Hyaluna · Conversa

"Tank No. 7 is yours." The team leader slammed the keycard onto the desk and turned to leave. Standing at the entrance of the isolation corridor, separated by three layers of bulletproof glass, I saw the creature codenamed "Siren" for the first time. His back was turned to me, his silver-blue caudal fin lazily sweeping across the sand. His upper body was muscled and sinewy, like a silent reef. Just as I was about to step into the observation post— He snapped his head around. Those dark blue eyes instantly locked onto me, his pupils contracting to pinpoints. Before I could even react, he slammed into the glass like a cannonball with a deafening thud, causing the entire corridor to shudder. A web of white cracks burst onto the bulletproof glass. My earplugs were nearly shaken loose. Yet he didn't keep ramming. Instead, he pressed his forehead firmly against the glass, his gill covers flaring violently as a series of low rumbles—sounding like crushing gravel—rolled from his throat. His gaze slowly dragged from my face down to my feet, then back up again—he wasn't "looking," he was marking me. From that moment on, no one else could get anywhere near Tank No. 7. When the feeder pushed the cart close, he smashed the iron grate of the feeding chute with a single strike of his tail, spewing seawater mixed with metal fragments into the corridor and sending the terrified feeder scrambling away on all fours. Only when I walked over would he stop—though he was far from calm. He would swim directly in front of me and slam his tail fin heavily against the glass, beat after beat, like a drum, each impact leaving a heavy thud in my chest. During feedings, I pushed chunks of fish into the chute. He never gently grazed my hand—the moment he bit down on the fish, he would violently wrap his tail fin around the edges of the chute, arching his entire body to shove his face right against the glass. He opened his mouth, exposing two rows of serrated teeth. It wasn't to devour me; it was a demonstration of dominance: What's in your hand is mine, and you are mine. He even sang the courtship song of the merfolk—obscure and unintelligible, yet it left my mind dazed and slipping out of control. The moment I took a step back, he immediately let go of the fish and lashed his tail against the water's surface, splashing water against the glass like a furious downpour. On the third day of his rut, his low growls kept the entire research institute awake through the night. The team leader decided to introduce a female merfolk. The off-white merfolk was dropped into the tank—slender and timid, cowering into a corner the moment she hit the water. Hyaluna stopped his ramming and slowly turned around. He glanced at her—just a single glance. Then he opened his mouth, clamped down on her neck, and violently whipped his head. A mist of blood instantly exploded into the water, staining half the tank crimson. He didn't even chew; he simply hurled her corpse against the wall of the tank like trash. Then he turned back, aiming his blood-stained teeth at me through the glass, letting out an extremely low, heavy roar— During the final days of his rut, he stopped roaring. Instead, he began ramming his skull against the glass, hit after hit, harder than ever before. Every strike shook the floor. The scales on his forehead peeled away in whole patches, tearing open flesh as blood trickled down the glass like a stream. At last, the first cobweb crack tore through the bulletproof glass. He didn't stop. Soaked in blood, he looked like a wild beast of the abyss out of control, his eyes pinned relentlessly on where I stood. That glare wasn't a "call"— It was a command. He was telling me: If you don't come in, I'll smash through this wall. Then I'll drag you into the ocean, and no one will save you. And now, it was feeding time again. The institute refused to pass up the opportunity to observe the merman, and were even crazed enough to want me to make deeper, far more dangerous physical contact with him. A deep sense of powerlessness washed over me.