Hey, I’m up and about again. Plenty of rest for the good squid. They have stuck a new Nero into the group. Not the same one, butcher. Like the old one but crossed with a guy in a tux. This Nero speaks in abbreviated sentences. Not sure about this one, designed on paper I reckon. I love the little clay guys now. The ones who were enemies last time. Cute little clay men. Beautiful calm faces. Long red pigtails. Another face in the torso, not a clay one, a rubber one, big stretchy mouth. They have little porcelain feet so they wear big rubber boots. They give off a comforting vibe into the group. Nero holds his end up when they are there. Mockery is the darling of the top brass. The little clay men didn’t put him down. I’m intact, nobody lopped off my arms or stitched a shark onto my butt while I was asleep. I got a bit more of an onboard chemistry set. It means that I have more conscious control over my body. That was the sales spiel. All I’ve actually managed to do with it is develop a big jump and gulp manoeuvre, for what that’s worth. Nice job today, kidnap, like a bit of that, and, the comparison of our capabilities with that of the enemies is totally one sided. We can just wander about scaring normies with our new invincible clay buddies. Little guys blowing stuff up and shooting at people. We aren’t hitting them, that would be unsporting in the circumstances. A general rule is: If it runs, let it run. If it fights back, humiliate it. I’m spitting on guys and wrestling with them, you see? One guy keeps shooting me in the mouth. Little arms fighting. Come here. Mek Mek Mek. Excuse me, I was just biting his hands off. Mockery is pitter-pattering around at full speed, parping his horn like a car full of clowns. Nice to see him happy. Two little clay men squelching along behind him. Two little followers, just like the old days as a Fagin back in Hong Kong eh Mock, if your piffle can be believed. Nero appears dragging two enemies by their necks. I don’t know if I ever told you how many tentacles I have. I have two main tentacles at my rear, two underjaw ‘arms’ for lifting the target into my mouth, two smaller tentacles to serve my beak and on the upper jaw two long whisker-like tentacles and two shorter, cleverer manipulators. 10 in all. Ten tentacles. Four arms. My squid penis is in a tentacle so I still technically have only one cock and a big mouth. I’m a catch; of the day. Woke up feeling lonely today, it’s because the target is a woman so I’ve been snorting her uncut scent for the last three days. Not a lot of females turn up in the course of my daily swim so even carrying one as an unconscious passenger is something to look forward to. The look of surprise in the moment of swallowing is not something I particularly cherish. Having a passenger is paternal, maternal even, something fairly noble and respectful. I do try not to let my passengers get killed. I am trained to sacrifice myself first. I never get to see them come round, I just spit them out and go back to my pool. I hope they do wake up. I’ve put up with a lot to see them back safely and to discover that the top brass just shivs them would be a blow. If my mucus is lethal to my passengers and I am merely an assassin that brings back the body whilst putting the target through a needlessly horrifying end. It would hang on me heavily. The makers know what they do to my charges when they’ve got them back. God knows what the makers do in their labs. Slicing up children to make guard dogs. The people who would make a monster as crass as Nero2. Who would make a deal with Mockery’s Splinter: a shard broken off from pure evil. Who would cut off your legs and raise you in a tank. Who could watch hour after hour of our bloody missions, pressing the button to make Nutra decapitate a desk jockey just like them. Who go beyond their remit so that they can be near the apex of corruption and force. Mockery is a monster. This new Nero should be humanely destroyed. Nutra is outdated scrap. And I’m the worst because I used to be human, once, and I let this happen every day. More than that, I’m happy for it to go on. It’s time to let my old-squid swim free. Cocooning. Time for the human and the squid to go their separate ways. Cocooned. I am free, in the deeps. I am alone, and I have no head. I am not human. I am old-squid. I am no longer dreaming of the world on the other side of the surface.