They were on their way to Little Eden. The Blowfish Man planned to stock up on as many oranges and heads of lettuce as he could before locking himself down on Old Rig. Who knew for how long. That was why Lee wore a small backpack strapped to his back. He was to help the old man carry the food back.

“Seems like I’ve got my own human now,” Lee joked.

The Blowfish Man remained silent, his expression grim. Ever since the sea beings came to the surface, his wariness had only grown. He didn’t trust them. Couldn’t trust someone who slithered into your world and rid you of all your ailments, without asking for anything in return. No, there was no such thing as a free cure. They would demand something, sooner or later. And when they did, the cost would be steeper than anyone expected.

The journey was anything but simple. The streets of Floating City had never been safe, but this was different.

The blobs were everywhere. They drifted lazily in the canals, clinging to hulls like parasitic growths. One pulsated, then split, birthing a smaller, glistening mass that peeled away from its side. Some had even made it onto the docks and sidewalks, their translucent bodies twitching, faintly throbbing.

A thin tendril stretched from one of them, feeling blindly along the ground. A rat scurried too close. In an instant, the tendril lashed out, wrapping around its body. The rat spasmed violently, limbs jerking, as the tendril forced its way into its mouth. A horrible, wet squelch followed. Then, silence. A beat later, the rat twitched again. But not like before. Not naturally. It staggered upright, head cocked at an unnatural angle. Something inside it was adjusting. Making itself at home.

Others weren’t so lucky. Some blobs had shriveled under the relentless sun, their bodies hardened and cracked, crumbling to dust beneath hurried footsteps. But not all of them died. Some still quivered, clinging stubbornly to life.

A shiver ran down my spine. The memory of the blob’s tentacles constricting around me threatened to pull me under. I shook myself out of it.

“Things have changed since you were last here, Page,” Lee remarked.

“But it’s only been a few days,” I said, incredulous.

“Yes. And it feels like a lifetime, wouldn’t you say?”

“The blobs… they’re everywhere.”

“I’ve noticed. Ever since those sea people showed up, more of these things have been appearing.”

The people had changed too. They were angrier, more volatile. Just like that man, the one who had eaten the rickshaw driver’s face. A single bump of the shoulder could send someone into a blind fury. Fists clenched. Teeth bared. It was like something had sunk its hooks into them, pulling their strings from the inside.

“You should’ve seen it, Page,” Lee murmured, casting a glance at the Blowfish Man ahead of us. “He tried to help someone. A man who went to one of those Cure Shops. I thought he was just sick. The guy nearly took his hand off with his teeth.”

The Blowfish Man remained silent, his grip tightening around his club.

On more than one occasion, he had to use it. Sometimes just one swing of it, sometimes until bone cracked, and the sickly, writhing thing inside them spilled out onto the pavement. He would crush it beneath his boot with a sickening squelch. The smell of rot and brine thickened the air. It was getting worse.

And so was everything else.

*****

When we reached Little Eden, the air smelled of crushed herbs and overturned earth. The sharp tang of bruised leaves mixed with something acrid.

Panic.

A small crowd had already forced its way into the domed greenhouses. Hands clawed at the leafy greens, tearing them from grow trays and tubes. Others snatched fruits and vegetables straight from the soil beds, trampling the smaller plants underfoot.

The Gardeners fought back. Their voices were hoarse from shouting, their arms outstretched, trying to shield what was left of their crops. Some yanked intruders away, while others blocked the entrances. A few had taken up pruning shears, trowels, gripping them like weapons.

The cats of Little Eden had joined the fight. They wove between legs, backs arched, tails fluffed. Their hisses cut through the noise, followed by sharp yowls as claws found flesh. A gray tabby latched onto a man’s ankle, sinking its teeth deep. He howled, shaking his leg violently, but the cat refused to let go. Another leapt onto a woman’s shoulders, claws raking at her scalp as she shrieked and stumbled into a row of overturned planters.

The Blowfish Man grunted. “This place is finished,” he muttered, gripping his club.

Lee flicked an ear. “They’re acting like the world is ending.”

I swallowed hard.

Maybe it was.

With a sharp swing of his club, the Blowfish Man sent an intruder sprawling into the dirt. He followed through with a brutal strike to the ribs. The man wheezed, curling inward.

“What’s going on?” the Blowfish Man demanded, pulling up a Gardener to his feet.

“They’re panicking,” the Gardener gasped. “They’re trying to take everything—food, supplies. Hoarding it all.”

“Why?”

"They think the city is collapsing. The blobs are spreading. They say the jellyfish are taking over.” The Gardener’s voice wavered. “They say this is what those sea beings want.”

“I knew it,” the Blowfish Man spat. “They didn’t come to help us. They’re here to control us.”

“If that’s true, then take what you can,” the Gardener called over his shoulder before rushing back into the fray.

The Blowfish Man knelt beside several overturned trays, sweeping his hands through the remnants of the greens. He whistled sharply, signaling Lee to come closer. Together, they began gathering whatever was left.

Then—

“You! You’re Ziggy’s brother!”

A breathless orange cat rushed toward me, fur bristling. I recognized him as one of the guards who had watched over Tinker’s shed.

His ears flicked back anxiously. “You must’ve heard about Ziggy.”

My stomach twisted. “No, I haven’t. What happened?”

The cat glanced over his shoulder. “Best you come with me.”

*****

The orange cat led me through the chaos, away from the greenhouse and into the quieter part of the borough. The change was immediate. The air was stifling. Somber.

He stopped in front of Ziggy’s makeshift home; a battered plastic bin with a hole cut into its side, a sheet of plastic draped like a curtain. He gave me a pointed glance before letting out a soft meow.

A voice from inside, tentative and muffled. “Yes? What is it now?”

“Ziggy’s brother,” the cat replied gruffly. “He’s here.”

A scuffling sound. Then, Wanda’s dark gray face appeared through the curtain, her fur seeming paler than before, her wide eyes shadowed with worry.

“Oh, Page,” she whispered. “Come in.”

I stepped inside. The rough cloth of a towel cushioned my paws. Scattered toys—feathered trinkets, bits of string—littered the space, along with a small pile of fishbones in the corner.

Four kittens tumbled together playfully, their tiny paws batting and pouncing with boundless energy. When they noticed me, their ears perked, heads tilting in unison, eyes gleaming with curiosity. 

One had dark gray fur, a mirror of his mother. Another, deep blue with specks of silver, a spitting image of Ziggy. A third was cloaked in soft, silvery fur, shimmering like moonlight. And the smallest of them all, delicate and quiet, had dark blue fur traced with silvery swirls, like ripples in starlit water.

“Who’s that, Momma?” asked the gray one.

“He’s your Papa’s brother,” Wanda said softly. “Your uncle. Uncle Page.”

“Oh, I remember!” another chirped. “Hello, Uncle!”

“Where’s Ziggy?” I asked, scanning the cramped space of the small house, searching for any sign of him.

The dark blue kitten sprang up in front of me, tapping his little paws against the floor with excitement. “We’re going to see Papa today!”

“He’s been out guarding the greenhouses,” the gray kitten chimed in, her voice matter-of-fact.

“We haven’t seen him in days!” said the smallest one, the one with silvery swirls in her fur. 

“He didn’t come home last night. He was on patrol.”

“One day, I’m going to go on patrol with Papa!” the silvery swirled kitten declared proudly.

“Oh, that’s funny—you actually think you’re brave!” the dark blue kitten teased.

“I am brave! Unlike you…”

Wanda let out a weary sigh. “Kittens, please! Keep your voices down.”

“Sorry, Momma,” they chimed in unison, their ears flicking back in sheepish apology.

“We’re visiting him at work,” said the dark blue kitten. “Are you going to come with us, Uncle Page?”

“I suppose I am,” I replied, but a strange feeling curled up in my stomach. Something wasn’t right. I glanced over at Wanda, and my heart sank. She had turned away, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She lowered her head, staring at the floor.

After a long moment, she straightened up, took a deep breath, and gave a faint, forced smile. “Well, kitties, let’s get you all cleaned up before we go see Papa.” 

The kittens squealed with excitement and gathered around their mother. Wanda began grooming them with tender care, her rough tongue moving over each furry face. She paid extra attention to the spots behind their ears, then gently ran her tongue down their backs, making sure they were spotless before their visit. 

Once she had finished grooming them, Wanda gently ushered the kittens toward the door. 

“Go wait outside for me,” she said softly. “I need to get ready and have a talk with Uncle Page.” The kittens, chattering excitedly, trotted out obediently, their tiny paws pattering on the floor as they left.

“Ziggy’s… ill,” she said quietly once the kittens were out of earshot.

My heart dropped, a wave of dread crashing over me. “What do you mean?” I asked, though deep down, I already feared the answer.

“He wasn’t the same after he came back from his day with you and Lee. At first, everything seemed normal. Everything felt fine. We’d still go on our regular walks around the garden, spend time fishing by the docks. Even though he was bruised and bandaged, it didn’t stop him from wanting to be with us.”

“But then–”

“He started changing... You know Ziggy. He’s always been sweet, sharp-witted, never once showing an ounce of anger. But suddenly, he began snapping at the kittens. His temper flared for no reason. Little Otto spilled some water the Gardener had set outside the house... and Ziggy nearly flew into a rage. He raised his paw to him.”

“Ziggy hit him?” I whispered, horrified.

“The cut wasn’t deep, but Otto was terrified. I cleaned him up, and the wound healed quickly, as if it had never happened. Still, Otto kept going over to cuddle with his father, despite the fear. But... the whole thing shook me, Page.”

“Were there other incidents?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Wanda looked up, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. “The other day, Ziggy and I went up to Old Rig, just the two of us, to bring back a mackerel for the kittens. When I dropped it... he hissed at me. And when he opened his mouth, I saw them.”

“Saw them?” I repeated, my stomach tightening.

“They were like little worms, wriggling in his mouth. Dozens of them.”

“The blob,” I gasped, my mind racing as the world around me seemed to shrink.

A tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a silent path through her fur. “When he went to help patrol the greenhouses, he lost his temper. He lashed out at another patroller. They knew right away. One of them said they could smell it on him. The infection.” Her voice wavered. “So they locked him in the shed.”

“The kittens don’t know?” I asked.

Wanda shook her head. “I told them their father had to work late. Much later than usual.”

“You’re still taking them to see him?” I asked.

“They want to see their father,” Wanda said softly. “And he’s not fully gone… not yet. Ziggy is still in there.”

She stepped closer, resting a gentle paw on my shoulder. Her eyes searched mine. “Will you come with us? I know Ziggy wants to see you, too.”

“I…” I began, but before I could find the right words, the kittens poked their heads through the curtain.

“Momma, aren’t we going yet? We want to see Papa!” they chirped impatiently.