enough— all the mer that he could see opposite of him were cephalopods. The mer beside him most likely were as well.

Azul was trapped, and Floyd was no longer two tanks to his right.

Somehow, that tiny, practically insignificant piece of information, that one thing that he'd known with certainty, being taken away from him terrified him more than anything else had so far. The fact that there was nothing he could hold on to, not even a small certainty like that.

Everything he had, everything he was made up of, was forfeit.

They would take, take as much as they wanted, and what would he be able to do to stop them?

And take they did.

Not long after he'd awoken, several figures had approached his tank, dressed in some sort of black uniform, donning face masks.

His first instinct had been to back up, as if that would've helped. He ignored it either way.

Trying to talk to them through the tank would've been useless. But still, it was in Azul's nature to communicate, to say something, to arm himself with the silver tongue that had always served him so well.

So he'd put his hands against the glass, trying to gesture generally to his outrage, assuming that signing would've been a waste of effort. Predictably, his gestures hadn't worked either.

The workers had approached the sides of the tank, messing with something that was out of Azul's sight. Before he'd realized what they were doing, the tank was being moved, pushed out to the aisle between the two rows of tanks he'd seen.

It must have been some track on the floor, almost like a railroad, that allowed them to move each tank. One look down at the floor in front of him confirmed this, but Azul's attention had quickly been drawn elsewhere.

The rows of tanks went on for far longer than they should've. Far longer.

As the workers pushed the tank down the hallway, Azul was met with face after face, all trapped in the same crammed cage he was in. Some of them looked up at him, wild fear in their eyes.

Others appeared to be too exhausted to lift their heads.

That, or they'd just become accustomed to this.

Azul had felt something drop in his chest.

This wasn't some small, seedy one-off

This was a full operation.

Azul hadn't felt that small in a long, long time.

He'd barely been given time to process that before the examination had begun.

The room they'd wheeled him into had made its purpose abundantly clear, between its white, clinical walls and various devices. As soon as the tank had locked into place on the floor's track, one of the workers had grabbed a vial from a desk in the room and emptied it into some contraption Azul couldn't see on the side of the tank.

Azul didn't have to guess to know that it was drugs again.

He'd be losing control again. Would it just make him sluggish? Or would he be knocked unconscious?

He couldn't stop it. It was going to hit him soon and he couldn't stop it.

It had been terrifying. More than that, if there was even a word for it.

Sure enough, soon his limbs had seemed heavier, his mind clouded, and yet the panic and fear remained, trapped within a powerless body.

Powerless to stop the stretcher that had lifted him out of the tank.

Powerless to stop the workers that had transferred him to an exam table.

Powerless to stop the man in the white coat that had entered the room and inserted a needle into his arm, drawing blood, just another thing for them to take.

The rest of the exam went on similarly without his volition. They'd drawn his blood a few more times, taken a skin sample, measured his height by stretching his tentacles out as far as they could go, his body like dough in their hands.

The worst of it had been when they'd weighed him.

It was a silly thing to be worried about; foolish, even. When he'd been missing several vials of blood for who knows what purpose, drugged out of his mind, somewhere unidentifiable and far far away from his home, somehow it was that old insecurity that struck him the deepest.

Hindered as he'd been, Azul had curled up, trying to hide, as futile as it was, feeling like a child again. He'd pleaded, as incoherent as the words had probably been. He was fairly sure he'd cried.

A pathetic, vaguely person-shaped blob of flesh, hanging on to something so vain amidst something so intensely horrific.

That was simply the kind of person Azul was. Nothing, and no one could change that. Not even himself.

(Especially himself.)

He didn't remember much else from that day. He'd fallen unconscious on the way back to his original spot.

When he'd opened his eyes again, his mind was back, and so was his focus. He started compiling the facts he'd picked up, finding more information once he'd ran out of that.

None of them were certainties. He'd already been taught that lesson.

But he'd needed something, even if it was only temporary.

First of all, there were more rows of tanks than the two he could see right now. He'd caught a glimpse of more tanks when he'd been moved to the examination room the day before. He still couldn't form an estimate on how many mer resided in the facility; for all he knew, there could be dozens more rows of tanks he hadn't seen yet.

Secondly, cephalopods seemed to occupy only part of this hall. In fact, the section was quite small. Azul had seen one end of it when he'd been moved, and he could see the other end from his position. He could guess that all the mer were grouped within similar categories, although he couldn't know for certain which sections those were. He hadn't paid enough attention when he'd been being wheeled out to try to discern any other possible categories, or how the size of the cephalopod group compared to said categories.

Third, there wasn't much communication between mer. At least, that's the experience Azul had had with his neighbors. Like some of the other mer he'd seen before, the mer within his field of vision appeared almost lifeless, not a spark behind their eyes.

The mer across from Azul haunted him particularly.

He was older. If Azul had to guess, he'd say mid-thirties. He wasn't an octopus mer like Azul, but instead seemed to be some kind of squid. He barely moved at all, only to eat, drifting aimlessly at any time outside of that. He didn't respond to any of Azul's signs. Didn't even look at him.

In a way, that was its own small, morbid, horrible blessing.

Azul was a vain creature, after all.

To have people looking at him, staring at him when he could not hide himself, not speak, not change how he was perceived, in this form that he had so much shame for-

That would probably break him.

Lastly, there was the tank. The cage Azul had become very familiar with. It was small and rectangular, tall enough for him to stretch out and reach the top, but not much else. From what he'd seen, the size of the tanks was uniform throughout the facility, which was particularly unfortunate for Azul, with his abundance of tentacles, the flesh pressing against the glass in a way that made him feel large and awkward.

This place seemed to have a way of bringing out old demons.

There was no privacy within the tank. Even though the mer across from him didn't seem to be interested, even though there were dividers by his sides, every action was still undeniably, plainly exposed through the clear glass facing the aisle.

Eating, sleeping, panicking, even if no one was there to see it at the moment, there was still no choice of concealment, no choice to not be seen, to hide away even for a little while.

Like an animal.

Which was exactly the point, Azul was sure. Obviously, the whole process was meant to be dehumanizing. As for the ends—

The obvious, general answer was trafficking.

Nothing was being done with the mer currently; they weren't being routinely wheeled out of the aisle for anything, so whatever they were intended to be "used" for wasn't here. They'd likely be bought at some point, and as for what happened after that, Azul had no idea.

But something was coming. He was sure of that.

He'd been taken back to the examination room two more times, only for more blood to be drawn, nothing else (thankfully). However, both events had been recent, far closer together than they were to his first examination. It was as if they were zeroing in on something.

And there was nothing Azul could do about it.

Pressed into the corner of his tank, he watched the workers wheel another mer back into place, tight precision in his gaze, as if he was waiting for some kind of sign. The whole aisle had been a lot busier as of late.

Would they be sold soon, then?

Would he have a chance to get out then? There had to be a way. If he was going to be moved again, there was a possibility it could be by boat, over the water, where he'd—

This place must have been affecting him more than he thought. That idea would never work. He'd likely be placed under sedatives again, and an operation like this would never be foolish enough to allow him a chance to be close to any large body of water.

That's what this whole place thrived on, after all.

The fact that these mer were trapped here on a land they couldn't stand on, without legs to run.

Not that Azul had ever been a fast swimmer either way. His capture had made that clear.

He looked up at the squid mer across from him. The man had been even stiller as of late. If Azul looked close enough, he could see the half-eaten remains of the meager scraps of fish they were given as meals lying on the floor of his tank.

What had to happen to a mer for them to become something like that?

There was one thing that came to mind.

How long had that mer been there?

Azul wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

The workers having passed by, he pulled himself closer to the front of the tank, peering closer at the squid mer. There were clipboards attached to the front of each tank in the facility; Azul had seen them update his a few times, most recently when he'd gotten his blood drawn for the third time. They likely held basic information, as anything more complex was likely to be filed away somewhere secure.

Azul squinted, trying to make out the paper attached to the other mer's tank. His eyesight had never been great, exemplified by the glasses he wore when he was on land, and the print was small. Needless to say, h wasn't able to gather anything.

He wondered which option would be better.

Getting sold to some random person and being shipped off to who knows where for who knows what, or being stuck here in these tiny tanks to rot?

Azul had no idea.

But watching the squid mer, he was certain that he couldn't stay here.

He couldn't sit here, staring at that hollow shell of a person, forever.

Azul turned to face the wall behind him, which was thankfully solid and dark beyond the walls of the tank.

As if it could do anything to erase the figure of the squid mer across the aisle.

Digging his nails into his palms, Azul began to think that he hated that mer. Not because of anything he'd done, not because he deserved it in any way, but because there was so simply so much feeling that had been piled up in Azul's chest, and it needed to go somewhere.

He'd been staring at the squid mer since he'd arrived here. Unlike the other mer in the aisle, Azul hadn't seen the squid mer be taken from his spot once. Not a moment had passed where the mer wasn't across from him in the hall.

Azul hated looking at him.

He hated how the mer floated in his tank, the hunched posture he had, keeping his head low. It was like he was a plastic bag, caught on the tip of a rock, being pushed around a certain point only by the current.

And when the mer turned to an angle where the other could see his face, when the curtain of hair surrounding his head parted just right, Azul hated that too. He hated that expressionless face, only able to blink, no hint of a frown, a furrow of a brow, a twitch of the lips— nothing.

He hated how the mer's tentacles gathered at the bottom of his tank like a tangle of dead maggots. How the mer didn't bother to move them even with his drifting, just letting them lie there.

Azul couldn't stand looking at him. An anger flared up in him, burning at the thought of it.

This newfound hatred bubbled up within him quickly, a much more efficient way to waste his energy than pondering and note taking. Almost as if he wanted to see what heights it could reach, Azul turned around, settling his spine along the back wall of his tank. A hard glare formed on his face as he stared at the squid mer.

Look— just now, there it was again, the mer's face was turning towards Azul, his hair slipping, revealing those idiotically parted lips, those damn glassy eyes, staring right back at Azul's glare, the hate on his face and—

Nothing.

No reaction at all. No, the mer couldn't even be bothered to blink at the sight.

Azul hated him.

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Eyes flicking upwards, Azul noticed something landing on the glass of his tank, some kind of bug. Momentarily distracted from the squid mer, Azul drifted towards it.

A beetle.

Obviously, Azul hadn't seen an insect until his first visit on land. He found the idea of them to be odd. Small, seemingly useless creatures that crawled around, eating trash, and lived in the tiniest, filthiest cracks. Most people he'd encountered weren't fond of them, needless to say. Yet, it seemed that bugs always tried to approach humans anyways. They'd crawl right up to them, land on their arms, always coming closer, always there out of the blue, with their strange desire for proximity.

And then, most of the time, they'd die.

Smashed, crushed under a boot, smacked with a book , flicked away.

Bugs must be really stupid animals.

Even now, the beetle was wandering across the glass surface of Azul's tank, peering at him, as if the mer wouldn't smack it away if he had the choice.

What a brainless creature.

Azul looked back to the squid mer. Maybe he wasn't that different from the beetle, sharing the same mindless existence, oblivious to everything around them.

* * *

Time was simply something that didn't exist within the storehouse. There were no windows, at least none near Azul, the only illumination being provided by the lights at the top of each tank, blaring down at the water below. The lights never turned off. It'd taken Azul a while to get used to them, to be able to close his eyes in spite of their presence. Days were simply divided by when Azul was asleep and when he was awake.

Sleep was beginning to come for him now.

Eyelids feeling heavier, he watched another pair of workers walk down the aisle, their eyes staring straight ahead as always. Azul had ended up trying to talk to them, some time after he'd arrived here. There was a small space at the top of his tank where there was air, right below the lid, which had several long, rectangular holes in it. More than enough for sound to travel. So he'd gone up there, using his tentacles to secure him in this new position, and tried to talk with the workers.

He'd started with what was on his mind, that was to say, his extreme dissatisfaction with his confinement. Nothing. Of course, after that he'd realized that he knew better, that that was a never a good approach, so he'd tried to entice them, laying out bait; greetings with an out of place cheer, promises of great rewards and valuable knowledge. Nothing.

His words had continued dwindling, his carefully crafted charm failing him miserable, until he'd devolved to just trying to get any kind of attention.

Just some kind of acknowledgement.

A confirmation that the words coming out of his mouth were real.

Proof that he still existed.

Predictably, he'd received nothing.

After that, he'd stopped. Not given up, no, if Azul was anything, it was persistent. Even if it hadn't worked on his first attempt, his words were the best and honestly only weapons he had at his disposal.

Words weren't real. You couldn't reach out and touch them.

But if they were placed just right, uttered at a precise time—

They could get you whatever or whoever your heart desired.

So Azul would wait for his next opportunity. He'd observe, he'd find a weakness, a target, and he would be ready for it.

He blinked heavily, not quite leaving his consciousness behind yet, but close. Until then, it wasn't like there was much he could do.

Except stare at the mer across the aisle.

Focusing on the squid mer, a rush of loathing filled Azul on command, as if there was a signal in his brain that was at the ready to release it as soon as the stimuli reached his cells.

Nothing had changed with the squid mer, which was to be expected, of course. He was the same as he'd always been. Silent, pliant, and defeated.

Maybe that's what Azul hated most about him.

The squid mer had no will. He'd completely given up. He didn't seem to be living out of any desire for life, but only because dying would require more effort. There was no want behind his eyes, no desire for anything, not even freedom.

Azul was fairly sure that if the mer were to be placed in the middle of the ocean, he'd never occupy nor make use of any space larger than his tank here.

Azul felt his eyes starting to close again, heavy enough to stay.

At least when he was asleep, he didn't have to look at the mer.

* * *

He woke up a short while later. Not naturally— no, something had disturbed his sleep, some sound, something being moved—

Ah.

As he began to blink awake, he registered the silhouettes of a couple of workers standing in the middle of the aisle directly in front of him. Had they come to take him to get his blood drawn again? How many tests did they need?

But no, that couldn't be it, because there was already something on the track in front of him, some smaller cart he hadn't seen before, less than half the height of the tank but around the same length and width, filled with water and topped with no lid.

He didn't like the sight of it. For a mer to be placed inside of that thing, the workers would have to be sure that the mer wouldn't be able to move in the slightest. He shuttered at the idea at what kinds of drugs would be used to produce such a scenario. A sedative? Or a paralytic?

Azul began to stretch, preparing his body for whatever would come next—

Except the workers weren't looking at him.

Slowly he lifted his eyes to the tank across the aisle.

There was the squid mer, floating. As always.

But he was still. Far too unnaturally, unnervingly still.

And he was floating at the top of the tank.

His arms were spread out instead of hanging at his sides.

His chest wasn't moving.

His chest wasn't moving.

It wasn't—

Oh.

Oh, Azul was going to be sick.

He barely registered the workers ascending step ladders and removing the lid of the tank, reaching inside with some sort of stretcher, lifting the mer before descending once more, moving towards the cart in the middle of the aisle—

But what he did notice were the small, bright, glowing blue dots speckling the mer's skin.

Spatterings of lapis stars, forming their own intricate galaxies, so incredibly, unbelievably beautiful.

The mer had been a firefly squid.

With the harsh lights of the tank, Azul hadn't been able to notice.

And then the lights were gone again, stolen once more as the mer was dumped into the cart, dropping into the water like a pile of bones. And then they were wheeling the cart away, down the aisle. And then another pair of workers had arrived to grab the empty tank, wheeling it towards the opposite end of the hall.

And then Azul was left staring at an empty wall.

And then-

And then-

Azul grabbed at his face, fingers desperately grasping at anything they could—the bridge of his nose, the indents of his eye sockets, his mandible—pulling in every direction, as if he could unravel himself. As if he could hook his fingers in between the threads of the cloth of his being and tear it apart, erasing all that was, all that had been—

The squid mer was dead.

It hadn't been anything violent. Not a loud, frightening display.

No, he'd slipped away, and who knew why? Had it been illness? Starvation? Exhaustion?

The facility had an examination room, had some sort of medical staff, and yet every worker that had passed through this aisle, that had obviously seen the state of the mer, had done nothing. In this place, where personhood had been replaced by a new system of worth, the squid mer's value had been reduced to zero. Never once had they taken him away for any sort of treatment. He'd died, and they'd let him.

And all this time, Azul had hated him.

Had despised him so desperately, had looked at him with such loathing, for no other reason than a selfish desire to take out his emotions on someone else. Because he was too much of a coward, too weak, to handle them himself.

He'd never spoken a word of it out loud, and even now he didn't doubt that the mer had never seen, much less registered Azul's glares, and yet internally he knew that he'd committed an unidentifiable, unjustified wrong.

All compassion, understanding, and basic empathy thrown out the window in a heartbeat.

So quick to ignore the suffering of someone who was in the same situation as him.

Someone he was bound to become.

Azul's breath stopped.

He stared at the wall across the aisle, at the empty space that'd held what Azul now realized was a mirror.

His grip on his face tightened, pulling at his skin, distorting his own facial features.

He couldn't stay here.

He couldn't stay in this building any longer.

He was sorry. For all of it.

He was sorry, he promised.

Azul just wanted to go home.

* * *

Something was happening. Was going to happen, rather. Soon.

That was the only coherent idea that had reached Azul through the increasingly familiar drug-induced haze he was under. He wasn't in the examination room this time. The workers weren't taking any sort of measurements, nor were they drawing his blood. Nothing even close to that.

No, right now they were brushing his hair.

At least one worker was. They'd trimmed it earlier as well, nothing drastic, just a few adjustments made to the hair at the base of Azul's neck. There was another worker at his side, filing and cleaning up his nails, having already finished with his left hand and moved on to the other.

It was laughably mundane.

Azul focused on those two sensations. It was much more pleasant than thinking about the task the remainder of the workers were occupied with.

They'd taken some kind of lotion, or other substance, and begun to rub it all over his skin. Azul hated the sensation. It felt wrong, too suffocating, along with everything else in this place. He didn't want them to touch him. He didn't want to be touched.

He'd tried to say as much, but it felt like his mouth was full of cotton, his jaw not working as it should.

The strokes of the brush through his hair halted, the worker presumably having finished the task. Azul tried to lean his head back to look at the worker, to see if he had to prepare himself for anything else they had in store, but he only succeeded in lolling his head to the side, like a puppet with cut strings.

His skin was crawling. He wanted it all to be over.

Despite that want, he barely noticed when it had ended, only realizing once he was being lifted again to be placed into his tank again.

Except it wasn't his tank.

Even through the drugs' hindrance, he could tell immediately. He'd spent too much time in that damn thing to not notice.

It was different. The shape. That's what it was, the shape. The normal tanks had a square base. This tank had no corners.

Azul didn't like that. Even though the old tanks provided nowhere to hide, when he wished he could press himself into a corner. Although it didn't shield him, it was comforting to have to solid walls at his sides, two directions where he wasn't able to be grabbed from. This new tank was too smooth. Clumsily running his hands along its walls, it felt like he couldn't get any sort of grip on it, which only added to his discomfort.

He'd been moved to a new tank. A tank with no corners. But why?

Something was going to happen.

They'd messed with his hair, skin, and nails. Why?

What was going to happen?

Azul would usually be able to figure something out, or at the very least form a guess, but the fog in his head was too strong. It never usually lasted this long. Every other time, he'd be placed back in his usual tank and the drugs would fade, or he'd pass out. It wasn't supposed to last like this.

He didn't like it. It was wrong. Too wrong.

The feeling was nauseating, as they started to move the tank again. Azul barely paid attention, too busy trying to keep his head from feeling like it was going to spin off.

He didn't even register that he'd stopped.

That was, until he heard the noise.

Throughout his time at the facility, the workers hadn't spoken. Not once. Not during the examinations, not when they cleaned the tanks, not even when they did group tasks, like whatever they'd done to Azul just now.

But suddenly, there was noise everywhere. Human voices. Conversation. Real, true, words.

He could hear them, but he couldn't make sense of them. He strained to concentrate, inching closer to the glass, believing proximity would improve his efforts. There were multiple speakers, some closer, some further away. He managed to make out a few words here and there, like a radio tuning in and out.

"Lot—"

"—the condition—"

"One hour, people—"

"—a little help?"

"—lot 3815144EG—"

"—withdrawn."

"—pre-sale estimate—"

"—minimum opening—"

Ah. Azul recognized some of those words.

This was an auction.

Why was there an auction going on? Azul's mind felt like it was being ground into paste. There wasn't anything in the warehouse, no product worth—

He looked down at his hand, at the nails the workers had filed and cleaned so carefully-

It was him. It always had been.

Him and every single mer in this building.

He'd known that, known that from the beginning, and yet in this daze he'd completely forgotten about it. Every carefully constructed shield and spear in his mind that he'd been guarding had been ripped away from him—

Everything he had, everything he was made up of, was forfeit.

They would take, take as much as they wanted, and what would he be able to do to stop them?

—and now he had nothing, nothing but the overwhelming, terrifying realization that he was about to be sold.

Sold.

Like livestock.

Azul could remember seeing auctions like that in the Sunshine Lands, seeing pigs and chickens paraded around for buyers to marvel at, to fantasize how they butcher—

That's what his position was.

It felt like the walls of the tank were closing in on him.

No, no, no no no no, he didn't want this, he didn't want it—

He wanted to be home.

He wanted to be home, in the sea, with his mom—

His mom. He missed her. He missed her so damn much. He wanted to see her again. He wanted her to hold him again, like when he was a kid.

He wanted her to tell him everything was going to be okay.

Azul pushed himself against the wall of the tank, trying to make his body as small as possible, wishing for anything to cover himself with, somewhere to hide. They were going to take him—buy him—and he would never see her again.

What would they do with him?

Would they cut him up and display him in a window, just like the butchers did?

He'd never considered it before.

He'd thought of organ harvesting, labor, even prostitution, but never anything as blatantly and dramatically horrific as flat-out murder.

Maybe, if it weren't for the drugs, he'd be able to calm himself down, measure the probabilities, and make use of some realism.

But now all the colors in his vision were blurring together, his heart was pounding in his chest; he was floating somewhere high above his body, and he wasn't coming back down, no matter how much he wanted to.

He saw hands reaching for him, from every direction.

He saw his fingers, severed from his body, saw ten bloody stumps on his hands.

He saw a dinner table surrounded by guests, only he was on the table and he couldn't move, he couldn't—

His mind continued to torment him, flashing him horrific image after horrific image. He felt trapped in place, completely paralyzed, surrendered to the demented sermon delivered by his brain.

It seemed endless.

There was nothing else; nothing in the tank for him to distract himself with, no movement or change outside of the tank drastic enough to focus on instead.

Time didn't exist in the facility. But now? It was as if time had imploded right in front of him, and he was being sucked into the vacuum its absence created, gasping for an impossible breath.

Azul's panic didn't cease out of any sort of reassurance. No, instead he'd just gradually run out of energy to do so.

His head rolled to the side against the glass, in a movement that could not truly be described as "willing".

There were other tanks beside him, lined up in a single row instead of the two sided-aisle he'd reluctantly become used to. Just like back on the boat.

Azul wondered if Floyd was two tanks to his right this time as well.

Floyd was a frequent topic in his mind at the facility, one that consistently led to dead ends. He wondered about what the mer was doing, where he was, if he was losing his mind just as much as Azul was losing his, and every single time he knew he had no way of retrieving an answer. It felt wrong to make one up, even for entertainment's sake. Like he would be sealing Floyd's fate by doing so, either by deathly accuracy or irony.

His head turned to face the other side.

He wondered where Jade was.

Azul hadn't seen the workers on the boat take any more mer down below the deck, but it wasn't as if he'd been particularly vigilant at the time. For the entirety of his time at the facility, he'd assumed Jade was still out there somewhere, the lucky one who was able to get away. At times, Azul resented him for it, which in turn caused him to resent himself for thinking such a thing.

But maybe, he could've been wrong about it all.

Maybe Jade was in this very same facility, and Azul had no idea.

The thought brought an ache to his chest. He knew the circumstances of his relationship with the twins. They made it clear enough, with their talk about seeking "entertainment", and their comments about him being "not boring". Azul knew that the both of them would ridicule him for it, but he'd long since developed a fear, if not an expectation, that Jade and Floyd would leave him one day, when they'd finally gotten bored of him, when he had nothing else to offer. Several times, when Azul's thoughts tortured him particularly harshly, he'd even prepared for it, rehearsed how he would keep himself composed, how he would accept what would come.

Even though a part of him, no matter how illogical, believed that such a thing would be impossible.

He'd just never expected that Jade and Floyd would be taken from him instead.

Time didn't exist, but something was passing, the world was moving, on a clock built of stolen souls and glass walls, though Azul couldn't find it in himself to care.

Maybe he ought to rehearse this instead. Rehearse how he'd face whatever was coming to him now.

Rehearse how he would face the bidders.

Rehearse how he would look into the eyes of the scum that bought him.

Rehearse how he would keep himself calm and elegant while they butchered him. (The outlandish thought seemed to persist in his mind.)

That all went out the window the second he felt his tank being moved.

He hadn't even noticed the workers approaching him. But then there was that shift, that small, quick tug of the tank being moved from its locked position to run along the floor track, that subtle rocking of water he'd come to recognize so well.

And Azul was out of time.

Just moments ago, he'd been thinking that this had all gone on too long, that he wanted to be done with it already, but now he would give anything for just one more moment sitting in the hallway, not having to confront his fate, just a minute, a second, anything—he was starting to feel really strange now, his head was feeling too light, he couldn't do this— he wasn't ready yet, he wasn't ready, he didn't want to go, he didn't want any of this, he'd never asked for it, not once—

They had stopped.

They had stopped, but they couldn't trick Azul, he knew, he knew they were just trying to get him to lower his guard—

He wouldn't fall for it. No, no, he wouldn't, even if his head was starting to feel really funny, even if the world around him was seeming less and less real with every breath.

And he'd already messed up, he'd lost time somewhere, because now there was a voice, loud and dripping with charm.

"—this next one's a real treat; you don't see lots like this everyday, ladies and gentleman. Presenting now, lot 351681—"

That's where Azul stopped listening.

Because now, all of a sudden, there was light cutting through the darkness he hadn't even realized he'd been sitting in, gifted by what he vaguely registered as curtains being drawn back.

As for the sight that awaited him—

He was on a stage. A stage with lights lined up on its edge, bright little pearls spaced out evenly. There was a man on stage with him in a dressed in black, a glimmering mask on his face; his movements full of energy. Beyond the polished wood of the stage, Azul stared at a sea of faces, slightly obscured by darkness. Although, that didn't seem to matter much. Each of the audience members were adorned in some way, (even if Azul couldn't discern with what), seen by the gleams that came and went throughout the colossal expanse of the room, as jewels and silk were caught by the light. It took him half a second to realize that faces weren't truly staring back at him, but rather masks, just like the one worn by the man on stage.

Facing at it all, facing the pinnacle of all his suffering at the facility—

It all seemed so wonderful.

Look at them all, dressed up so nicely! This must truly be something grand, something fantastic.

And those masks too! They were all wearing them, every single one!

It was like it was Carnevale.

That's what it was called, right? He'd only seen it a few times— who knew how many? But he remembered the masks, the hats, the feathers, the bells; yes, it was exactly like it!

Something light yet straining bubbled up in Azul. He wanted to laugh. He didn't think he had the air to do so.

It was so, painfully normal. Normal in comparison to the cell he'd been held in. It felt so comforting to hear voices, to see buildings that looked like buildings meant for people, to see something more than the bare-bones necessities for life. Something more than rations and medical check-ups. Something that was something, not a brainless, mind-numbing nothing—

Now, was it Carnevale, or a carnival? They were different, very different!

The man on stage certainly sounded like those men at the carnival, the ones that would call out, enticing as many souls as they could to their not-so-clandestinely rigged games, smiles never fading for a second.

At the thought of him, Azul tuned back into the man's lyrical voice.

"Now, every collection needs some spark, and isn't this lot here a star? Why stick with one tail when you can have eight? Shape is an important thing, and it's even more important to have a variety of it! It's just as important as color."

Color, yes, that was the other thing; Azul couldn't agree more.

There were so many colors here now, muted as they were by the dark shroud the audience was cast in. Blues, reds, pinks, oranges— they were everywhere, a truly dazzling mosaic laid out before him! That's what the facility had been missing. They'd only had their drab greys, whites, and blacks to offer. How long had it been since Azul had seen such bright, beautiful colors? He had no idea! What color had it been? Could he remember? Wait; yes, yes he could—

That firefly mer had glowed such a brilliant hue.

Ah, Azul really was feeling funny.

He wanted to laugh even more now, terribly so. It didn't feel like laughter. But it must be, after all, how could it be anything else?

How could it be anything else, when he was feeling so wonderful?

So joyfully, excitingly, freely wonderful?

Like he was on a carousel that didn't stop, not that he'd gotten the chance to ride one when he was on land, but it must be like this.

It must be wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

"Let's get an opening bid, then!"

He'd been so forgetful lately. He should work on that, really.

It felt like his body was buzzing, frozen in place.

The first audience member raised their bidding paddle.

It was starting. Or rather, something was ending.

Another bid.

Here they were, opening their purses and taking stock of their wallets, preparing to make an investment, just as Azul had done so many times before.

A third.

Except, this time Azul hadn't been invited to the table. He'd been barred from it. This wonderful, lively display wasn't for him. It was for people, and he'd been removed from that category.

Was it the fourth bid now, or had he lost track?

Maybe this was some kind of karmic justice. After all, he'd spent so much time scheming against others, taking their skills for his own with his contracts, little charms to make him more wonderful, wonderful enough—

Yet another.

Well, if that was the case—

Another.

This was a bit harsh, wasn't it?

All at once, Azul became aware of his jugular, the back of his neck, his wrists, every unguarded, horribly vulnerable part of himself, barely concealing veins and flesh.

And he became all the more aware of the eyes watching him.

The thing with Carnevale masks was that sometimes, it appeared as if their wearers had no eyes at all, only black, expressionless pits. In reality, he knew that they were there; obviously, people still needed to see somehow. Still, it was easy to forget, when you were looking at them.

But in this room, Azul swore he could see each and every eye staring at him.

They covered the room, like spots of mold, focused on him. There was something hungry in those eyes, something looking to be satiated. But he knew they wouldn't be.

Still, they would try.

And they wanted him now.

Wanted him, but not him. Wanted what he was. A want so shallow, yet one they were willing to go great lengths for.

That was a start, but it needed something more.

They didn't want his mind. They didn't want his talents. They didn't want any of the things he'd built up over the years, everything he'd worked so hard for, to make himself desirable, to make himself valuable.

No. In the end, none of that mattered.

They wanted him for the sake of wanting.

That's what it was, wasn't it? Not quite, it didn't sound quite right yet. All those eyes, he didn't know what any one of their owners would use him for. But they would "use", yes, "use" was precisely the word.

That's how all transactions were bound to go.

They wanted him not because they wanted him, but because they wanted something else, and they would use him to achieve it.

It all seemed so clear, in the midst of this fog, all the delirium clouding his head.

Did it count? Was it close enough to being wanted? If it was in the most literal, monetary way, did it qualify as being worth something?

Could he at least achieve that, before he disappeared?

The eyes were everywhere, they were looking at him, they wouldn't stop looking at him. Surely, they saw every glaring, unavoidable flaw, everything he'd tried to hide. They were looking at him, and he really wished they would stop, but they weren't even seeming to blink now, and the eyes seemed so close—

Azul felt like he was floating on air, not in water.

He would never feel this way again.

He was sure of it. He would never achieve this feeling again. This high, near-oneiric feeling, this all-encompassing eudaimonia.

It was truly wonderful, even if the eyes were closing in, and nobody was answering his questions yet, and his chest was feeling tight— it was all wonderful, he had to believe it was wonderful, because if it wasn't, then he had no word to describe it all, and he couldn't be at a loss for words now, not after he'd—

"-and sold!"

His eyes widened—

And suddenly, the curtains fell shut.

He wasn't ready.

He didn't want to go.

It was over.

* * *

It was dark. He was moving somewhere.

Did it matter?

The only thing he could do was put his fingers to glass, glass that he couldn't even see.

His mind was feeling weird again. When was the last time it felt normal?

Was he even sure that there was a normal?

Maybe he'd always been this way. There was no way of knowing.

He closed his eyes.

Was there a point in existing just to exist?

He didn't know. He was too tired to ask.

* * *

Azul's eyes snapped open.

He was awake. He was awake, and he felt like he was in his own body. Like he finally had a grip on his mind.

He shot up, looking around.

He was awake, and he was somewhere.

All at once there was too much to take in, too much to process— the fact that he was awake, his new surroundings, the fact that he actually felt like he was in control of his own brain again, the flood of drug-tinged memories he could vaguely recall—

It was overwhelming.

Azul dropped to the floor, pushing his hands on it to support his upper body, keeping his head down.

One thing at a time.

As far as he could tell, he wasn't drugged right now. He could focus. He could think. It was a relief, a relief he'd almost thought he wouldn't receive.

Alright. Done. Next order of business.

The memories. He tried to think back on them, but everything since the auction felt hazy at best. He remembered darkness, movement, and not much else. There was no point in dwelling on that in the current moment. He could try and decipher it all later.

Next.

His surroundings.

He was in water, that much he knew. He was still in his mer form, after all. And based on the glass floor he'd propped himself up on, he was most likely still in a tank. That made enough sense, given everything. Great. At least staring down at the floor like this, he could avoid the claustrophobic walls that he already knew were surrounding him. But he couldn't evade them forever. He needed to get his bearings, before someone took away that chance again.

Almost cautiously, he looked up.

What he saw shocked him.

The tank wasn't cramped, not at all like the ones he'd been kept in since his first day in captivity. No, the tank he was in now was…actually decently sized.

The perimeter was circle-shaped, although it could actually be closer to an oval. If he were to lay completely straight on the floor, he could at least fit three or four copies of himself along the tank's diameter.

Initially, he thought that the tank shared the emptiness of his previous tanks.

That was until he noticed the bed.

Immediately, Azul swam over to examine it. It looked like a bed. But not like the ones above water. No, this bed looked like a mer's bed.

At the very least, it was a shabby, almost survivalist recreation of it, with a stone base and a rough blanket woven out of plant fibers.

It was odd. Extremely odd.

Why would it be here? The rest of the tank was empty, completely bare of any decoration. The stone bed had to be an eyesore compared to the rest of the clean glass. And why was it in the style of an, admittedly crude, mer bed?

Well, there was no point in trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces.

He turned his attention to his surroundings beyond the tank's walls. Swimming up to the glass, he gazed at the room on the other side. It was almost bare. There was a set of double doors on one side of the room, while solid walls covered up the others. Close to the wall of the tank, on the same side of the room as the door, was a wide desk, holding various objects, from papers to a computer, along with several monitors. They appeared to be powered off at the moment, and Azul couldn't make out anything on the papers.

The final area of interest was the ceiling.

Azul swam upwards, until he broke the surface of the water.

Cool air rushed over his face, water beginning to drip from the edges of his face and tips of his hair. He took a moment to breathe, not currently used to being above water with full control of himself. He considered calling out, or even saying anything at all, if only to hear his own voice. He decided against it; Azul didn't exactly want to draw attention to himself just yet.

There was some kind of netting pulled over the surface of the tank, not fully taut, but certainly not loose either. It was connected to a metal frame surrounding the perimeter of the tank, except for one section, where the frame broke it's shape to form a small square against an edge. Azul couldn't see the top of the frame, where the netting was most likely connected to it, but he was willing to guess that it was a piece of netting separate from the main mass.

The room above the tank was dark at the moment, leaving Azul with only the lights surrounding the rim of the tank to try to discern what was contained in it. There seemed to be equipment of some kind; vague shapes similar to those of the stretchers that had been at the facility, among other objects

After another moment of searching, Azul let himself float back down to the tank's floor.

There. His final task was done.

Now, what was there to do next?

While that was what he would've liked to focus on, his mind was quickly distracted.

The boat. The facility. The auction.

He couldn't stop thinking about all of it. It almost felt like a dream. A nightmare. But the memories were too vivid and numerous to be waved off as such. Even if he found it hard to believe, Azul knew those memories were real. They had happened.

It'd been terrible. More than terrible, but Azul couldn't find the words to even begin to describe it at the moment. Between the times when he'd been drugged and the times he hadn't, it was hell. Even when he hadn't been under the influence of the facility's drugs, his head hadn't felt quite right. Like he'd been on the verge of being electrocuted, a tense wire running through his skeleton. It'd been hard to think, even on the clearest of days, hard to form a thought without being consciously aware of every bit of the horrifying situation around him.

Except, it wasn't over. He remembered how the auction had ended. He'd been bought. He was in a completely new, random location, and his buyer was presumably somewhere close by. So why did he feel so much calmer, so much sharper right now? What was so different—

Ah. That's when it hit him.

For the first time in who knew how long, Azul was alone.

There were no prying eyes devouring every exposed part of him. There were no empty husks of mer floating lifelessly within his line of vision. There were no silent, uncaring workers, constantly bustling about, never allowing a moment's peace.

Surely, there was someone here. Someone had to have put him in this tank, after all. But for the moment, he was by himself, shielded from rapacious gazes, in a space where he could reach his arms out without fear of touching glass on both sides.

Even though he still wasn't home, even though he was still trapped, it felt like a panacea.

Azul hadn't been given a shred of privacy since he was kidnapped. Even if it was probably accidental, this solitary moment gave him time to think clearly. To think back on what he'd seen, experienced, and suffered.

Privacy wasn't the only thing the operation had lacked.

There had no been dignity either.

All his composure and fine manners had been evaporated. He'd been trapped and left to lose his mind, while the windows were wide open for all the neighbors to watch. They hadn't even deemed him worthy of words.

Like a magnolia blossom stripped of its petals, he'd been reverted right back to that pathetic past self that he loathed so deeply.

It was pitiful, really. He'd considered himself capable, someone able to think quickly, to flip around any situation to put himself on top, and yet none of that could be said about the person he'd become in that facility. That mer who'd gone halfway insane, internally spiting hatred at hollow souls and breaking down under drugs he'd been dosed with at least a dozen times.

How quickly he'd reached hopelessness— conjuring up some butchering boogeyman when he should've been using every ounce of his willpower to observe, gather information, and come up with some kind of plan.

He couldn't afford to be that way anymore.

No matter what they did to him. He would be better than it.

And that started now.

He gazed back out at the room surrounding the tank. The style of the walls and the intricate rug covering the floor indicated some level of wealth. Azul couldn't exactly determine the origin of the style of the architecture, (he needed to brush up on his interior design knowledge), but if he had to guess, he'd be between the Shaftlands and the Queendom of Roses.

Which, based on his last known location in the sea, meant he was most likely in the Queendom. The Shaftlands was much farther away, and Azul certainly didn't remember undergoing any kind of mirror travel.

Even if it was just speculation, it was based in enough fact for Azul to keep in mind.

He'd never been to the Queendom before, which already limited his abilities to form any other deductions about location. He'd have to keep an eye out for anything else.

Now, for the situation.

He'd been part of a transaction.

Azul knew transactions.

Things weren't purchased for the sake of purchasing. No one wants to lose money for nothing. There had to be some underlying purpose. Even in the most frivolous of cases, things like fleeting joy, vanity, and entertainment could all act as motives for transaction.

So, for what specific reason had Azul been purchased?

Going off of his, albeit fuzzy, memories of the auction, the decorated appearances of the buyers indicated that this was considered some kind of "high-class" activity. It made sense, being able to build a tank large enough to fit a mer even in the most cramped of conditions, not to mentioning keeping at all secret, wouldn't be cheap by any means. Immediately, that led him towards motives of vanity, entertainment, and status.

Except that couldn't be right.

Azul wasn't being shown off. There wasn't any sitting space in the room, only that long desk. The tank wasn't decorated either, there were no plants or spots of color in the tank, nothing to make the space look appealing.

He hadn't been purchased as a decoration.

What else was there?

Organ harvesting also seemed unlikely. While the space was empty and clean, and the room above could potentially hold clinical supplies, it was far too impractical. If he was just being kept here for his organs, why get such a large tank?

The size of the tank was the strangest thing about all of it. None of the people involved in the trafficking process had cared about giving the mer enough space. Granted, the facility was also holding multiple mer, dozens if not far more, and as far as Azul knew his new location was housing just him. But the amount of space seemed unnecessary. Strictly from a buyer's perspective, at least.

A bigger tank was much more expensive. And to invest all that wealth into something and not display it to guests? There had to be something else.

Could it be that he was being kept simply as a pet?

That his buyer had been struck by a pang of pity at the sight of him, and decided to take it upon themselves to "save" him? Give him a good life in captivity? Set him up so they could watch Azul while they worked?

Azul shuddered at the thought.

He had many ambitions, and becoming a hamster wasn't one of them.

It would explain the bed, but not much else. An enthusiastic pet owner would be bound to go overboard with decorations and supplies. It just didn't line up.

It was a confusing mystery, but it was one Azul had to solve nonetheless.

Before he could dwell on it any further, the whole tank brightened. Azul snapped his head upwards to see the now illuminated room above him. His impulse was to swim towards the surface, to find out what had been obscured from him, but—

There were footsteps.

Someone was here.

Azul stayed glued to his spot as the sounds grew in volume. He needed to wait. See who was approaching him, assess if they were a threat, or someone he could attempt to communicate with. (The options weren't mutually exclusive.)

A figure appeared at the edge of the tank.

It was a man, plain and simple. Nothing special, nothing abstract nor unsettling. He looked fairly young, Azul would place him at mid to late twenties if he had to guess his age. He was dressed in simple work clothing, a button up and a pair of pants.

He didn't seem to be surprised that Azul was awake, at least not in a way that showed on his face. He only stared, his arms folded behind his back.

Was this the man who'd boughten him?

The man stood there for what felt like a full minute. If he intended to harm Azul, he didn't seem to be in a rush to do so. Slowly, Azul started to swim towards the water's surface, watching the man all the way, waiting for him to tense, grab something from his pocket, or back away.

The man did none of those things. Instead, he only stared, his eyes glued to Azul, expressionless.

Breeching the tank's water for the second time that day, Azul stared right back at the man.

He was right there. He wasn't moving away. He wasn't trying to prod at him.

Maybe this time, it could work.

"…If you don't mind, could you let me know who I have the pleasure of speaking with right now?"

Azul's voice was cracked with disuse in a way it had never been before. He hardly recognized it. It sounded like his throat was made of sandpaper. Even if he could place his words as he willed, arrange them however he liked, all that composure and eloquence would be tainted by the ugly, weak, strangled thing his voice had become.

It was another frustration to add to his ever-growing list.

As he spoke, he found he couldn't squish down the fear that he would be met with nothing again. That the man would continue to stare, just like the workers in the facility, as if his words had been nothing more than the bark of a dog.

Azul wasn't met with nothing.

The man seemed to flinch as the mer's voice cut into the air, the arms folded behind his back dropping to his sides, almost apprehensive. His expression attempted to remain neutral, but there was a twitch, an undeniable twitch of something else, although Azul had no idea as to what exactly that "something" was.

A spark of hope rose in Azul's chest.

He'd spoken. He'd spoken, and he knew that someone had heard him.

Yes, his voice had been cracked and wretched, but it had been real.

And yet, Azul received no words in return.

The man didn't say anything. He only stared.

Then, to Azul's horror, he started to walk away. He almost called out, asked the man to stop, before he caught himself. He couldn't look desperate. Even if he was, even if anyone would be able to look at him and see that's exactly what he was, he couldn't afford it. Desperate and helpless as he was, he needed to place himself in control. The man wouldn't listen to a blubbering, pitiful child, and Azul would never lower himself to that again as long as he had a shred of a choice in the matter.

So instead, he waited.

Even if Azul hadn't succeeded this time, it wasn't like the man would stay away forever. Not when he'd made such a large investment.

Azul settled himself, prepared to sink back under the water.

That was, until footsteps approached him again.

Not from the same direction. No, this time the man approached the tank at the edge of the frame's square cutout, a long stick and what looked to be a small pail in his hands. He reached the stick forwards, allowing Azul to see the hook on the end of it, reaching at the netting above the square. Azul's earlier suspicions about the netting over the square frame being separate from the rest of the tank's covering where proved correct as the man pulled the web back, leaving the square cutout exposed to the outside world. The man pulled the long stick back, placing the handle of the pail on the hook, then lowering it into the water.

Then, he froze. Just stood there, with the pail in the water, unmoving.

Was he waiting for something?

The obvious answer hit him a second later.

He was waiting for Azul to do something.

Cautious, but undeniably curious, Azul approached the pail. He had to descend underwater to reach it, although based on the man's reaction to his speech earlier, he doubted he was losing any opportunities for communication.

The pail had shrimp in it.

The man continued in his stillness, despite the mer's new proximity. Slightly puzzled, Azul reached out to take hold of the pail, slowly removing its handle from the hook. Only after it had transferred fully to Azul's hands did the man move, retracting the long pole from the water and reaching back to pull the netting back into place.

This time, Azul couldn't suppress the impulse.

He swam to the surface, pail of shrimp still held to his chest.

"Excuse me—" His voice gave out on its own, even if it was slightly clearer than before. "I mean, if you could—"

The man didn't halt his actions, securing the netting once more and turning away, but Azul saw it, the same small twitch of acknowledgement.

Azul tried to clear his voice, to let his next attempt sound passable at least—

But the footsteps were already fading, and before he could even open his mouth, the man was out of sight.

Obviously, the man was not up for conversation. Prodding any further could permanently damage his efforts.

Azul looked down at the pail in his hands.

It was odd. Extremely odd.

At the facility, the mer had simply been given pieces of small fish, cut in half and still cool with the chill of a freezer. The workers had just thrown them in, not caring to see if the mer even looked at them.

That's what made the man's behavior so strange.

He'd given Azul the food in a pail, the closest thing the mer had seen to dishware in who knew how long. Not only that, he'd let Azul take it with his own hands. The workers at the facility had seemed to regard mer as snails, incapable of any reason or guided action.

Yes, Azul was still in a tank, yes the man still refused to speak to him, and yes, he was still being fed plain shrimp in a bucket, but in comparison the interaction almost felt civil.

He should eat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done so.

If he were to go forward with any plan at all, he'd need the energy. So he ate. To his surprise, the shrimp actually tasted like it was meant to be consumed, a far cry from the long-dead, bottom of the barrel meals from the facility.

That wasn't entirely shocking. If he was to be "used", it made sense that his captor would want him in good condition, to ensure all that money didn't go to waste.

Once he was finished, he surfaced, trying to get a glimpse of the man through the netting.

"Did you want this back?"

Thankfully, his voice seemed to be improving every time he used it.

A few seconds later, and the man was standing in front of the square frame, hooked pole in hand. He pulled the netting back again, placing the hook in front of Azul to await the pail's return.

He was holding it like a weapon.

They were much closer now, after all.

Azul stared down the hook. The end of it was sharp, like a harpoon. It could easily break through his skin, puncture his throat, pierce his heart— any of it.

But right now, it was just waiting for a bucket.

Except Azul was going to give it up just yet.

"I would like some answers first." Azul kept his voice calm. "Would that not be fair?"

The man's lips were tightly pursed.

"I'm not attempting to make a demand of you," mer continued, hoping his raspiness wasn't as horrible as it sounded to him.

The man's grip on the weapon tightened.

"In fact, I would like to establish some cooperation between us," Azul settled into the rhythm of a deal; even if the man wasn't responding, he was still waiting, "I believe that would benefit the two of—"

Azul shot backwards as the man jabbed the hook forward, snatching the pail's handle.

He let the pail, his meager bargaining chip, be taken from him.

Trying to hold on would make him appear too confrontational, too rebellious. That approach would doom him for sure.

No matter his thoughts on it, he couldn't sacrifice any opportunities for the future.

The man made quick work of closing the tank back up and disappearing back into the room above. A few moments later and the lights turned off, plunging the upper room into darkness.

Damn it.

Azul breathed in a sharp breath of frustration, fists clenching at his sides.

Well, hadn't that gone spectacularly?

He allowed himself a moment to dwell in it. A moment, and no more.

These things didn't happen in a day. This was only the start. He just had to keep working.

Keep working until it was enough.

* * *

It'd made sense to assume that the man who'd fed him was a worker, not his buyer.

He'd been dressed in simple clothing and carrying out potentially risky busy work, with his proximity to the mer. Someone rich enough to afford all this wouldn't do that themselves.

So Azul had made a mental note of that.

A mental note that had been all but overturned when he saw the man again, this time in the large room the tank was in, wearing a tailored navy suit.

Obviously, even if he had thought it would be more successful, communication had been impossible in that position, leaving Azul only to observe.

The man had stared at him for a bit, much like he had in the upper room, his expression a bit harder to make out with the added distance. Then he had sat down at the desk and begun to work. Trying to discern what was on the papers on now powered on monitors continued to be futile, (Azul had already cursed his nearsightedness several times over), and a while later, the man left.

Well, that didn't make much sense.

If that man really was his buyer, why would he be the one handling such low work? Sure, the illegality of Azul's capture narrowed down the pool of possible hires, but there were always people willing to keep quiet for good pay.

Azul kept waiting for someone or something else to appear, to clear it all up and allow him to understand at least one aspect of his new situation.

That didn't happen.

Unfortunately for Azul, the tank's room lacked windows, leaving him to only guess at the passage of time again. But still, for all the time—however long that really was—he'd been here, the man was the only person he'd seen.

He would enter into either the upper or lower room, dressed in the corresponding attire, complete his respective tasks, then leave. Sometimes, he would switch between the two rooms (and outfits), so quickly that Azul suspected he was using magic.

It would be troubling, if the man was a mage.

He should work on finding that out.

He continued to try and speak to the man, choosing his words carefully every time he entered the upper room. Some days the man was more receptive to his words, pausing and even glancing towards Azul on one occasion, other days the man didn't seem to be listening at all.

But no matter what, he still received no response.

Was it discouraging? Of course. But it wasn't as if Azul would simply give up now.

It'd only been a little while, even if he couldn't tell exactly how long. Nothing compared to the time he'd spent on the facility.

Azul sighed, sinking deeper into the stone bed in the tank, laying on top of the woven blanket.

As defeating as the rejections were, it wasn't the worst part of being stuck in this place.

No, that was reserved for the times in between. The times where the man was nowhere to be seen, where Azul was wide awake.

There was nothing to do. Nothing to pass the time. It'd been true of the facility, but back then Azul had still been shrouded in the haze of the initial shock and horror of his new life.

Now, he was fully aware. His mind was functioning completely as it should.

Only now, there was nothing for it to do.

Azul missed books. He missed potions. He missed school.

He was supposed to be working on starting a business. He'd wanted to open a cafe. A small little place, using an empty room at the school. Jade and Floyd were supposed to work on it with him.

All that work seemed to be for nothing now.

Even if he got out, would he be able to find Floyd? Or Jade, wherever he'd ended up?

The uneven stone dug into his shoulders. The bed wasn't comfortable. Not at all.

But even so, it was an echo of home, however faint.

Azul jerked up as he heard the telltale sign of approaching footsteps. He was above the water before the lights even turned on.

"Good evening." Azul put on a smile. "Or morning. I'm afraid I don't quite know."

Perhaps he was being a tad more passive aggressive than he ought to be.

The man paid him no mind as he retrieved the pail, presumably filling it somewhere out of sight, along with the pail, continuing along his routine to pull back the square frame's netting.

Ah. So today was a bad day.

Holding back a sigh, Azul moved closer to the exposed area, reaching out to take the pail that was being offered to him. The man was harder to read when he was like this, leaving the mer completely lost on what angle to continue with.

He grabbed a shrimp from the pail, taking a bite.

Best to get it over with. Azul's patience was getting short, and it wouldn't do him any good to snap at the man, not after he'd spent so much time and effort appearing amicable and pleasant.

The shrimp tasted odd.

Maybe it was because he'd been eating it for so long. He continued with the meal, trying to power through it. Nutrition was still important.

Azul tried to turn his attention back to the man, but his mind was still caught up on the shrimp.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. It tasted so familiar, almost like—

His eyes widened.

Almost like a sedative.

Azul's eyes were barely able to snap over to the man before he saw him moving, reaching into his pocket and grabbing something.

He couldn't quite make out what it was.

But he did recognize the magestone.

There wasn't enough time for him to move. Azul had never been a fast swimmer anyways.

The spell hit him dead on. He froze for a moment, the pail drifting to the floor of the tank, forgotten. His head was still halfway above the water, being bombarded by the small waves of the disturbance.

Fuck, he needed to get a hold of himself.

Azul turned back to the man, glaring as he asked him what he just did—

Except he didn't. Because when he opened his mouth, no sound came out.

His voice was gone.

Shit. This was bad. Really bad.

He hadn't even noticed how fuzzy his mind was become, how his eyelids had begun to droop, how his vision was starting to blur—

But he did see the silhouette of the man holding the hooked pool, still standing at the edge of the tank.

He needed to go.

Awareness fading with every second, he tried to propel himself as far away as he could, praying that damned body of his would be useful for once.

He'd gotten used to it. He'd gotten used to his mind being his own. He'd gotten used to that small bit of control.

And now, it was all gone again.

Everything was fading. He was being ripped away from the world, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Azul needed to get away. He just needed to be away from him—

He wasn't fast enough.

He wasn't fast enough, and now there were hands on him— how had they gotten there, how had they reached him? There were too many, too many hands, and they were grabbing at him, digging into his skin, and something was happening, something bad, bad, bad—

The last thing Azul remembered was the smell of ink.

Then, indescribable, agonizing pain.