Bloodshot eyes bulged from sockets nested in bags of dry skin. The face was so flabby, it might have been that of an obese walrus. Dea knew the man was trouble even before he flashed a leery smile. Feral human!

The human lumbered a few steps forward, uttering a string of gruff words. A scream built up in her chest akin to a volcano poised to erupt. Dea jerked the Cypod back and plunged a hand into the backpack on her lap. Her frantic fingers jabbed at the ogi inside. The Merlingo app loaded, and the earpiece beeped when she activated real-time translation.

He spewed out a few more words, and Merlingo translated them in her ear with a minor lag, "What are you doing out here, infant?"

Infant? It's a lesser-known human language, you silly gull! Of course the translation's not always accurate. She kept backing away, inch by inch, while her eyes fixated on the man. Coconut fronds rustled overhead, and muted percussion throbbed like a war drum from the factory building. Her hand closed over the pocket knife. Don't make sudden moves. Slowly...

"Fine chair you got there. Never seen anything like it." He took another step towards her. "Aw, don't run away."

Now! Dea spun around, wheels clattering on asphalt. Her heart hammered a violent beat in her chest, and adrenaline pulsed, flooding her system. She barely gained a meter before another human jumped out of a bush, cutting her off. She shrieked and lashed out with the pocket knife.

When she whirled around and fled, her mind had a nanosecond to register an angry red line on the second man's cheek, accompanied by an equally angry howl. It took her a second more to realize that she was barreling through the open maw of the building—into the dusk within. Human figures let out exclamations and attempted to pursue her.

Stacks of crates and black tarp flew by in a blur. The yells behind her gave way to rhythmic booms of machinery that reverberated off the walls. The sinister aura, aggravated by the heaviness in the air, seeped into her very soul and fueled her panic. Within minutes, the Cypod's momentum sent her hurtling down a corridor, its walls a dirty charcoal grey.

The sonar! Use it to find an exit! That opening can't be the only way in and out of this place. Dea skidded to a halt, avoiding collision with a crate by a hair's breadth. She inhaled noisily and tasted a concoction of molecules in the air. Her brain discerned faint notes that registered as rust. When she recovered a semblance of calm, her eyes sought the ogi, its soft glow barely penetrating the gloom. She used it to fire out ultrasonic clicks. The unmistakable form of an exit showed up on the feed.

Let's go, let's go! She raced towards it, wheels spinning lightning fast. The Cypod's whir echoed in the dank space, and the wetness on the floor gleamed under intermittent lighting. As Dea rounded a corner, her gaze landed on industrial doors that broke the monotony of the wall. This was her escape. Freedom lay beyond. A weight coalesced in her chest, aching for release.

She tamped down the sob, dashed up to the door and unbolted it. The metal oozed iciness into her skin as she yanked at the handles with all of her strength. When the door opened, spilling in blinding light, she experienced elation akin to leveling up in Empire Ocean.

Dea burst out into the open, squinting against the brightness. Then she slowed down to get her bearings.

The place appeared to be a dock, where damp concrete met the chaos of crates, tarp and cargo vehicles. Obstructing the ocean view was a steel hulk of a ship, rigid geometry giving it the appearance of a floating factory. Next to it were its minions—smaller vessels smothered with lines and unsightly metal.

Is this some kind of port then? Dea's eyes darted to the chain-link fence that marked the property's perimeter, beyond which was a line of shrubs forming a second barrier. At the farthest point of the fence, she could just make out a broken edge. She rolled the Cypod into action and whizzed to it. The hole wasn't big enough to squeeze through, but her multi-tool knife made short work of the wire.

Dea crashed through the wilderness. Twigs thwacked her arms and clinked against the Cypod, which lurched its way on the uneven terrain. As time ticked by, bushes shrank down to weedy undergrowth, interspersed with coconut palms that formed an openwork canopy above.

The ground abruptly ended on a road.

Dea went on, eyeballing the scattering of modest housing on the opposite side. The Cypod's wheels barely touched the asphalt before she grew aware of the land vehicle.

It tore down the road in a blaze of colors and sirens—straight at her. A scream ripped out of her throat.

The vehicle veered off a meter before collision and jerked to a halt.

Dea gulped in a lungful of air in her effort to stop trembling and watched two uniformed males jump out. Their legs propelled them towards her in a fast walk, which displayed surprising agility compared to animated humans in movies. This has to be either a medical emergency or law enforcement. She decided it was the latter.

The shorter of the two officers phonated an alien sentence, which ended with what sounded like, "Monavada mehe karanne?"

"Miss, are you hurt?" said the merman voice from her ogi app an instant later. "What are you doing here?"

The cogs in her brain turned while she marveled at the fact that a real human was conversing with her. What are the odds of me swimming into human cops? Most importantly, she wondered if they'd point out the way. Realizing that they might find her earpiece odd, she reached up a hand to hide it with her hair. The sun was fiery on land—her head felt so hot she thought Gramma could use it to cook coconut rotis. A pinch of dull pain reminded her where the bot drilled into her scalp.

"You can't speak Sinhalese?" The taller officer inquired, peering down at her. "Are you a foreigner?"

Dea slid her hands into the backpack on her lap and managed to type out a response on Merlingo. Then she hit the "translate aloud" icon and enabled the loudspeaker.

A pleasant female voice wafted out from the hidden ogi, "Yes, I'm a foreigner. What are you doing here?"

The men exchanged a look.

The short guy swept a hand through his hair. "We're heading to the shanty neighborhood nearby—a brawl turned violent."

"You should come with us," the other added. "We'll sort out this business and give you a ride to the city."

Her heart leaped at the offer, but a quick glance at the Cypod made her deflate. Not like I can get out and stow this away. She wondered how they would react to her tail. No, I shouldn't expose myself to random humans—not yet.

Dea bowed her head and peered into her bag to tap out a message, though she had to hit the back button several times. Covert typing wasn't easy. So intense was her concentration that she realized her tongue was sticking out.

She finally hit the translate icon and straightened up, aware of how painfully long and awkward this conversation was turning out to be.

"Thank you for your offer, but I decline," the ogi announced, interrupted by a bird's screech—much to Dea's annoyance. "Please go break up the beach fight. Before you go, I'd be grateful if you could show me where North Salmalwatte is."

They exchanged another look.

"We can't exactly leave you here in the middle of nowhere," Short Guy muttered. "Where are you staying?"

"I'm not planning on staying here. I'm just visiting."

Judging by his expression, he found that very strange. "What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Dea. I come from the ocean."

Tall Guy regarded her. "You mean an island? Where?"

"Um, Calliathron?"

The Mermish term seemed to render them speechless for a prolonged moment.

"What? That's—I can't even make out those sounds," Tall Guy said, bemusement stamped on his face. "Can I see your passport?"

Passport? Calm down. Deep breaths. Dea let out an exhale. "I don't have it with me right now."

The warble of birds sounded shriller than usual. The very wind whooshed louder as if it was eager to fill in the quiet.

Short Guy spoke up, and the disembodied merman voice hastened to decipher it and whisper in her ear, "You're hoping to book a carriage?"

Huh? Carriage? She glanced at the four-wheeled vehicle painted black and white like an orca. Maybe one of those. The guy said "car". The human lingo database obviously needed an update. She made a mental note to flag inaccurate translation.

"I don't have money on me to book one," she informed them.

"Then you'd have to come with us," the taller officer said, shifting his weight.

She mentally sifted through her research on land transportation. "Are the giant public vehicles free to use?"

"What?"

While Dea pondered how to describe it, one of the vehicles in question came trundling down the road. It was as gaudy as a parrotfish, its exterior splattered with adverts. She whooped inwardly and pointed a finger at it.

"You mean a bus?" Short Guy asked, a quizzical frown lodged on his forehead.

Merlingo didn't attempt to translate the term and merely repeated it, which prompted her to nod. "Yes, that."

The bus juddered to a halt. A minute later, the two officers carried out a conversation with the driver, though Dea only managed to translate snippets of the hurried exchange.

"You can get onboard, miss," Short Guy said as the plug doors dinged open and a ramp extended out.

"Oh, thank you." Dea bestowed a smile on them and slid the Cypod into the human bus. That went well.

The ride to the bustling innards of the city turned out to be a smooth current. Positioned by a window, she watched the panorama unfold with the serenity of a time-lapse sequence.

Coconut trees and scattered homes gave way to bourgeois suburbs, where human houses overwhelmed the vegetation. Droves of land vehicles in all shapes and sizes clogged the intricate road network, while shopfronts vied for attention with a miscellany of items that mesmerized her.

The sensory overload didn't stop there. What struck her the most were the humans—hundreds, thousands or even ten thousand. They spilled out from the shops and scurried everywhere like an army of crabs—except they tottered on their ungainly legs with mastery that left her breathless.

"This is insane," she muttered, drinking in the scene laid out under the glorious sun.

A human vocalized next to her over the cacophony of city noises. She started and turned.

A thin child held onto a pole and gawked at her.

The ogi translated the words through her earpiece, "Your hair's so pretty. And your chair."

"Thank you," Dea said with a grin but realized too late that she wouldn't understand.

The child seemed to infer the meaning. She grinned back and scuttled back to her mother. That was when Dea grew aware of the fair number of discreet glances thrown her way. Self-consciousness stirred inside. Head held high, she smoothed her hair and directed her gaze back outside.

It was just as well, since the city center loomed in the distance in glistening silver, and a spire jutted out to scrape the heavens. Her eyes tracked the spectacle as indescribable joy welled in her heart. I'm smack in the middle of a human city! Holy sea cow!

The bus turned onto a residential street, where buildings stood in tight clusters reminiscent of tubeworms. Then it slowed to a stop. After the doors slid open, the driver got up to unfold the ramp.

"Your stop," he told Dea, moving aside and giving her a view of the narrow sidewalk.

She blinked. This is my destination?

In response to the driver's questioning look, she mustered up a smile and alighted. Soon after, the bus droned off.

Dea barely managed to orient herself in her new surroundings before a woman waddled out from the building in front. Words tumbled out of her mouth in quick succession, bringing to mind the wheeze honks of a seal.

Merlingo translated the rapid slew of gibberish, "Hello, dear, you must be Dea? These good officers from the SCPD called me to say you'd be arriving. Welcome, welcome. I hear you're using a phone to speak Sinhalese?"

Dea recovered enough to type out a reply. "Thank you. Is this North Salmalwatte?"

"What a funny way to pronounce it!" She let out a laugh. "Your phone is as foreign as you are. Yes, indeed."

So, I'm here! A phone must be a land ogi. Holding her excitement at bay, she glanced behind the woman. The structure she surfaced from was a three-storied affair with an unassuming, grey facade.

The woman gestured with a plump arm. "Do you want to come in now, dear?"

"May I know what this place is?" Dea asked, her face slack with confusion.

"How silly of me! Let me introduce myself. I'm Shiromi. This is a shelter for young girls—the best in the city. And I'm the matron."

The confusion went up a notch, creasing her brow into a frown. "So why am I here?"

"Oh, I'm sure something or other might have led you to wander out by the sea with no money or a passport. The officers believe this is the best place for you until we find out how we can help you and reunite you with your family."

Wow! Maybe they think I have amnesia or something. Dea hastened to say, "Thank you for your kindness, but I'm not exactly lost. I'm in a bit of a hurry—"

"Of course, dear. Let's just get inside, shall we? And we can discuss it more." Shiromi waved her arms in sweeping motions that prompted Dea to comply. "We're quite busy today actually. We're expecting an important guest. What a day for you to pop by."

Dea's impatience escalated into a formidable force. "I need to get going. I have to meet someone as soon as possible."

"Indeed. Maybe we can place a call and ask this person to come pick you up?" The woman held the door open for her to go in.

"That'd be great!" She glided into the modest lobby. "But I don't have communication details."

The woman closed the door behind them. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

What struck her just then was the total dryness in the interior—there wasn't even an inch of water on the floor. Dea's gaze panned all over the place, done in pleasant pastel hues. Then she did a double-take.

"Who are you expecting today?" her rapid-fire question issued from the ogi in her bag.

"Oh, the prime minister's son," the woman replied immediately. "He's a minister himself. And a benefactor of our little establishment."

Dea kept goggling at the object that grabbed her undivided attention.

A welcome banner hung from the ceiling—adorned with familiar squiggles that spelled out the name of none other than Dilip Goonewardane.

Quick Note: Enjoying the story so far? Just wanted to give you a quick disclaimer!

Many elements in Serendiva is inspired by Sri Lanka. So I picked the name "Goonewardane" back when I was writing this during the ONC period (February - April). I mean, there are comments that fellow ONC-ers have left next to the name in Chap 3. I picked it 'cause it's a common name here, and it's got "goon" in it.

Back then, no one could have known that SL would go through drastic changes in a short time and an actual Mr. Gunewardena would become the PM by July. Two things you need to know from this incident: the name is as far as similarities go and the universe has a funny sense of humor. Again, I want to state here that this is a work of fiction and this is purely coincidental. For the record, I have zero interest in politics and know little about the subject.

Animal: Glass Octopus

https://youtu.be/FIe2zG_I4ro