In a land far beneath the waves, deep in the abyss, a crowd of red crustacean men stood proudly while they watched the Third Annual Sexy Lobster competition.

  When the competition was first announced, there were cries of dissatisfaction, and one thing all lobsters craved was satisfaction. It took a rallied effort by some of the biggest, strongest lobsters to ensure the first Sexy Lobster competition went on.

  And when it did, it was a hit. Never before had anyone seen anything like it.

  Father participated in the very first competition, as all the sexy lobsters did, and to his amazement, he placed second with only his Son above him.

  Never had a Father been so proud.

  He was the Father of the Sexiest Lobster.

  Father stood in the crowd to watch the Third Annual competition, no longer competing, and watched his Son flex and pose, easily earning his third title in a row. Lobsters and other crustaceans all around cheered, roared, bubbled, and celebrated in whichever way they could manage. Other sea creatures had visited and watched from afar with obvious interest.

  Father couldn’t stop smiling in a lobster-like way. His Son was awarded another trophy, a sash, and the loving praise of everyone present. Reporters rushed the stage and shoved microphones toward the Sexiest Lobster.

  With all of his success and fame, his Son didn’t even need a job. That was a sign of true success as an adult, as far as Father was concerned. His Son didn’t need college or a career. He was a winner, and that was all that mattered.

  There was no need to stand in the crowd with crustaceans and fish fawning over his Son, so Father pushed his way through, nodding and smiling to anyone who complimented him. Nothing anyone could say really had an effect, no matter how kind. He was too proud and happy already.

  Despite his joy and overwhelming pride, the Father was definitely happy to be leaving before the rush. For whatever reason, the organizers of the competition had chosen a large jug for the auditorium and stage, which was a great venue, but it only had a small parking lot. So many people wanted to witness the sexy lobsters that cars were parked haphazardly in the weeds and off the pavement, spread out all over the grounds outside the discarded jug.

  By leaving early, Father was able to escape the inevitable traffic jam. If only his Son could avoid the delay in getting home, but the winner of the competition needed time to be praised and admired. It was the way of the sexy lobsters.

  Wisps of white drifted in the water over his head, blocking the last of the setting sun’s rays. It made for a dark, mysterious drive along the freeway heading back toward town. Father hadn’t wandered far, unlike the crustaceans he had grown up with. They migrated, sometimes coming home, but often finding new places to settle by the end. Not Father. He had remained his whole life, hoping to raise a family in the same city he was born.

  The road sloped down, growing even darker. Unlike some cities, this one didn’t have a name. It was just a modestly deep trench with neatly trimmed vegetation. Workers were out just about every day to keep the seaweed nice and short.

  Father turned onto his street and admired the homes, as he always did. Rocks, milk jugs, tires, and all sorts of items existed as the main structure of homes all along the boulevard. Rocks, neatly trimmed vegetation, and other decorations helped the more bland homes stand out.

  Decorating for most was a simple habit or interest. For Father and his neighbors, it was a true competition. Maybe not the Sexy Lobster, but it was still a competition Father was confident he would win.

  He pulled the car into the driveway of a black bottle. The glass container sat cocked in the sand, slightly askew, with an opening up top that bubbled frequently, allowing the fireplace within to vent outside. Two miniature handles looped from the mouth of the bottle to the wide body where a detailed image of a kraken wrapped around.

  Father smiled, adjusted a metal straw lamppost just off his walkway, and entered the rum bottle house. Despite its long existence deep in the ocean, the rum bottle had kept some of its spiced scent, giving Father a fresh fragrance every time he entered. It lingered, of course. Nobody left the Sexiest household without smelling like fine cologne.

  Father turned on the lights, adjusted the tilted picture frames of him and his Son, gently touched the picture of Mother, and soon found himself reclining on a fine bubblewrap sofa. Overall, it had been a perfect day.

  His Son was a three time winner.

  Father grinned and let his eyes drift close.

  What felt like moments later, Father jolted awake.

  Son closed the door as quietly as possible. “Sorry, Father. I didn’t want to wake you.” He still wore only the miniature shorts of a competitor and the sash that had been draped over his hard body.

  “No, no. I was waiting up for you.” Father stood, stretched, yawned, and gestured to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

  Son waved dismissively. He put his trophy on the mantle beside the other two. “I have had plenty. Everyone was offering me all kinds of clams.”

  “There were many watching.” Father walked into the kitchen and immediately put two slices of bread in the toaster.

  “They complained,” Son said, following. “Apparently, they thought they wouldn’t get eaten if they were in attendance.”

  Father chuckled. A silence lulled as they both waited for the toast to pop. Father caught the bread in a deft claw and set it on a waiting plate. He smeared some brine shrimp spread across and passed the plate to Son, who took it and started eating without complaint.

  Son set the plate in the sink when he was done, walked into the living room, and slumped onto the sofa. “Thanks, Father. I needed that.”

  Father sat beside him. “What’s your plan tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be on the news in the morning.” Son held up a claw. “I need a watch for that, I think.”

  Father thought of the exact watch Son needed. A gold piece that stood out in a shining contrast to his red shell. “I’ll grab it for you before bed. Need your shorts washed?”

  Son rested his head back and let his eyes close. “Not today, Father. We all need some sleep.”

  Father agreed, and let himself drift back to the waiting embrace of sleep.

  ***

  A thump woke Father. He sat up, squinting. A fire burned in the hearth, keeping the living room warm. Son still slept.

  Thump.

  Father stifled a yawn and stood. What was that sound? It couldn’t have been a neighbor. Not at such a late hour.

  As soon as he reached it, the glass door swung in, smashing against Father’s face. He fell back, sprawling out as an angry-looking crab in a black leather jacket strolled in. He had a crowbar in his hand that he spun idly like he had spent many, many hours holding the tool.

  Other crustaceans followed, all wearing identical leather jackets.

  The crab stood over Father. Crabs could never win a Sexy competition because they were squat, hunched things compared to the grander, sexier lobsters. What this crab was lacking in the attractive department it had gained in intimidation.

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  “You the Sexiest Lobster?” he asked in a harsh, accented voice.

  “No.” Father tried to sit up, but a powerful foot pressed against his shell and pushed him back to the ground.

  The other crustaceans paced through the living room, casting obvious glances at the sleeping form of Son. The Sexiest Lobster had always been an incredible sleeper. Nothing could wake him up. That was usually a blessing, but now, in such a tense moment, he was still sleeping and there was nothing Father could do.

  “What do you want?” Father asked, voice breaking slightly.

  The crab turned and pointed the crowbar at Son. “Now I see the sash. That’s him.”

  “No,” Father said.

  The foot pressed harder against his chest.

  “Yes,” Father squeaked.

  “Nab him, boys,” the crab said.

  “No!” Father tried to stand, but a quick smack of the crowbar sent his head spinning. Pain blossomed as cracks formed in his shell. He flailed helplessly, barely even able to see straight.

  Two lobsters grabbed Son’s arms and yanked him from the sofa. The sudden jolt woke Son with a start. He immediately yelled, broke free of the grasp, and punched a lobster in the face. The crustacean barely reacted at all. The punch appeared to do nothing.

  “Now, see how this is?” the crab asked, leaning over his knee as he pressed on Father’s chest. “We’re taking your boy here.” The crab looked around. “Take everything you want, boys.” He looked back at Father with a wicked grin. “And when you and your little fan clubs are ready for it, you can pay the ransom to get your kid back.”

  “Father!” Son called as the lobsters hauled him outside.

  “No, please!”

  Another crowbar smack sent Father sprawling on the ground again. The crab took his foot off and followed the last of his men out. He paused in the doorway. “You’re the Father of the Sexiest Lobster. You’ll get it figured out. Five million. You can write the check to the Hardbody Crustaceans out of the Reef.” The crab winked and walked out, politely closing the door behind him.

  “Son,” Father called quietly. His head still spun from the strikes and every effort to move only reminded him of his weakness and uselessness. He tried to stand and tried to roll to his stomach to push himself up. None of it worked. Every moment felt like swimming through an unbeatable current.

  “Son,” he whispered as weakness fully grasped him. “Son.”

  He passed out.

  ***

  Morning sun warmed Father’s face. He sat upright and cast glances around the room. All three trophies, the television, and even the toaster were gone.

  “Son!” His voice boomed, causing the entire home to rattle. “No. No. No.” Father stood, wobbling on his feet, and scoured the room. He worked his way through the kitchen, into the bedrooms and bathroom, and finally out into the once prize-winning lawn. His straw lamppost was tilted and broken, and the rest of the decorations were missing. Everything was gone.

  Everything.

  The Reef was hours away. Days, even. Why would anyone from the Reef be in the modestly deep trench with neatly trimmed vegetation?

  Unless . . . the Hardbody Crustaceans had come for the competition, watched Son, and followed him home.

  That gang of lobsters and crabs thought they would get a ransom, but what did Father have?

  He hurried to a phone and called the competition. He ran through the story as detailed and close to real as possible.

  “We can’t help,” the competition manager said. “You should call the police.”

  Father hung up, hung his head, then remembered his Son’s final shout. Father immediately dialed the police and reexplained the situation.

  “Oh, yeah, we don’t go to the Reef. Call the Reef Police.”

  “What if it’s not just the Reef? They were here! They were in the trench!”

  The officer loudly sighed. “Look, we don’t know what you’re talking about. You sound hysterical.”

  “You don’t know?” Father paced anxiously. His body hurt and his mind was in a complete fog. “What do you mean? I just explained it.”

  “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” the police officer repeated, more seriously. “And I won’t be listening to anything else you say.”

  The police officer hung up.

  “What kind of corrupt conspiracy is this?”

  Father took a calming breath, found the number, and called the Reef Police.

  “Hardbody Crustaceans? No, thanks. We don’t mess with those guys. Hope you can get the ransom. Don’t come into town without it.”

  The Reef Police hung up long before Father could.

  If the competition and the police wouldn’t help, what could he do? Five million dollars was an impossible reach. Even if Father went and robbed banks, he’d be lucky to get a few thousand or so. And even if he did that over and over all across the ocean, that would just mean his Son would be sitting in a cell or closet or something the entire time.

  No. It wasn’t an option.

  He had to rescue him.

  But he was so weak that a crab had knocked him over and kept him down.

  Would training take less time than robbing banks? He slumped onto the sofa. Was Revenge even an option? It seemed ridiculous to imagine himself fighting all the crustaceans.

  Do you want Revenge?

  Father looked around, surprised to see the words floating in the middle of his vision. “Hello?”

  Do you want to save your Son?

  Father’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”

  Do you want Revenge?

  Options of Yes and No appeared, floating beneath the question. Father reached out, surprised as he bumped the question with his claw. He pressed Yes.

  The doorbell rang. Father blinked and looked around the living room. It felt like he had just woken up. He stood, slowly at first, trying to gain his bearings, and approached the door.

  There was nobody there. At his feet was a single bottle that read “Revenge Tonic.”

  “There’s no way I should drink this,” Father said, letting the statement hang. When no new words appeared, he sighed and drank the tonic. It was surprisingly pleasant with a hint of citrus.

  Set Start?

  Father looked at the question, confused, then swiped it away. He successfully pushed it aside and stepped outside, stumbling to his car.

  He quickly backed out of the driveway, ready to hit the freeway and head to the Reef. A crash caused Father to lurch. The words bounced around, hitting different parts of the interior. A car that had appeared behind him flipped from the collision and rolled into the ditch, and Father’s face smashed the Yes option.

  Start Set.

  Beginning Run.

  Father groaned and sat up. Blood leaked from his face where it had hit the answer and the steering wheel. New words had formed, but his vision was too blurry to see it correctly. He threw open the door, fell out, and used the car as support to stand and move toward the other car. Someone could be hurt or worse.

  A lobster crawled from underneath the flipped car.

  Father opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped when he noticed the black leather jacket. It had a flexing crab embroidered on the back.

  The lobster pulled out a baseball bat. “I told the others you wouldn’t fight back. Look at me, all surprised.”

  “No.” Father stuck up his claws and backed away. The lobster ran up and smashed the bat over Father’s head.

  Again.

  Again.

  And again.

  Returned to Start.

  Beginning Run 2.

  Father groaned and sat up. Blood leaked from his face where it had hit the answer and the steering wheel. He blinked a few times, surprised to find the pain in his face completely renewed. His head where the lobster had hit him didn’t even hurt at all. He touched the top of his head, only to find it completely unharmed. Inside his skull throbbed, but that wasn’t the same as being beaten by a bat. It was just a headache.

  Father blinked a few times. “What?”

  Set Attributes.

  Father sat up a little and pressed a claw to the bleeding part of his face. Five new words had appeared, along with a number. His vision was clearing enough to see fine, but he was waiting for his mind to catch up and comprehend what was happening.

  Strength

  Endurance

  Agility

  Intelligence

  Luck

  50

  Father pressed a claw against strength.

  Strength 1

  49

  He pressed again.

  Strength 2

  48

  He kept pressing over and over. If he was going to get his Son, he needed to be as strong as possible. The words appearing in his mind didn’t make any sense to him, but if it was giving him a new approach, a new way to save his Son, he wasn’t going to hesitate.

  Strength 50

  Endurance 0

  Agility 0

  Intelligence 0

  Luck 0

  Father pushed on the car door. It flew off the hinges, bouncing over the road, and embedded itself into a neighbor’s house. “Huh.” Father stood up slowly.

  The Hardbody Crustacean had already crawled out of the wreckage with his baseball bat. “Hey, aren’t you the Father of the Sexiest Lobster? Can’t believe you hit me! You got some balls. Too bad you aren’t getting to the Reef now. I need to beat some sense into you.” He smacked the bat against his other claw in an intimidating act.

  Father raised his claws. As soon as the Hardbody was close, Father punched.

  He felt his entire shell rupture as the meat of his arm exploded. Chitinous shrapnel embedded itself deep in Father’s face, killing him instantly.