It's deep underwater, dark, and greenish in color. Tin cans, plastic bottles, car tires, computer parts, torn-up umbrellas, mannequins, and old TV screens lie at the bottom. There's no sign of organic life besides a few empty mussel shells and dead coral reefs clinging to rock formations.

Caption:

Sometimes I feel like I enjoy life more than I can afford to--

 

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The camera pans upward, revealing the tips of the rock formations. The green hue grows lighter and more sickly. Nothing is visible on the horizon, except for three small dumbbells sinking down, leaving a trail of bubbles behind.

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Caption:

--but that’s just me being silly! I mean, obviously, some people are in worse shape than I am.

 

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The same angle. A lifeless body sinks into the sea, trailing bubbles. Chains wrap tightly around it, tethered to the three descending dumbbells. From the depths below, the silhouettes of octopus arms reach out toward the body.

 

Caption:

There goes my daily exercise routine. Of course, I mourn for my occasional lover slash best and first mate as well, not just the dumbbells.

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Caption:

Guess some people are just dealt a worse hand. Gotta learn how to appreciate what we have from time to time. Especially in these times.

 

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The camera rises again, revealing the bottom of a small ship. The last bubbles from the sinking body fade away. Below, massive octopus arms of various sizes, covered in grotesque tumors, stretch toward the vessel but fall just short. The ship has eight mismatched propellers, each differing in size, shape, and placement, creating an unsettling lack of symmetry. Its elongated hull, unusually long by standard design, is patched together with visible repairs.

 

Caption:

Was getting too crowded here. Sacrifices had to be made to feed everyone. Eggs cracked.

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Caption:

I’d give my first mate for an omelet if I hadn’t already.

 

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Above the sea, the ship looms as a shadowy silhouette, obscured by dense fog. The entire panel is shrouded in thick, gray smog, muting all color and detail.

 

Caption:

With the deck I’ve got, the smallest piece of pie I was served -even though it was my birthday-, and my share in the food pyramid, nothing can stand in my way!

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Caption:

For I prefer not to walk.

 

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The same dense fog, the same angle. The ship is closer now, its prow emerging from the mist. A statue stands at the front, but its details remain obscured.

 

Caption:

My path would most likely be blocked by an arch-nemesis of mine or something anyway.

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Caption:

Still, fun times, jolly good show, and a bucket full of lying scum! They all are.

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Caption:

Who? Who knows who?!

 

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The fog lingers behind the ship now. A thin, slender man stands on the prow, wearing a green sleeveless military jacket with dirty yellow patches over a matching dirty yellow shirt, tight jeans, black gloves, and boots with Converse logos stitched on. A backpack with pink straps is slung over his shoulders, though the bag itself is not visible in this panel. He holds a gas mask in one hand, appearing to have just removed it. His face remains unseen, obscured by the lingering mist.

Behind him, the ship's wheel is housed within a weathered Mongolian/Turkic yurt, its fabric stained with age. The ship’s bow comes into view, revealing its name: Bored Mermaid. A statue of a woman, crafted from metal scraps and junk, is affixed to the front. She wears an armless shirt with a wide collar, her arms crossed over her abdomen. Half of her tail is missing, and through the cracks, a chain descends into the depths below.

For future reference: The ship itself is round and bulky, almost comically so. Its sides are patched together with band-aids, makeshift repairs, crushed metal, and war medals crudely fashioned from tin. Where lifelines should be, garlands of dead flowers hang limp. At the peak of the yurt, a dirty old Hola Puppy shirt flutters like a flag. Rust coats everything.

 

Caption:

Self-confidence, unimaginable wealth, and access to basic health and dental care are just overrated. There’s more to life than me, and I will be sure to do my best to protect and serve.

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Caption:

Oh, the smog? Don’t worry about it, baby. It’ll only kill you by the time you turn fifteen, and my bestest friend ‘involuntarily’ gave his own life so you could have his ‘breather’... and his share of the omelet.

 

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The page is divided into four panels. In the background, behind and between the panel boxes, the upper body of the main character (The Floater), the mermaid figure, and the ship itself are visible. The Floater is positioned on the right side, while the mermaid statue is on the left. Neither character’s face is fully shown, as their heads extend beyond the page limits. They are stationed on opposite sides of Panel 3.1, with The Floater on the right and the mermaid on the left.

Between Panels 3.2 and 3.3, the ship’s front exterior is partially visible, with a fragment of its name exposed. At the bottom, framing Panel 3.4, the point where the ship meets the salty sea is depicted, waves crashing against the hull, breaking over the panels that structure the vessel. The background essentially forms a close-up of the ship and its passengers, layered behind the four panels.

• Top of the page, between The Floater and the mermaid statue: A close-up of The Floater’s facial details. His beard, the right side of his mustache, his right ear, and an earring made from a broken pull-tab are visible. His nose, eyes, and mouth are absent from the shot.

• Below the previous panel, aligned to the left: A close-up of a brown leather gas mask with large, black glass lenses. The bottom edges of the lenses and the upper portion of the breathing apparatus are shown from the front—a detail shot emphasizing the mask’s design.

 

Caption:

You have to stand up for your beliefs. Fight to protect whom you are responsible for! In the end, when the sun sets, you shall be rewarded.

 

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Right next to the previous panel, same size: A portion of the ship’s exterior appears in the background, with part of its name visible, BORED MERMAID.

In the foreground, a close-up of a wrinkled, wrecked black dandy brush is shown. It is fastened atop a series of metal plaques, which are soldered and screwed together in a spherical formation.

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Caption:

I know that. For in my most desperate moment,--

 

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A close-up of a man’s hands. He is pushing his right fist onto his left palm. He is wearing black gloves on both hands, as mentioned before. The one with colored fingers from different gloves is on his left hand and the other one, with fingers cut on the first joints, is on his right hand.

On both sides of this panel, waves can be seen slamming on the ship's façade in the background.

Located in the upper left corner of the page. We see The Floater’s face now. He’s the opposite of the word “groomed” with his slipshod-shaved, asymmetrical hipster beard. He has half-shaven messy black hair, dirt on his nose, and an earring made out of a beverage can’s broken pull tab. He’s wearing a worn-out Hola Puppy beret with ears and regular sunglasses held together with stripes hanging from his neck as if they were goggles. He’s kind of tanned, Mediterranean, green-eyed.

Inside the backpack, there is a baby, awake, silent, wearing another gas mask, watching the sky curiously. An umbrella is squeezed between The Floater’s back and backpack, protecting both him and the baby from the agonizing sun rays.

The broken mermaid’s head also appears in the panel. She has punk hair (made out of the dandy brush), pink hipster glasses (real ones), and a nose piercing. Her nose is rectangular, more like a geometric shape than an organic nose. She looks bored.

The Floater looks proud of himself, for some reason. The fog cannot keep up with the ship anymore and the sun is up in the sky, so strong, burning anything it touches.

 

The Floater:

--the almighty Hola Puppy, shall come to my aid.

 

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Bigger than half the page, The Floater in the boat is facing some huge walls that mount over the seas. The ship is heading through it. A small passage that leads inside is seen on the wall. There appear to be some neon signs surrounding the passage, but they are too far away to be seen clearly. Tall waves beat on the wall but it does not appear to mind them. From bottom to top, the wall’s texture turns to a reddish grey, from a dark algae green. The smog behind the ship is being sucked into a ventilation system on top of a tower behind the wall, clearing the air for anyone who resides on the other side. Below the wall, wooden spikes with red birds flying over and around them can be seen. The water also looks rather reddish. The wall appears to be old but shows no sign of weariness. The wall has lots of heavy guns and cannons stationed on several platforms, specifically over the passage. Above the passage, four gigantic octopus arms are waving, beating up the air around them. They all carry weapons; a scimitar, a battle axe, an old-school Martian laser pistol (ones that look like bubbles with a handle), and a small submachine gun. The weapons look rather small in octopus hands/arms/whatevs.

There is still a long distance before they reach the passage and there appears to be a line made of other ships, looking almost as rubbish as his.

The Floater is seen from the side. He has a grin on his face, hardly noticeable. The baby on his back is waving its hands.

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SFX:​

WhhhhHHHHOOOOOSH

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SFX:​

RMRMRMRMRMR

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The Floater:

Well, enough with the sing-songs. Let’s go get you some diape--

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A yacht, three times bigger than The Floater’s boat passes by with great speed, trembling it, leaving massive waves behind. The Floater loses his balance and tries not to fall into the sea. The yacht appears to be the love child of futurism and art nouveau. Its black glasses and panels are surrounded and held together by golden, organic-shaped, vine-like frames. It resembles the inside of a beehive combined with ant borrow tunnels (makes sense?). A golden statue of the Hindu god Ganesha embellishes the front.

The same camera angle. The waves are unforgiving. The ship is still shaking, surrounded by the waves. The Floater is holding on to the bars on the sides of his ship where the garlands are hanging from. Both the dead garlands and tent are still in their places and in one piece.

Closing into The Floater’s face. He is still holding the bars, his arms and shoulders are shaking. He is trying to get on his feet.

 

Baby:

Bok!

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The Floater:

You said it, baby! But let’s be fair--

 

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The Floater is seen from behind, hardly standing on his feet, while setting his eyes on the “posh” yacht which gets more distant by the second. The baby leaks saliva from the gas mask’s air holes. The yacht is heading towards the passage on the wall and smashing every boat standing in its way. Bored Mermaid is the only survivor.

 

The Floater:

--thanks to their redundant rashness, all the other competitors are now officially fishbait--

 

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The ship is seen from a distance, coming from the direction of the passage that leads into the wall. Sunlight glimmers over the newly formed shipwrecks. The yacht seems to have destroyed every ship in its path while making its way toward the passage. Bodies float in the water, most of them lifeless, though one or two survivors struggle to climb onto the wreckage of their broken ships.

A purple octopus arm, resembling the ones from the first page, extends from the depths with a soft "blurp," reaching out to seize one of the survivors still adrift in the sea.

 

SFX:

BLURP!

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The Floater:

--or octopus bait. Always remember The Occultist Cutting Cult of The Octogenarian Octopuses.

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The Floater:

Poor NPCs.

 

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The same angle as the one in panel 6.1. The boat is heading towards the passage on the wall, leaving behind froths and waves. It moves faster than expected and doesn’t have any trouble swimming through the wreckage, corpses, and all kinds of carnivorous fish. The Floater is speaking, but he cannot be seen in this distance and angle.

 

The Floater:

Now, where were we?

 

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A rather small panel on the upper left corner shows the entrance to the passage close up. Spikes with pierced skeletons are stationed on both sides. The metal barred doors are wide open. The algae-covered stones on the wall are mostly in good shape, with few cracks. The neon plaques surround the door. On the left and right, signs read “Prepare your documents!”, “Do not bother the guards, they are armed!” and “Welcome… NOT!”. The biggest sign is hanging on top of the entrance and it says “IMMIGRATION OFFICE”, the “ICE” is not lit, and the “E” is about to fall. The characters are absent on this panel, but The Floater’s words appear on the corner.

 

The Floater:

Moses!

 

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From a bird's-eye view, the ship floats in the center of a sickly greenish pond within a cave. Two small canals flank the ship on either side, and the ceiling is covered in sharp stalactites. The Floater stands on the deck, arms wide open, shouting upwards.

Below the ceiling, just above the pond, there's a balcony enclosed by glass. Inside, a heavyset, dark-skinned woman with long, fluffy black hair sits in a red dress, wearing a yellow scarf around her neck. She’s engrossed in examining some papers, sitting in front of a floating, circular computer screen. A microphone, resembling the ring of Saturn, hovers next to her. The mouse and keyboard are nowhere to be found. The screen is flat, circular, and empty, suspended in midair. A coffee mug beside her steams gently, and behind it sits a small marble idol of the Hindu god Ganesha, dressed in modern clothes, on the table. The balcony exudes a cozy, warm atmosphere, with red, pink, orange, and yellow hues dominating the space. A coffee machine, designed like a clavichord with large pipes, sits near the table, with steam flowing through the pipes.

 

The Woman:

No!

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The Floater:

Mohammad?

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The Woman:

No!

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The Floater:

There was another guy in between them …

 

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In the lower right corner, a smaller panel shows the woman from her right side, looking down at a pile of disorganized papers. She wears eyeglasses, but not on her face—two floating monocles hover in front of her eyes, following her every movement. The monocles are minimalist, with pink plastic frames shaped like left and right wings.

She’s adorned with large round golden earrings, pink lipstick, purple eyeshadow, and a bindi. Her dark skin tone is complemented by two additional chins.

Though The Floater is not present in this panel, his speech bubble extends from the previous, larger panel, connecting the two.

 

The Woman:

No, Christianity is not the official religion either! Mr. Floater, you’ve scored ‘one’, out of ‘one hundred’. People who state their names correctly start with a ten!

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The Woman:

The ‘one’ point is for not having urinated in the pool, yet.

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The Floater:

This is already going better than I expected!

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Only the woman’s hands are seen on the table. She’s wearing huge golden bracelets on her wrists and rings on her fingers. A coffee mug is right next to her hands, raising steam, and behind it, there’s a small marble idol of the Hindu god Ganesha, (elephant-faced deity) wearing modern clothes. The messed up papers from the previous panel lie under her hands. Some of them are stained with blood, a few half-burned, all wrinkled, more yellow than white. The handwriting is impossible to read.

 

The Woman:

Are you even aware of which island state you’re trying to enter?

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The Floater:

This is not the exit?! I’m in the right place! This day gets better and better!

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The Woman:

I can’t say much looking at your documents, which should have been handed in digital form. Your handwriting is impossible to read.

 

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From where The Floater stands, the panel centers the baby’s face, still wearing the mask. We see The Floater from his back, his hands are up and open, and his palms face the ceiling. The balcony is shown from the bottom, covered with stalactites and hanging rusty hooked chains. The woman looks to be skeptical.

 

The Floater:

Of course, it is! I’m semi-literate!

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The Woman:

And what exactly does that mean?

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The Floater:

I either read or write. Can’t do both at the same time, and I was reading a manual on how to deliver babies while filling in the forms.

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The Woman:

Is that a mental symptom or something contagious? You have twenty pages of medical records here, and I can’t make up anything from them.

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The Floater:

It’s more like a lifestyle, actually.

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The Woman:

...

 

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We see The Floater’s left palm. He is pulling his sleeve with his right hand, showing his arm. There is a chain tattoo on his palm, which connects to his arm. He has a sly grin on his face and his gloves hang from his trousers’ pockets.

 

The Floater:

Ok, give me another chance. I’ve got more tricks in the dark pocket dimensions in my sleeves, hidden, waiting to ambush like a rabid beaver’s brother!

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The Woman:

Oh, I’m equally worried and intrigued. What exactly are you planning to do to change your horrific results?

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The Floater:

I--

 

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The Floater joins his hands on the mermaid’s punk hair, puts his chin on his hands, climbs up the mermaid, and sits on its shoulders. The baby’s waving its hands for no reason, like babies do. There is a glimpse of a flirtatious smile on his face. The woman’s hands are on her table, she has a displeased expression on her face.

 

The Floater:

--will flirt with you!

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The Baby:

Bok!

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The Woman:

This day will never end!

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The Floater:

What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?

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The Woman:

I work here.

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The Floater:

What’s a place like this doing around a girl like you??

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The Woman:

You’re not very good at this, are you?

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The Floater:

What is a place like this anyway???