Editing LeviathanTempest:ChapterFive

By the time he reaches the docks, he's already out of breath. His knee hurts with every step, so he takes away the torn fabric to expose the wound. It has already scarred over, a white, translucent tissue that radiates an impossible cold inside his leg. You can still see the shape of the sucker, right where the tentacle struck him. He winces as he lets his pants back over the wound.

To figure out where he is, he looks around the deserted port. Most of the lights have been taken out, along the years, by bored youth or by methodical professionals who wanted as few witnesses as possible for what they were doing. The smell of brine, and gasoline, and garbage fills his head. It's not altogether unpleasant.

Then he hears it. A low rumbling, like the squirming of blind, chitinous things rubbing against each other under the earth. Maybe to other people, it would be revolting. To him, it sounds almost melancholy.

He pulls out his pistol and starts walking until he reaches a wide, round door that leads underneath the easternmost dock. For a moment, he almost gives up. How could he possibly even contemplate doing this?

But then he sees, in his memory, the crushed hand of the girl, her smudged make-up, her sad eyes over what remained of her mouth.

Slowly, silently, he opens the door, and the noise gets louder and louder. He glimpses eyes in there, a bearded face, and the remains of a two-piece suit, but in a grotesque fashion, it's the vast array of antennae that are familiar to him.

He takes a breath and steps in.

«It's over, Dad. I'm going to have to make you stop.»

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