The heat of the afternoon intensified, warming Murder’s meager amount of water to an uncomfortably hot temperature. He gasped for oxygen, but the water left in his bottle was slowly going stale. He swished it with his tail, hoping to aerate it, but it only seemed to make it warmer.

  I’m sorry Murder, thought Hatred. It looks like Sally and Mr Whiskers aren’t coming back today.

  Murder tried to swish his tail one more time but he didn’t have the strength. He closed his eyes and thought about what it would be like to swim in the ocean. He recalled a borrowed memory of a holiday to the Great Barrier Reef before it died. Murder felt his mind beginning to wander. He didn’t mind. It would be so easy to just let go. He thought about how he would describe such a thing to somebody who wasn’t part of his collective. Like a sunken rainforest of color, where every leaf was a fish of a different color. It was a paradise. What would you say to someone who had never seen a forest? Other than ‘I’m sorry’. Murder felt a sadness wash over him; he had missed out on seeing forests too.

  He let go and his mind wandered further. He was Death, methodically plotting what to do if he ever saw another bird. He was Hunger, working on a way to increase the touchscreen’s sensitivity so they didn’t give him such a headache. He was a hundred little fish, and he was nobody.

  The distant roaring of a faraway ocean called to Murder, beckoning him. The sound slowly got louder and he felt a cool wave washing over him like a pleasant dream carrying him away. There was an odd sensation of being slowly lifted up by a cool stream, and the problem of needing to breathe so desperately seemed to just dissolve away.

  His bottle began to gently sway left, then right, then back to the left. It seemed like the water was getting cooler too. There was oxygen again. Murder opened his eyes to see that he was in a flotilla of plastic bottles, chip packets, syringes and used condoms, all being carried along by a growing river of stormwater. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen with his own two eyes.

  What started as a gentle stream began to pick up pace. Soon he was white-water rafting in a torrent of stormwater. The bottle bounced off a metal grate and was sent spinning into more trash. Murder considered swimming out and taking his chances, but thought better of it when the bottle was nearly crushed by unseen debris that tussled for space in the turbid water.

  The chaos of the drain reached its peak, his bottle bobbing and spinning in the water until everything seemed to slow down. He was falling. Being neutrally buoyant already feels a lot like being weightless, but this was different. There was no time for reminiscence on the nature of oneness as he was tossed from the bottle and landed in the muddy waters of a turbid river.

  Murder tried to get his bearings. On one side there was total darkness. On the other, occasional pinpricks of light shone through the gaps in a dense canopy of bobbling trash that floated above him.

  Where am I? This river stinks, thought Murder.

  It might be, thought Death. Say you’re a friend of mine and they might give a staff discount on the ferry.

  If I didn’t know that you’ve been waiting to use that line for a week, I might have laughed, thought Murder.

  Mapping your location now, thought Hunger, who opened an online map and compared it to the inexplicable sense of distance that the collective felt between one another. It’s not named on the map, it’s just a small tributary. Eventually you’ll end up in the lake a few miles west of us. Just keep heading downstream and we’ll find a way to get you out of there.

  This is good, thought Hatred. My brood is bigger than we had hoped. There are just over a hundred new little Murders swimming around in my tank. Soon we’ll need more than the odd foot and a handful of fish pellets once a day. If the river proves to be a good home, we can grow to the tens of thousands, maybe more.

  Murder couldn’t see much in the churning, sediment-filled waters of the tributary, but it didn’t taste good. He poked his head above the water and saw that the narrow river was lined with trees that died long ago, all bleached white by the relentless sun and adorned with hundreds of littered plastic streamers that whispered sad songs to the wind like long-forgotten Tibetan prayer flags.

  The river followed its course between factories, past houses, through culverts and under roadways until it vomited its contents into the lake. Once Murder was in the lake, the water started to clear up and he could see again, and he was immediately taken by a sense of scale that he had never experienced before. This place was massive; he couldn’t see a wall in any direction. He had never experienced freedom like this. He swam further down to explore. It was mostly barren, except for the odd weed covered in green algae. Murder tasted the algae. Not bad, he thought. He swam as fast as he could and enjoyed the feeling of the water rushing past. He had to fight the urge to swim in a tight circle.

  Okay, the river sucked, but the lake isn’t so bad. A fish could really get used to this, thought Murder. We might have a new home for the brood after all.

  Murder set off towards the center of the lake and reveled in the freedom of the open water. He couldn’t believe that anywhere so big existed in all the world. Well, he had seen Hunger’s map and knew the lake was only a few miles across, but to Murder it may as well have been an ocean. Movement in the distance caught Murder’s eye and his attention was drawn to a large shape in the deepest part of the lake. A monstrous blur slowly resolved itself into the front of an old shipwreck, and Murder decided to take a closer look. Something big disturbed the silt behind the bow of the wreck, which hung in thick clouds that obfuscated the rear of the boat. Cautiously, Murder approached. It looked like a big, old Dr Flibbles with long whiskers protruding from either side of its face.

  “You there,” called Murder. “I have decided to claim this lake as my own. However I am open to sharing its resources, for an initial exchange of information.”

  “Rack off or I’ll eat you,” came the growling voice of a catfish who continued to snuffle its way across the lakebed.

  “I say, just in case you didn’t hear me the first time, I claim this lake as my own. And I am willing to extend to you the chance of peaceful cohabitation, for a price.”

  The large catfish slowly turned around and swam towards Murder. Then, all of a sudden, the giant fish opened its gaping maw with such speed that Murder was sucked inside the cavernous mouth. A second later he was spat back out, dazed and battered. The giant fish didn’t move off, it circled him cautiously, its beady little eyes looking like they were considering seconds.

  “I’ve not seen your type before. You poisonous?” asked the catfish.

  Murder considered this. He didn’t know. He didn’t think so, but he also really didn’t want to be eaten. “Several people have died because of fish like me in the past few weeks alone.”

  The catfish grunted. “Go on then, what do you want? I’m hungry, so make it quick.”

  “I like your whiskers,” said Murder. Much of the life in the lake was dead, but flattery was alive and well.

  The bigger fish grunted again and began mumbling to itself as it continued to circle Murder.

  “Your home, it’s very large. You must know of all kinds of treasures. Please, tell me about life in the lake. Who else lives here? Are there any predators? What are the winters like?” asked Murder.

  “Do you really like my whiskers? Or are you just saying that because I was going to eat you,” asked the catfish, ignoring Murder’s questions.

  “Yes,” said Murder. “They’re very nice. There is an old, wise fish where I am from and he has long whiskers too. You must be very wise indeed to have such magnificent whiskers.”

  “Thank you,” said the catfish, its voice making the nearly imperceptible change from gruff to merely gravelly. “No one has ever said that before, on account of them being broken and covered in muck the whole time.”

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  “The whiskers, or your detractors?” asked Murder with a smile.

  The catfish guffawed and stopped circling so menacingly.

  “That was funny. What’s a detractor?” asked the catfish.

  “Anyone who doesn’t appreciate you for the magnificent creature you are,” said Murder, laying on the charm as thick as he could. “My name’s Murder. What’s yours?”

  “I don’t think I have a name. I never needed one. Maybe you could call me Mr Whiskers?” suggested the catfish.

  “Hmm,” said Murder, opening and closing his mouth in hesitation.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the catfish.

  “It’s just that, I already know a Mr Whiskers. Would you like to choose another name?”

  “Oh. You must know a lot of people. Is that the name of your wise fish?” asked the catfish.

  “No, not exactly,” said Murder, slowly swimming backwards as the much bigger fish began circling again. “Tell you what, for a big catfish like you, I like the name Namazu. Can I call you Nam for short?”

  “Nam… Nam,” said the catfish, rolling the syllable around in his mouth. “My name is Nam!” cried the catfish excitedly, swimming up to the surface and bringing his tail down with a slap and a shower of bubbles.

  “Nam, you remind me of my friend Spots. I’ll have to introduce you sometime, just promise not to eat him,” said Murder.

  “Okay, Murder, I won’t eat your friends. Come on, I’ll give you a tour of my lake.”

  Murder hung on to the giant catfish’s back like a remora while Nam swam leisurely around the lake, pointing out such highlights as where he found a dead bird, his favorite place to find crustaceans, and the pier where he was thrown back by a fisherman when he was only little. They approached the pier with care as Nam warned that it was still a favorite spot for local fishermen to catch the odd fish that remained in the lake.

  “Now I’m going to show you where you really shouldn’t go,” said Nam.

  They swam to the eastern shore – well technically Nam swam while Murder held on for dear life with his toothless gummy mouth until they neared a spot where no plants grew and no fish swam.

  “This is the place where you shouldn’t eat anything. It used to be nice, but now the water stings my eyes.”

  Murder didn’t have to be told twice. His eyes were burning and he had to let go of Nam’s back to tell him he couldn’t go any closer. “Jesus, it’s like someone’s been cutting onions over there,” said Murder. “Is it always like that?”

  “It is now,” said Nam. “It used to be normal, but now it’s just a little bit worse every time I come here. I remember living around here with my family when I was younger. There used to be good eating here, but then something changed. If you eat anything in places where your eyes sting, you’ll be floating upside down by the morning.”

  “My eyes started stinging way before I could see the pipe,” said Murder. Maybe the lake isn’t such a great place for hatchlings after all, he thought.

  “Catfish have small eyes,” replied Nam. “We can swim in places where lots of fish can’t swim and eat things most fish can’t eat, but even we can’t eat near here anymore. It was great at first, all the other fish left, or died, and we had all the food to ourselves. But we stayed too long. My family, all the other catfish, were the last to leave. But we left it too late and now it’s just me.”

  The giant catfish bowed his head and started slowly swimming away from the area, the excitement seemingly sapped out of him by something in the water.

  Murder latched on and the two swam like that for a few minutes without either of them saying a word. Murder didn’t see any other catfish around, he didn’t need to ask.

  “What time is it?” asked Nam.

  Murder checked in with his collective, who had no less than nine visible clocks to choose from. “Six minutes and four seconds past five in the afternoon,” replied Murder.

  “That’s numbers, not time. When it’s bright in shallow water, it’s time to look for snacks in the silt. When it’s bright deeper down, it’s time to look for snacks in the silt. But when it stops being bright deeper down, then it’s time for bread,” said Nam, who explained this while swimming to the bottom of the lake to gauge the time of day.

  “The time is… bread time!” Nam said excitedly. He thrashed his prodigious tail and took off at full speed.

  “Where are we going?” called out Murder, sucking with his mouth as hard as he could and pressing his body flat to avoid being thrown off.

  After a few moments at top speed, Nam began to slow. “I know where the bakery dumps its old bread into the lake,” whispered the catfish as if he was sharing a precious secret.

  It was a frenzy when they arrived. Murder had only gotten glimpses of the odd fish in the distance on his tour of the lake, but now there were thousands of them. Bass, trout, perch and one or two other species that Murder couldn’t identify in the writhing bait ball. It was as if every fish in the lake had converged in this one spot to feed off the scraps of a single bakery.

  “Stick close to me,” said Nam. “Some of these fish could eat you for breakfast.”

  The two joined a spiraling mass of fish that circled the bread like a dense field of vector arrows around a strong magnetic field.

  “Oi!” came a voice from the crowd.

  Suddenly all eyes were on Nam and Murder as a gang of largemouth bass broke formation in the bait ball to cut them off, slowly forcing them into wider and wider orbits until eventually they were on their own, past the outer edge of the spiraling shoal.

  “What do you think you’re doing here, you bottom feeder?” asked one of the bass. If he wasn’t a ring leader, he certainly swam at the front of the spiral, which is really just a ring that’s gotten lost.

  “I’ve been coming to this spot for years,” replied Nam. “I’m the one who told most of you about it.”

  “Yeah? Well not anymore. Go back to picking up scraps from the bottom and let your betters have their fill,” said the bass.

  “Wow,” said Murder. “A real big-mouth bass. I’ve only ever seen you singing and dancing mounted on a wall. I never thought I would meet one in real life.”

  “Who’s your little friend?” asked the bass. He gestured towards the small group of mean-looking fish following behind him. “Look boys, the bottom feeder brought us a snack.”

  Be careful, Murder, thought Hunger. Those guys are real predators and they won’t spit you back out.

  “I would like to see you try. He’s deadly poisonous,” replied Nam.

  The ringleader swam to within an inch of Murder, who didn’t flinch, while Nam gave one quick swish and descended to the bottom of the lake.

  Murder didn’t get it – Nam was bigger than all of the bass put together. He might not be able to swallow one whole, but he could do some serious damage if he tried.

  “He doesn’t smell poisonous,” said the bass.

  “I just have an infectious personality,” replied Murder.

  “I have an idea,” said the big bass. “Lads, we won’t get poisoned if we all just take a bite each. And I’m feeling so generous today, I’ll even go last.”

  The shoal started to close in while the largest of the bass backed off just a little.

  If they want me, they’ll have to catch me, thought Murder. He shot off, straight up and right past the approaching fish. He had never had to swim like his life depended on it. He drew on reserves he didn’t know he had and felt the energy of Hatred, Death and Hunger flowing into him. He was the fastest little nibble fish who had ever lived, but the bass were hunting fish and they were gaining on him. His initial spurt of speed caught them by surprise, but now they found their rhythm and their muscular tails propelled them towards him at terrifying speed.

  Murder changed course and made straight for the bait ball that swirled and undulated as thousands of fish still jostled over scraps that floated at the center of the tumult. If he couldn’t outrun them, he would embrace the chaos. In the throng, his smaller size was an asset. He might not be faster than his pursuers, but he could weave and dodge in ways they couldn’t. Murder shot straight through the center of the ball like a bullet passing through a keyhole, emerging unscathed and, importantly, uneaten on the other side.

  Murder looked back to see how his pursuers were faring. This, he realized, was a mistake. He saw that most of the hungry shoal had collided with fish swimming the opposite direction or lost him entirely, but then the swirling school thinned and parted to reveal the big-mouthed ringleader still on his tail, metaphorically speaking. While Murder had to weave his way to safety, the loud-mouthed bass parted the fish in front of him with nothing more than his reputation.

  Once again Murder had to swim as if his life depended on it. The advantage of being able to get up to speed quickly was great when he needed the element of surprise or somewhere nearby to hide, but it lost out over sheer speed in the open waters of the lake. He needed something complicated to swim around. The pier! thought Murder. It wasn’t far away, he just had to push hard for a few more seconds. His muscles burned with the effort. He could see the wooden columns just coming into visibility through the murk, maybe thirty yards away. So close, but his pursuer was closer. He wouldn’t make it.

  Then Murder noticed something. Maybe he didn’t have to make it all the way to the pier. What happened next only took an instant, but Murder had every part of his mind working on solutions to keep him alive; it felt like it was running, figuratively speaking, in slow motion. Just a few meters away, there was something suspended in the water. It was a small piece of flesh just below the surface of the water. Something thin, metallic and sharp protruded from the dangling morsel.

  Murder hatched a plan. With a flick of his tail, he changed course and swam straight for the shining metal with its fleshy prize. His timing would have to be absolutely perfect, but it was his only shot.

  Just as the pursuing bass caught up to him, Murder slowed down. Now all the calculation and planning in the world wouldn’t help him; he needed luck on his side. He felt the violent, inexorable tug of water rushing into the bass’ gaping mouth. He was going in.