A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Berry's Ambition, StarReader86 and acosta perez jose ramiro. It means a lot to me, to know people are reading and enjoying this.

October 10

I will have my revenge.

A week ago, when Amy visited me, I asked her if she knew a kid my age named Ron. Told her he was an old friend (har har) who I wanted to see again. She said she didn't, but would ask her niece Marissa, who goes to Middleton High School. I just hoped the Squeeb was from around here; Wannaweep wasn't the kind of camp kids came across the nation to attend.

The next day, she said that Marissa knew of a few Rons at school, and gave me a yearbook to pick out the one I knew. Sure enough, there was a photo of the Squeeb: still blond, still freckled, and grinning moronically at the camera. Ron Stoppable. The one who ruined my life. Man, I wanted to get my hands on that scrawny neck.

I asked Amy if there was a way of finding him without his knowing. I had to track him down secretly, to find a way of trapping him, without her wondering why I didn't just go meet him as a friend would. But she didn't press the issue. In fact, I got really lucky. Turns out Marissa's boyfriend Eli is a whiz with electronics and would do anything for Amy, who got the two of them together. So she called him up, and he agreed to put a surveillance camera on Ron.

I don't know how he did it. Electronics were never my thing, and it's been years since I saw anything with batteries. But somehow, within a couple of days, Eli had bugged the Squeeb and Amy had rigged up a TV in my room that showed 24/7 coverage of Ron Stoppable.

The more I watch, the madder I get. He's really living it up: a nice house, friends, cool parents who are always there when they're supposed to be. A cute sort of hairless rat rides around in his pocket and, believe it or not, talks to him. When he isn't sleeping or at school, he's usually at a Tex-Mex restaurant gorging on greasy stuff smothered in hot sauce and chemical-brew "processed cheese product." Yechh! That's one kind of food I haven't missed!

He even has a girlfriend: a skinny redheaded cheerleader named Kim Possible. Is that a tacky name or what? The two of them play this ridiculous game that they're superheroes, and talk about past "missions" of "saving the world." Puh-leese. Those wimps couldn't save themselves from a toothless minnow.

To be honest, it's not his lifestyle I envy. Who needs homework and bossy teachers and ditzy girls and gross fast food? It's that he has so many nice people around. Friends to talk and laugh with, parents to kiss him goodnight, a pet to share his every experience. People who would notice, and care, if he vanished. People to whom he matters.

I don't matter to anybody. Not even my parents, it turns out. Amy looked for evidence that I'd been missed and found only a Lowerton Times article from a couple of days after my transformation, stating that "Gilbert Moss" had disappeared during a swim in Lake Wannaweep on the first day of camp there, and was presumed drowned. They apparently didn't even notice that I was present the evening after my swim. No investigations, no charges pressed, nothing. Sheesh, what kind of parents hear that their kid may be dead, and do nothing to find him or punish the people who did it???

I could sit around all day feeling miserable about this. But instead, I'm focusing on a plan to catch the Squeeb. And I've learned a fact that makes it possible: he's the mascot of the Middleton cheerleading squad.

I had Eli hack into the school district website and send out a phony announcement of a cheerleading competition in Lowerton two weeks from today, at an address that, according to a local map, can only be reached by passing Camp Wannaweep.

I'll be waiting there. I know, I didn't want to go back. But on my own turf, which I know every inch of, they won't stand a chance.

I will have my revenge!!

October 22

Revenge is two days away.

I'm at Camp Wannaweep now. Amy brought me back a few days ago, when I asked to be "set free." It's cold and windy, and I'm painfully unused to that after nearly two months in her warm house. But anticipation warms me from within.

I swim in the lake several times a day. Slime coats me inside and out once again. Its stink makes me retch: how did I first swim here without noticing?? I've even caught and choked down some fish, although Amy left me a big bag of food, because I need to build up my inner stores of toxic muck. It'll be my weapon when the Squeeb comes.

I'm going to catch him and his girls, hold them down with sticky muck, and tell my story. I'm not sure what I'll do after that. Maybe let them all turn into mutants and leave them at the lake where they, being sheltered brats, will die quickly. Or maybe not. I don't know if I could make myself murder even my enemy, much less a bunch of helpless girls who just happen to be the tools by which I catch him. But I'll do something to ensure that his life will never be so dandy again.

October 24

The evening of the competition approaches. I pried a nail-filled board from the side of a cabin and put it in the road by the camp gate to cripple the bus as it arrives. Eli said he'd turn off the local cell phone reception so they can't call for help. I'm ready for them, full of muck and fury.

Revenge is near!

October 26 (or something like that, I'm not sure)

I failed.

Things went so well at first. The bus came and was stopped, the kids came out wonderfully scared—oh, the Sqeeb was terrified to be back at Wannaweep, as if something bad had happened to him here, ha!—and I picked them off one by one, building up the fear. Then I showed myself, and told my story. One of them started to mutate. Then it all fell apart.

I'm not giving details. Suffice it to say that the Squeeb is smarter than he looks, and his girls are tougher than they look. A long, humiliating struggle ended with me in a big closed-top tank on a truck belonging to some scientists, watching the Squeeb soak up their praise and his girls' kisses. I was so mad the water should've been boiling.

Then the truck took me away. I floated, tears of frustration joining my slime in the water, as it wound through the woods. I've seen this movie, I thought. It's Sea World for me.

A clearing opened, a big building loomed, and the truck stopped. A man climbed up, opened the trapdoor on top of the tank, and, before I could move, shot me with a dart gun. My limbs and lips went instantly limp. He hauled me out and carried me, paralyzed and terrified, into the building, down a hall, and into a brightly-lit room when he dumped me on a steel table. Three people in surgical masks and lab coats looked down at me, including the one who had been shaking the Squeeb's hand.

"This will be a fascinating new experiment," that one said.

"Yeah, that thing's freaky," said the second.

"What a pity," said the third, fingering the cuff of her coat.

"Please—don't—" I mumbled.

"Don't worry, kid, we're going to save you," said the first. Then he rammed a needle into my arm.

Then…torture. Nothing else describes what they did to me, with needles and chemicals, tubes and steel blades, muttering to each other among beeping machines, before I blacked out from the pain.

Next thing I knew, it was quiet. My hands, feet, mouth and neck burned steadily, but there was something softer than metal under my back. I opened my eyes.

Moonlight poured through a small, high window, casting a white square on a wall. I couldn't see much else at first. I twitched my arms and legs; the muscles seemed to work. I raised an arm, and gasped.

My claws were gone. My skin glowed pale in the moonlight, and no slime dripped from it. I felt my neck: lines of stitches where gills had been. I sat up and looked myself over: my skin was pink, raw and dry, my feet swollen red lumps, my toes hacked to stubs. Except for a bathing suit—not the one I'd been wearing before—I was naked.

"No," I whispered, tongue touching flat teeth. "No."

Those filthy scientists had mutilated me!

Yes, I know I wanted to be made human again! But I hadn't realized how much my gills, webs, fangs and the rest had become parts of me. Without them, I felt helpless, naked in a way that no clothes could ever cover. I didn't feel human, but I could no longer be anything else.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I was in a small, bare room containing a desk, a chair, and the cot I was sitting on. An open door in one corner led to a bathroom. Another door was closed.

I tried to get up, but as soon as my feet touched the ground, pain enveloped my feet as if I'd stepped in hot lava. I fell back on the bed, gasping. My feet were clearly too mangled to stand on. I was trapped.

The door opened. Someone entered and quickly closed it again. It was the scientist who'd pitied me. I rolled to face away. She sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, are you OK?"

I said nothing.

"I know, dumb question. I'm sorry we had to hurt you so much. Dr. Larkin never did that for an animal before, and didn't realize—"

"Goda herr away," I snapped, my voice slurred by the unfamiliarity of talking without fangs.

"You'll be able to walk soon, I promise. Your wounds will heal, and you'll be human again."

"Go!"

"Hey, I didn't want to do this to you, OK? It wasn't my idea to take away your gifts!"

I turned and stared at her. She was young, a teenager really, with medium-brown skin and long black hair. "What?"

"You're the luckiest idiot that ever lived, and you had to get yourself caught! I'd kill for what you had, but I couldn't stop my stupid boss from ruining it, I'm just a lab assistant!" And she ran out of the room.

A little while later, I noticed that she'd left a clipboard on the bed with a pencil and paper. She must have meant to take scientific notes on my condition. I used them to write this diary entry.

Sheesh. I've been maimed and imprisoned, I can't even live in Lake Wannaweep anymore, the Squeeb went un-punished, and now one of the scientists who did it is mad at me! Why does my life have to suck???