This chapter will see a smaller threat compared to next chapter. Partly because I couldn't bear to make Spee sad and because our boy would get bodied by a serious threat without help.

He sipped at his coffee and tried not to feel like too much of a knob as other members of the Islands Society chatted over their breakfasts. It was some sort of social get-together that the mods had called for, and it was probably the most people he had seen in one place since he had moved. (Probably the best business day the grungy little diner had seen in months, as well.)

Getting out of his house- which he was slowly, painfully sprucing up- was necessary. He knew that. Socializing and all that. However, the problem of the tracks still gnawed at him. Maybe he could have dismissed it, if his post had gone unnoticed or ignored, but with the mod's cagey behavior, he was suspicious. He didn't buy the rumor-mongering excuse.

Yet, he had come to the society get-together, for coffee and then a walk along the beach. Socializing was good for him, as was the possibility that he could drag someone aside and ask them about the tracks. He was trying to pick out someone knowledgable looking-

"How's that coffee treating you?"

"Good." Sitting across from him was someone he didn't want to ask. Her name was Elisabeth, and he'd bet his right hand she was one of the mods. (BethOnIt was not exactly subtle, thinking about it.) The others seemed to look to her as a leader… for good reason, admittedly. She was nice, ran the forums well, all that… but he couldn't help but feel she was hiding something. What was her real reason for the secrecy?

"It's good to see some new faces around here…" she thought for a moment, "Justin?"

"Got it." He smiled. He had already made his introductions before limping off to the corner, and he supposed remembering one new name wasn't that much of a feat… but it felt nice.

"You liking things so far?"

"It's wonderful," he said, "I never knew things could be so peaceful."

She chuckled.

"What?"

"Oh, you haven't seen the weather. When a storm whips up, it's anything but peaceful."

He gulped. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm glad I warned you- we get some real monster ones. There are folks you can call about that, actually. Help you prep." Before he could say anything, she was already scribbling something on the back of a napkin with a pen she had pulled out from her pocket.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you-"

"I'd be troubled if you ended up dead." Any laughter in her voice suddenly disappeared, and she gave him a look so serious it chilled the blood. It was a sort of haunted look, like she had seen someone make the same mistake and pay the dreadful price for it. She slid the napkin towards him.

There were two phone numbers, for a couple of storeowners in town, but below that was something else. Meet me here tomorrow, at noon. He looked up at her, but she was already standing and talking to the others about their plans for the walk.

They all shuffled outside, to look at the places where the turtles laid their eggs or some such, but as they headed towards the shore, his gaze drifted back to the restaurant. Unfortunately, he didn't think that he had just landed a date with his incredible charm. There was something up with the whole situation.

(As she guided them to the surf, she said: "You should try to do this sort of thing in a group, you know. It's easy to get in over your head.")

There were two layers to the website and the society. There were the genuine birdwatchers and that sort- a respectable pastime, if dangerous in this environment- and then there were people like Elisabeth. She liked birds as much as the next gal, but she was there because there was something… greater afoot.

She wasn't the first. She had been 'initiated', had learned the ropes from another person who understood what actually happened on the barrier islands up and down this particular stretch of coast. All she had done was modernize things slightly.

(Technically, if she really wanted to, she could get the info out. She wouldn't even need a print shop or a contact in the papers or anything, what with the power of the internet. Still, she had the urgency of secrecy hammered into her. Keep the island as under control as possible, or people will start noticing… And good God above if this 'job' wasn't scary enough, imagining those things in the hands of the government? Horrifying.)

Sometimes she liked to imagine what it would be like if this was a real job, if she got a fat check from the government and all the help she could want. Sometimes, she also liked to imagine if she won the lottery. Didn't mean shit.

Justin, the new guy, seemed nice enough, and if he was that guy online, he was dangerously close to the range of Long Claws. Normally, the process was longer- Rishab had planted the idea in her brain that there might be agents or something attempting to join and she had never known peace since- but if he was so close, he needed to be warned.

She might have done it that day, but she had some other obligations… like the Fox. It wasn't even winter, and she was acting like a bitch in heat. (Well, technically she was a vixen, but she was such a pain in the rear bitch also applied.) The one thing you could usually count on was that they were predictable, but now?

A quiet night and some booze… that sounded just right, even if it wasn't his preferred poison tonight. The town wasn't fully dry, but unless you wanted to drive to the next one over, you couldn't get anything much harder than beer.

Maybe that was a good thing- he didn't want to get too drunk too quickly, not when the stars were so beautiful. The waves slid up the shore and retreated, again and again, and he sat down just a bit past their highest point. He popped open a bottle and slipped the cap into his pocket. He wasn't entirely sure if this stretch of beach was his, legally, but he wasn't going to litter near his house.

Closing his eyes, he could hear the waves lapping on the shore, the gentle wind, the chatter of various animals… it was serene. For him, at least. He heard the loud cry of some distant owl. There was no sound of the owl in flight, but he imagined some poor woodland creature swept up in piercing claws. The night certainly wasn't serene for that poor thing.

After a few minutes, another sound joined the medley: footsteps, and something swishing in the sand. It took a moment longer to realize what exactly the issue was before he shot to his feet and turned on his flashlight.

(Immediately, his night vision was all shot to shit, but that didn't really matter.)

The first things that stuck out were gray hair and massive claws. A moment later, his eyes were drawn to the swaying tail behind her, easily as long as he was tall and thick with muscle. Smaller details: a streak of red in the hair; eyes that were violently, unnaturally blue; a tattered dress whose lines hinted at a mouthful of razor teeth; and, oh yeah, the arms. Muscular, certainly, but out of scale and malformed- probably to the handle aforementioned huge claws.

She was the source of those tracks: the claws were left to drag in the sand, the tail swayed behind.

The eyes- so blue they seemed to glow in the night- were desperate, almost pleading. She stared at him like he was the only object in the world, ignoring the way the flashlight went directly into her face. He lowered it and saw that she was lifting the claws as if reaching out to touch-

Her claw passed through a fencepost half buried in the sand. Not in the ghostly sense, that it passed through with no contact… the claws were more than just razor sharp. They cut with such terrible efficiency that no more effort than what she was already using was needed. They just cut straight through, and chunks of post fell to the ground.

… Oh shit.

She was still reaching out, and as sad as those mournful eyes were, the idea of becoming mincemeat was a lot more sad. (Looking closer, he could see the flesh was mottled with scar tissue. The face was mostly spared, the legs were worse, the arms were a wreck.)

He took a step back as the wind turned, a smell like rotten fish and sea salt slamming into his nose.

How far was he from his house? He thought… half a mile, maybe. Although he wouldn't bet on those old walls, not against the woman with the razor-sharp claws. There was also some part of him that just… didn't want to leave her. The claws were dangerous, he could recognize that- step back, keep on stepping back- but he couldn't help but think about how unfortunate the poor girl was.

She was sluggish. Slow to walk, slow to turn… it was probably the malformed arms and the heavy tail. (The tail was constantly shifting and adjusting, this way or that. A counterbalance?) For all that she was dangerous, he couldn't help but find her… pitiable. Looking at all those scars… did she accidentally do it to herself?

He felt a strange urge to do… something. Help her, somehow. Preferably without getting those claws all up in his face. When was the last time that she had a real conversation with someone? Been touched by someone, in any capacity?

"Hey…" he said. "You uh, have a name?"

She opened her mouth, but words didn't come out. The eyes grew even more mournful if that was even possible.

"Okay… I want to help you. Want to hang out with you. But I really don't want to get shredded, yeah?" Those eyes were pleading, and she seemed to lower her claws a bit…

He looked down for a moment and found the six-pack of beer he had brought with him. Unfortunately, it seemed like he had dropped his bottle opener somewhere when he saw her. He knelt down and grabbed one. "You drink?"

Her head tilted to the side as she analyzed the bottle, but she nodded. Now how did he open it? He looked up at the girl, who was keeping a bit of distance, and his eyes drifted down to those big old claws. Carefully, he held out the bottle to her.

After a moment, her eyes widened in understanding. She lifted an arm and- holy shit. She may have been slow walking around, but good God that arm could move. The bottle was tidily beheaded, and thankfully, his hand was perfectly fine.

"Thanks." He said.

There was the faintest hint of a smile there, and he grinned as well. Now there was just the minor problem of getting the booze into her mouth, considering the claws. Could they maybe fit the bottle in between two of the claws?

He tried and she sliced the bottle in half. Whoops. Another decapitated bottle, and he tried something a touch more dangerous. "Can you just… stick those claws in the sand for me? Please?"

Did they not grow dull? He couldn't imagine she would be sharpening them on purpose. They sunk into the sand, and he walked up to give her some beer. Carefully, because he didn't want her lips on the cut glass. (Up close, he could see the teeth were razor sharp. Shark teeth, in gleaming rows.)

She took a few gulps, before croaking: "I'd prefer a pilsner."

He nearly jumped. "You can talk!"

"Thirsty." She said. "Seawater doesn't…"

"Doesn't work, yeah." He wasn't sure about freshwater sources on the island… she certainly couldn't use a fountain or hose, for a whole bunch of reasons. "Could you go for some food?"

She nodded.

"Follow me. And uh, do me a solid and don't ruin my house?"

Getting her fed and watered was a logistical challenge, but he knew all the poor girl needed was just a bit of help. Still, he eventually realized he shouldn't be thinking of her as 'that poor girl' or 'claws chick' or whatever.

"You got a name?"

"Admiral Graf Spee."

"Uh… sure. Can I call you Spee?"

She nodded.

Getting her inside was another issue, just because of the doorway. She had to hold her claws very carefully in front of her- which was certainly a hazard- and tail smacked the doorframe heavily. (Hey, he had just repainted that!)

It was awkward because she had trouble sitting comfortably without scratching up his floor, but she was so overjoyed with the idea of human contact that she was willing to put up with it. It also meant she got a taste of his 'delightful home cooking'.

Unfortunately, it got late and he ran through his food supplies. There was just one thing he was tempted to do before she went: "You uh, want a hug?"

He wondered for a moment if that was a bit too far, but her face lit up brilliantly, her blue eyes genuinely glowing, brighter than the lights in his own house. Carefully, he manuevered around the claws and…

(The skin was smooth to the touch one way, but the other way it was practically sandpaper. Rather like real sharkskin, he thought.)

After that, he escorted her back to the beach. She was giddy, and not quite as careful with the claws as she probably should have been– she shredded a few bushes on the way, but he managed to guide her away from his backyard– but they got back to the shore unbloodied.

For a moment, he wondered if she would just… walk off somewhere, but something else happened instead. Something grew between the claws, translucent and filmy, creeping up their length, making them sort of webbed. Gross… but functional, he supposed. She dove into the water and practically shot away.

"Seeya, Spee!"

He spent a few moments just watching the ocean as the girl swam away. Would she come back? He couldn't tell. He lost sight of her almost immediately, so he was just sort of looking around the coastline. There were barely any lights at this time of night… but it seemed like there was some sort of bonfire a ways down the coast? He swore he hadn't seen it earlier. It must have gotten really big real quick.

The next day, he arrived at the diner ten minutes early. Elisabeth, it turned out, was even earlier… although maybe she shouldn't have been. Her left arm was positively covered in gauze.

"Burnt myself cooking yesterday." She said.

He looked at the massive swath of bandages and back up at her face, which was completely serious.

"Sure." He said. "You, uh, wanted to talk?"

"Yeah. You settling in properly?"

"Mhmm. But I, uh, saw the thing that made the tracks."

Her face paled. "You did? You're…" she leaned to look him over, as if searching for his own bandages.

"She wasn't that bad, actually."

She leaned towards him. "Yeah, that's what she wants you to think!" She hissed.

"Because it's true?"

"Justin, did you feel… weird yesterday? Would you have really hung out with any old stranger who approached you on the beach?"

He thought about it. How he was so accommodating of a random girl- one who smelled like a corpse and who had razor claws- and realized… it was a bit odd, at least at first. Why hadn't he… run away? She looked like she could have come from a horror movie.

"No."

"That's what she does, Justin. You don't think straight around them."

"Them?"

She sighed and fished a floppy disk out of a pocket. "I wanted to get you used to the idea first… but I think you'll need all the help you can get."

"She was perfectly nice!" He argued.

"Maybe she was. They're not all that way." She warned, gesturing to the bandages wrapping her arm…

"Was that fire yesterday you guys?"

Her eyes widened. "Christ almighty, where the hell do you live?"

Apparently, he lived in one of the island's hotspots. Or at least, he lived in a spot near other hotspots. There would be more info on the floppy.

It seemed largely unremarkable until he inserted it in the computer, where he got his first surprise: it was big. Really big. Like, he didn't know it was physically possible for floppies to have that much space inside. Contained therein were two files: an exe called enigma2 and a text file called credits.

He decided to go with the latter.

Program written by Koln, computer provided by Rishab of the Barrier Islands Society of the United States of America.

He vaguely recognized Rishab as one of the guys in the Islands Society, but this Koln character… he wasn't sure. Still, if Elisabeth was so certain, he supposed he would make use of this Enigma 2, whatever it was.

Next time: Fox Wife, who has fire powers. Three guesses, first two don't count.

Spee's danger is largely that the pity instinct she provokes leads to you getting too close, which might lead to accidents. Not extremely dangerous- good girl at heart- but the Society were obviously spooked.

The floppy is the first of at least two supernatural artifacts left behind by shipgirls. We'll see the second in the aftermath of the next chapter.