This is a fanfic written by my sister. It is part of a combined project and the content in it will be considered canon to my story Guilty, Filthy Soul. If you are a fan already, I would highly recommend reading this too. My sister is an excellent writer and it is important that you read her story to understand the full scope of my fanfic. Read and review please and be perfectly honest as always. The lyrics presented throughout this chapter belong to Awolnation.


We were born to rage,we're the price of pain; We're a single voice, we're the second choice,we were born to rage…

The world had known no greater strife than that which plagued it now. Harmony had long since been scattered to the wind, violently blasted into the disparate particles of war brought on by centuries of vehement dissension. Since the time of the antediluvian flood that had saturated the Earth with salt and sand, a fierce battle raged between the forbearers of two of the world's greatest races. Within the stygian fathoms of the deepest of oceans, a species of humanoids surged into existence to inhabit the abyss: the fishmen. Seemingly destined for prominence over all others, they were granted superiority in strength by the gods, a capability they were inclined to wield against all of those who attempted to oppose them. With their overall ascendancy over the other races, including the other oceanic race, the merfolk, the fishmen expanded their empire to conquer the remaining oceans.

In the process of their worldwide incursion, they tangled with the mighty leviathans of the deep, their gnashing teeth proving useless against the raw power and higher intelligence of the god-chosen, oceanic race. Taming the beasts to be used at their disposal, this nation lived out its days in paradise, surviving harmoniously with the rest of the ocean. However, the fishmen soon became curious of what kinds of autochthon inhabited the dirt on the land above. It must have been out of pity for their other race, the humans, which caused the gods to turn against their own perfect creation. For when the fishmen came to the surface with irenic intentions, the humans met them with terror balanced precariously on the cutting edge of a blade.

Not unlike a powder keg, a single spark of fear brought about discrimination against the oceanic, peace bearers. The gods, whom had shown nothing but espousal before for the dealings of their resilient fishmen, had seemingly turned a blind eye, arming the humans with spears and eventually pistols to combat the strength of their adversaries. Without much choice in the matter, the fishmen went to battle against these new enemies; in an unexpected turn of events, severe opposition met them at the gates. With each ensuing onslaught, the humans became craftier, relying on their numbers and superior weaponry to impel the fishmen back into the crashing waves that blasted the sandy shores below. Beating back the attacking army, the humans regained control over what little land they had already possessed; instead of allowing the fleeing fishmen a fair retreat, the tenacious land dwellers sought to either enchain or eradicate the race that had unwillingly clashed against them.

It was not long before pistols and spears turned into harpoons and nets. Soon the once triumphant fishmen race had been beaten down beneath the unwavering fist of the human leaders. Viewing the fishmen as mere animals to be imprisoned and sold, the humans, whom the gods had taken such favor in now, began to expand their control over the world; akin to a virus, their touch sickened and choked the world of its resources. Without much care for what they destroyed in their wake, the humans netted and beached man, woman and child, linking them to their new masters with ropes and chains; those that struggled in the process were met by the piercing end of a spear and put on display to quash any sign of resistance or hope that dared challenge their authority. Over countless generations of enslavement, the once proud fishman race had been propelled deeper into the oceans, living like beasts on the brink of society. Their progeny must now live with the consequences of this past expedition. However, this new generation soon became dissatisfied with the benthic lifestyle of their defeated race; the few, brave souls who were willing to do so, sought out the heavenly ocean that lay reflected above their concealed world…

My knife is a dream, it's a beautiful world; She'll never leave, it's a beautiful world…

Whitney stood poised, balanced on the brink of discovery, her fingers inches away from the protective barrier that separated her home, Fishman Island, from the rest of the ocean. Unlike so many others who had delved into the abyssal plains of the deepest seas to reach and penetrate into this unknown world, she longed for the mysteries that lay beyond it. The writhing current that existed between the island itself and the bastion-like, bubble wall, assaulted her body from all directions, teasing her tentacle-like hair with each twisting movement. In an abrupt moment of absentmindedness, her hand flew to her face, removing the shade that had suddenly covered her round eyes. After renewing her field of vision with one inattentive flip of her wrist, her hand came to rest on the crest of her skull; her head was decorated with an ornate, cream-colored shell that was similar in structure to the spherical armor of the ancient nautilid species.

Maintaining her current position in the undertow of the incoming tides required little more than a natural alteration in her own buoyancy. Despite her humanoid form, this served as another capability that marked her as being close in physical composition to those prehistoric cephalopods. Staring into her own nebulous visage, its image reflecting awkwardly in the bubble's curved, oily surface, Whitney watched in amusement as it was distorted in the similar way of a funhouse mirror; her outstretched fingers grazed the wall's surface, sending a wave of exhilaration shooting through her veins like a powerful drug. She gazed upon the wells of determination that were mirrored in her own eyes; a sigh of catharsis escaped her lips as she paused for just an instance, balking the start of her adventure; this sudden change was brought about by a single pang of regret. Repenting on her past missteps, her mind faded back to a poignant moment of her father's own, audacious departure from the underwater island and how her own mother had felt about her daughter's similar intentions. Mother.

"How dare you plan this! So, you have decided to leave me here alone just like your fool of a father did! When did you even dream up such a foul scheme!" an older woman screeched, several fingers pointed in the face of the young, nautilus fishwoman, her eyes ablaze with the intense fury of someone who had just been betrayed and left to bake in the sun like some enormous squid. A squid was not that far off from the point of what her mother was. With numerous jabs in the stomach by her mother's many tentacle arms, Whitney backed away from the door of the small cottage and shut it behind her back. She raised her hands in front of her like a shield in hopes of defending her careless actions.

"Dad was no fool! I doubt he abandoned you, mother. There must have been something greater at work that halted his return," Whitney replied angrily, her hands coming to rest on her hips. Her mother, Holly as she was called, sighed and stared at her daughter with patience in her gaze. She flung her long, black hair out of her eyes and began working it into the usual bun that rested on top of her head. Her field of vision then fell again, suddenly ablaze with indignation as she eyed her daughter suspiciously.

"And you plan on finding this mysterious force? You intend to search for your wayward father, don't you? Sometimes I wish you would have gotten more of my sensible DNA! I was honestly hoping you would get a little bit more from me than your skin color!" Holly blurted, her voice rising with anger as she again jabbed her errant daughter in the stomach repeatedly, an effect multiplied six fold by her many, octopus-like arms. With her mother fuming impatiently, Whitney gasped and dropped her arms to her side, her fingers trailing along her soft, incarnadine skin that was so alike to her mother's own flesh. She stood for a moment, twiddling her thumbs, her eyes moving quickly from her mother to the floor and then back to her mother again. Once she had steeled herself against this moment of severe apprehension, she spoke again, her words chosen with a certain specificity to avoid any more antagonism bubbling up within her mother.

"Well there's that, but there is something else." Whitney muttered under her breath, suddenly taken aback by her mother's strong disapproval. At this utterance, her mother suddenly became even more flustered at Whitney's expense, her eyes suddenly specked with hints of apprehension. Both women held their breath, waiting patiently for the other to continue speaking. Unfortunately, no relief came from either side, both refusing to pipe up as both were unwilling to contribute to this new idea.

"You always were a lot like your father, always wanting to see what was out there. You want to go to the surface again, don't you? That's the other thing isn't it? I curse your father for ever taking you there in the first place," her mother blurted out, tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing her mother's anguish brought about great sadness within Whitney. She was already rushing forward to comfort her distressed mother. Her many tentacle arms had been brought up, covering her face in defense like a wall that separated her from this new moment of suffering. "I thought that you would have learned by now! Were Otohime's ill-fated attempts at peace not enough to assuage your taste for adventure? You know too well what lies above our world!"

"That's the point, mother! We shouldn't have to live like this, hidden away from the world just because some upright-walking primates fear us! It's descrimatory the way they treat us and our fear is their power! Someone has to stand up for our race!" Whitney screeched back despite herself. Realizing her transgression, she immediately covered her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared back at her mother's shocked expression.

"Whitney, you, you sound just like them. Those terrible revolutionaries, have they finally entranced you with their radical ways?" Holly cried out, her voice shaking from either fear or anger.

"This has nothing to do with those pirates. I have to do this for myself. If I never even try, then I won't be able to see what lies beyond our world. I do not intend to leave you mother. I will most certaintly return. But, please. I need your support now more than ever. We are fishwomen, we have to make our mark in history. We are just as strong as the men and I believe that I can do something to help our race if not the entire world in the process. Please mother, you understand don't you?" Whitney replied with a steady voice, her words lying heavy in her throat, spilling over her lips with purpose. Holly, who had listened patiently to her daughter's explanation, began to dry her streaming tears. Rushing forward without warning, she embraced her daughter in a six-armed embrace. Her gaze was suddenly filled with joy rather than fear.

"I finally understand. You want to make your mark on the world just like your father did. Forgive me for being an intrusion into your dreams. I did not intend to halt or eliminate them. But, please do understand. I don't want to have to say goodbye to my baby, especially if it would be the final time. Oh don't look at me like that Whitney! I was afraid that you would leave me behind to my suffering like your father did. Albeit for the fact that it was unintentional, it still pains me," Holly whispered as she stroked her daughter's back in the motherly way that one might comfort an infant. Giving her daughter one more squick sqeeze, she released her, turning her back to hide her eyes that had been renewed with fresh tears.

"I will be careful, you know that mother. I'm not the kind of person to rush recklessly into things," Whitney replied calmly, a sense of pride welling up in her at her mother's understanding. Holly stood still for several minutes, clearly lost in contemplation. No words escaped either of their lips; there were no words to describe the pain with which they both were feeling. Holly knew that her daughter was at an impasse, her adventurous decisions suddenly undermined by the suffering of her mother. She knew that her daughter was standing on a high ledge that she could neither jump off of nor walk away from; welling with pride for her child as any mother would, she decided that she would have to be the one to give her that final push.

"I know. I have the utmost faith in you as my daughter. I just hope you realize that your attire is hardly appropriate if you are hoping to befriend those crazy, surface-dwelling Homo Sapiens. They will most definitely find you odd the moment they lay eyes on you," her mother joked in a relaxed tone, releasing a small giggle as she reflected on her daughter's unusual taste in outfits. Clad in a yellow, one piece Crimin sweater, her daughter certaintly didn't look the part of any dignified liasion. In the middle of the sweater, was the Crimin logo accentuated in a violent orange color that matched the similar strips on her wrists. Instead of pants, her daughter was sporting a garterbelt and a pair of violently striped, black and white tights that led down to a pair of sneakers. Seeing her mother's amusement caused Whitney's eyes to widen in embarassment, her pink cheeks now deep red in color. Along with her tentacle-like, short hair, which just so happened to be a brillant shade of hot pink, Whitney's overall appearance clashed so terribly that it seemed that her skin and clothes were in a heated battle for color supremacy; it also could be noted that neither side appeared to be winning.

"Yeah mom, they aren't going to like me because of my clothes. It will have absolutley nothing to do with my tentacles, skin color or my shell, right?" Whitney mused despite her sudden abashment, causing her mother to fall into another fit of giggles.

"Of course, there is that. Just be safe," Holly answered as she fought off her laughter, her tone suddenly turning more serious at the idea of her daughter's imminent departure.

"I know, I know. Don't worry so much. There's no way I would leave you here by yourself for long. Heck, maybe I can bring dad back. I got to go then, I'm leaving now if possible," Whitney stated smoothly, the look in her eyes clearly somewhere between excitement and apprehension.

"See you then. Make me proud, Whitney," Holly called out as she watched the door close with her daughter. Unexpectadley, she made no move to stop her now, her feet suddenly planted to the shell-covered floor of their cottage. With each passing moment, a new teardrop splashed against the ornately covered surface, leaving small pools that marked the spot where her daughter once stood. Moments passed like centuries, her heart already aching with regret yet still managaing to steel itself against this new outlet of anxiety. "I was never good with goodbyes."

I got love for all your hate,I got lost to find my way;So be good with goodbyes,so be good with good byes…

A wide distance now stood between Whitney, who was still poised, inches away from her adventure, and her mother, who remained behind, longing still to hold her baby in her arms again. With a sudden burst of inspiration, Whitney burst through the bubble wall with an intense speed akin to an overly excited salmon rocketing its way up a waterfall; her eyes were streaming with tears. Surging into the dark recesses of the abyss, Whitney knew what had to be done. A new era was upon the world, a refreshed feel for adventure now resided in not only the hearts of each and every human that walked the expanses of the earth, but also within the beating, visceral chests of her own race. There was nothing that mattered more to the young fishwoman; this adventure meant more to her than just some passing fancy for a vacation. It was for her people, her race, her father, and especially her mother. People.

People,People,have you heard the good news?There's people,people,they're running just like you;Today,I say, it's all that matters for now;For you And I…

Make some good 'ol love…