"Vocal test. Vocal test… My—uh—my name is Doctor… no—"
He stopped. A sharp inhale. His hand trembled as he reached forward and stops the recording.
Silence.
He stared at nothing for a second, jaw tight, then reset it.
A soft click.
"Take number thirty-six." His voice was steadier at first, but it didn't hold. "Hello. My name is Malcolm Jenkins. I'm from—uh—California. Graduated from Harvard University, class of 2006. I have a PhD in Virology and Cellular Pathogenesis…" A pause. His lips pressed together faintly. "Though I don't believe that holds much operational value anymore."
His breathing grew heavier—too aware, too loud in his own ears.
"I—" He swallowed. "I recently regained consciousness following a forty-five-day coma."
His hands moved almost automatically, clinical habit overriding hesitation. He pulled his shirt off slowly, like the motion didn't fully belong to him.
"As you can observe…" His fingers hovered near his shoulder before stopping short. "…there is a bite wound. Origin: shrieker." His voice tightened slightly. "Tissue regeneration is… accelerated. Abnormally so."
His leg started bouncing—fast, uneven.
"And here—" he gestured down his torso, briefly looking at the faint surgical line, "—a surgical incision. Extensive. Clean work." His voice faltered. "Too clean."
A beat.
"And the laceration along the face. Also from the shrieker." He exhaled shakily. "The attack was… severe. I remember the cold. Not metaphorical—actual temperature drop, rapid. Blood loss from the shoulder… significant. Sensory degradation followed." His voice lowered. "There was intent. Predatory. Directed." His fingers curled slightly. "It wasn't just being hunted—it felt… observed. Like I was already—"
He stopped.
A pause stretched.
His breathing was louder now in the quiet room.
"…And yet," he continued more softly, "I am… alive."
He said it like he was still trying to verify it.
He looked around the room properly this time—slower, more deliberate.
"I am currently located in… an unfamiliar environment. Yve stated this is her village." A faint, uncertain frown formed. "Structurally inconsistent with expectations. Feels… enclosed. Dry."
Another pause.
Then his expression tightened slightly.
"…But I can smell the ocean."
His head tilted, like he was trying to isolate it in the air.
"Salinity levels… high. Persistent. It's everywhere." His breathing began to uneven again. "I can differentiate layers—temperature gradients, particulate traces—this isn't residual, this is—"
He stopped himself.
A quiet exhale.
"And the auditory range…" He winced faintly. "Everything is amplified. Excessively so. Even my own voice is—"
He broke off, letting out a strained breath.
A scoff escaped him, but it carried no humor. "…God. This is… stupid."
His hand rose and pressed briefly against his temple.
"So the purpose of this recording is because I am trained to—trained to document everything. That's what they taught me at the university. At work. That's what a scientist does. I just—"
He stood up abruptly.
"What's even the point?" His voice cracked slightly. "No one is listening."
He started pacing, the tablet still recording from where it had been left. His steps were uneven, restless, too fast for the space he was in.
Then he walked toward the camera—stopping midway.
A sudden wave hit him.
His vision tilted.
He felt it before he understood it: dizziness, sharp and immediate. A warmth at his nose.
He touched it instinctively.
Blood.
He exhaled sharply and lowered himself back onto the bed instead of forcing the movement through.
"…Right," he muttered. "Yve warned me about this. Radiation sickness. Post-exposure response."
A short, humorless laugh escaped him.
"For them it's… just a normal sick day." He shook his head faintly. "If I tell my past self what that means, he'd institutionalize me on the spot."
He leaned back slightly, pressing the blanket against his face as if trying to steady himself.
Then he noticed it properly.
"…Black."
His fingers pulled away just enough to confirm it again.
"Black blood."
A pause.
"I didn't know that was compatible with… being alive."
His gaze drifted unfocused.
"I wonder how my mother would react to this," he said quietly. Then, softer: "If she's even still alive."
A breath slipped out of him.
"I'm just so tired."
The recording continued, but his attention slipped away from it.
His voice lowered into something less structured, less intentional.
"Am I even… alive?" he murmured.
He lifted his hand slightly, staring at it as if it belonged to someone else.
"My pulse is stable," he said faintly. "Though I don't need to check it anymore."
A faint, disoriented laugh followed.
"I can hear it."
His eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
"It's like… it's right next to me. Inside me. Thump… thump… thump…"
He swallowed again, slower this time.
"Can anyone else hear that?" he asked softly, like it was a genuine question. "Like blood is being poured beside your ears and everything is muffled… all the time."
A cough cut through the air.
It came harder this time.
He pulled his hand away—
Black blood again.
"…Still happening," he said, almost detached. "I guess that's normal now."
Another pause.
"What even is normal?"
A weak, broken laugh escaped him.
"I felt it. The blood. I felt it rising before I even realized it was happening. That's… new."
His body finally gave up on staying upright. He sank fully onto the bed.
Silence stretched.
Then, quieter—repetitive, grounding, slipping:
"I'm Malcolm Jenkins. My name is Malcolm Jenkins. Doctor Malcolm Jenkins. MD… PhD…"
The words repeated, slower each time, losing structure.
"…My name is Doctor Malcolm Jenkins."
Again.
Again.
"…Malcolm Jenkins."
Until the rhythm stopped being intentional. And sleep took him.
~~~
Yve paused the video, and the hologram went still.
Silence dropped back into the room.
She turned her head slightly toward Jenkins then back at the video. He was still asleep on the bed, breathing slow and even, the blanket near him stained with dried blood from his nose and mouth.
Yve exhaled through her nose, long and heavy. "…I'm really sorry," she murmured.
She set the tablet down carefully, like sudden movement might make everything worse, then turned toward the closet in the corner.
She pulled out a clean set of blankets and a bowl, moving with quiet, practiced motions that didn't quite match how tense her shoulders were.
Back at the bed, she replaced the stained blanket first, smoothing it over him with more care than necessary. Then she set the bowl on the nearby table and covered the food she had brought, making sure it wouldn't cool too fast.
She hesitated before picking up the tablet again and leaving a short note beside it—quick, functional, but deliberate.
Only then did she step back.
Jenkins hadn't moved.
Still asleep. Still unaware of the recording that had broken him open while he lay unconscious.
Yve stood there for a moment, watching him as if trying to make sure he was real.
Then, quieter—almost to herself: "…Thank you for waking up," she said. A pause. "For surviving."
Her fingers tightened slightly at her side. "…I'm really sorry. For everything."
She didn't wait for an answer as she turned and left the secret base.
She swam away from the base and back toward her home, currents folding around her in familiar patterns. The tension from Jenkins still clung to her thoughts, quiet but persistent.
As she approached the outer ridge near her dwelling, she slowed.
She stopped sharply when she spotted Lysander waiting near the stone outcrop. "What are you doing here?" she asked, cautious.
Lysander tilted his head slightly. "Something smells fishy. Where have you been?"
Yve exhaled, unimpressed. "Look around you. There are fish everywhere. Of course it smells fishy."
"No. No" His tone sharpened a fraction. "You know that's not what I mean."
She placed her hands on her hips, tail flicking once behind her. "And what do you mean?"
He studied her for a moment longer than necessary. "You smell like blood."
Yve didn't flinch. Instead, she raised a brow. "Are you sure you're not smelling my ovulation?"
Lysander blinked, then recoiled slightly. "Oh. You're on that cycle. That's… something."
Yve scoffed. "Excuse you. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be here at all. Be grateful for once."
"That is not an argument I want to engage with," he said flatly.
"You call the topic of ovulation an argument?" she replied. "Wow. That's offensive for all female sirens."
He sighed, already turning away. "Can we stop saying that word."
"Ovulation," she repeated deliberately.
Lysander visibly winced. "Okay. I'm leaving."
Yve waved a hand dismissively. "Good. Go be useless somewhere else."
He paused just long enough to shoot her a look. "You're really acting weird these past weeks."
"And you're still here," she called after him. "So what does that make you?"
Lysander didn't answer. He just swam off.
Yve exhaled sharply once Lysander was gone.
The water around her had already begun to settle, but the tension didn't.
She paused mid-swim, then slowly brought a hand to her arm and caught a faint scent. "…I do smell of blood," she muttered.
Her expression tightened. Without another word, she turned and headed into her home.
Inside, the space was quiet in a way that felt heavier than the ocean outside. Familiar. Contained. Safe, but only in structure—not in thought.
She moved to her room and stopped at her dresser.
A glass tablet rested there.
She picked it up carefully and wiped its surface with her palm, clearing away a thin layer of residue that didn't really matter but gave her something to do with her hands.
As the surface brightened, an image appeared inside it.
Yve stared at it for a moment.
A long breath left her. "…Hey, Dad," she said quietly.
Her grip tightened slightly around the frame. "Sander's onto me. I don't know how long I can keep Jenkins down here, but…" A pause. "I'm trying. Really."
Silence answered, as it always did.
She swallowed.
"It would be nice if you were here," she added softer. "I know you'd help me hide him."
Her gaze dropped slightly, the weight in her shoulders settling deeper.
"What do I do?" she murmured. "There's nothing in the Black Doctrine of Conversion for this. No instructions. No protocol. Nothing about how to speak to a human after you've rewritten what they are."
She sank onto the edge of her bed, still holding the frame.
Nothing moved in the room except her breathing.
"But you would know what to say," she said after a moment. "You always did."
Her eyes stayed on the image. Longer than she intended.
Then suddenly, a sharp banging came from the front door.
"Yve. Yve."
Her focus snapped back into the room. The glass frame was quickly set down on the dresser, her expression resetting in an instant as if nothing had happened.
She moved through her home and opened the door.
Outside stood several sirens, posture tense, expressions carefully controlled. "If my door breaks, I'm telling my mother," Yve said flatly.
One of them inclined their head. "We apologize, Yve. The villagers have been… persistent on this matter."
She narrowed her eyes. "What matter."
A pause.
"Almost two months ago, you brought a human male down here," the siren said carefully. "The community has been asking… where he is now."
Yve let out a slow breath through her nose. "This again?"
Her tone sharpened. "I already told you. He's dead. He died. Why are we still discussing this?"
Another siren shifted slightly. "Please do not be distressed, Ms. Virellis. It is only that the community fears possible retaliation from humankind should they learn a human died within our waters."
Yve stepped out fully now, posture straightening, authority settling into her voice like armor. "How many times do I have to say this," she said coldly. "No one is retaliating. There will be no consequences. Humans have their own disasters to deal with right now. Trust me—they are not thinking about us. They don't even know we exist."
The siren hesitated. "But you previously said they are aware."
"Yes," Yve replied immediately. "My family. The humans I trust. That is it."
A beat.
"The same humans who fired upon you?" the siren asked.
Yve's jaw tightened. A low, irritated sound left her throat. "My heavens," she muttered, "will this never end?"
Her gaze cut across them. "What exactly do you expect me to do? Walk out there and announce, 'Hello, I lied, sirens do not exist, everything you saw was an illusion."
"That would be… ill-advised," the siren admitted.
"Exactly."
A calmer voice spoke again. "We only wish to protect the community. That is all."
Yve exhaled sharply. "Then say what you want. Quickly."
A brief hesitation.
"We request confirmation of the human's death."
Yve blinked once. "What do you mean confirmation? I already buried him. Do you want me to dig him back up?"
"No," the siren replied quickly. "A memorial. A formal funeral rite may ease concerns among the villagers."
Silence.
Yve stared at them for a long moment, then slowly closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. "…Fine," she said at last. "I will handle it."
Her eyes opened again, sharper now. "But I will organize it. I will oversee it. And if anyone disturbs that grave, I will personally bury you beside him. Understood?"
A collective pause.
"Understood," they answered.
One of them bowed slightly. "And… apologies for the door."
Yve waved a hand dismissively. "Just leave me alone."
They hesitated, then began to withdraw.
Before they left fully, one added carefully, "Please do not inform the Chieftess."
Yve's expression didn't change. "I said leave."
They did.
After making sure everyone had left, Yve shut the door behind her and stood there for a moment.
A long, slow breath left her.
"I am so—argh—freaking villagers," she muttered under her breath.
She rubbed her face once, then pushed the feeling aside and moved toward the back of the house.
The water outside was calmer here, darker, less disturbed by tail traffic and voices.
She passed through the rear exit and made her way toward the far corner of the yard.
The grave was still there.
Neat. Quiet. Undisturbed.
A stone marker stood at its head. "Malcolm Jenkins. First human to be buried in a siren's home."
Yve stared at it for a second longer than she intended. "…So weird," she said quietly.
No ceremony. No audience. Just her voice and the weight of something that didn't feel like it should exist.
She exhaled and turned away.
Already planning.
If they wanted confirmation, she would give them confirmation.
She returned to her room and retrieved Jenkins' blood bag in a concealed container from one of her hidden storage compartments.
She didn't look at it for long.
Back outside, she reopened the shallow grave with controlled movements, careful not to disturb the structure too much. The motion was efficient—nothing ceremonial about it, just purpose.
She created small punctures in the blood bag, then placed it within.
The blood inside shifted slightly as it started to leak out in small amounts.
She buried it again.
Layer by layer, restoring the surface until nothing looked out of place.
When she finished, she paused and leaned slightly forward, inhaling once.
The scent lingered strongly beneath the soil. "…Yeah," she murmured. "Definitely human."
A faint, humorless breath escaped her. "Can't believe I'm actually good at lying," she added under her breath. "Another skill mastered."
~~~
The next morning, a few villagers and officers gathered for a simple funeral in the Virellis backyard.
The space was quiet in a restrained way—no grandeur, no spectacle. Just presence. Just acknowledgment.
Yve stood beside the grave.
Her posture was steady, controlled.
In her hand, she held a single scale she had removed from herself, catching the dim light as she lifted it slightly.
Her gaze swept over those gathered before settling back on the grave.
"Jenkins is a kind human," she began.
Her voice was calm, but it carried clearly through the space.
"When they first discovered my identity, I thought my time on the surface had come to an end. But Jenkins… was not afraid of me. I saw no fear in his eyes. Only fascination."
A brief pause.
"It was awkward at first. He was cautious. Testing everything. But I understand that now. Humans are wary of what they do not understand."
She lowered the scale slightly, fingers tightening around it.
"In my time on the surface, I have learned something important. Sirens and humans are not as different as we assume. Not biologically—but in what defines us."
Her eyes softened, though her voice remained steady.
"The things we care about. The people we choose to protect. The way we endure, even when we are afraid. Those things are the same."
A faint breath left her.
"Difference in form does not change the heart. And what matters… is that both can still choose to care. To love. To continue despite fear."
Her gaze lingered on the grave.
"And Jenkins…" she continued, quieter now, "I know him as a man devoted to science. Someone who chased answers even when they did not exist yet. He was persistent beyond reason. Even when it cost him rest, even when it cost him certainty."
A pause.
"He wanted to understand life itself. To find a cure—not only for others, but for the limits placed upon them. He did not stop simply because it was difficult. He stopped only when he could not anymore."
Her grip on the scale loosened slightly.
"He was curious. Stubborn. Frustrating at times," she added, a faint flicker of something almost like a smile crossing her expression for a second before fading, "but he never turned away from what he believed mattered."
Silence followed.
Yve lowered her hand.
"And I believe," she finished, voice softer now, "that even now… that part of him remains unchanged."
The water around them stayed still.
No one spoke for a moment after she stopped.
She continued after a brief silence. "And Jenkins… I really hope you can hear me," she added, voice tightening slightly. "I just want to say I am truly sorry. For failing to save you."
A pause lingered. "I hope," Yve said more softly now, "that in your second life—if reincarnation is real—you remains the man I knew."
Her gaze stayed on the grave. "A man filled with passion. With love for life. A man willing to sacrifice himself to save others."
Her fingers curled faintly around the scale. "I am truly sorry," she repeated, quieter. "And I hope that someday… wherever your soul is… you can forgive me. For what I did."
A breath.
"I don't know the words to lessen your distress, or ease your burden," she continued, "but I want you to know—you were my friend. One of my favorite humans."
Her expression shifted briefly, softer, almost embarrassed at herself.
"Thank you for letting me into your lab that day," she added. "And… I am sorry for causing chaos in it. I really did not mean to slip and fall."
A small, brief chuckle escaped her—light, almost involuntary.
The villagers exchanged quiet glances, some uncertain about the phrasing, but none interrupting. They assumed grief simply spoke differently in her voice.
One by one, they stepped forward.
Each taking a scale of their own.
Yve moved first, placing hers gently on the grave. "May my aura guide you on your journey to the afterlife," she said.
The villagers followed, repeating the words in softer tones, layering their own offerings atop hers.
For a moment, the grave became something more than a marker—it became a shared acknowledgement.
When it was done, the group slowly began to disperse.
Some offered Yve brief words of condolence as they passed.
She nodded each time, polite, distant, composed. Until only the quiet remained again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note;
My goal: a realistic identity crisis. Did I succeed?