Atomic CritterS
Volume I | Part I
Chapter 2: “The Otter Paradox”
Just past the koi pond,
a shallow river slid lazily through the sanctuary and disappeared into the forest. Most days it caught the sky in broken pieces—ripples tearing clouds into drifting shapes. The stones along its banks were worn smooth by years of water and wandering feet. Reeds whispered when the wind passed, and an old fence traced the river’s edge, separating the water from a small glade and the sanctuary grounds. On warm days, visitors spread blankets there, wrapped in the sense that the sanctuary itself was unhurried, content to simply exist. Lately, the river seemed to linger back, as if hesitating before continuing on its way.
Kagen stopped mid-sweep.
“Renji.”
Renji was crouched at the water’s edge, explaining koi colors to a cluster of kids like he was hosting a game show. “Yes, O Keeper of the Grounds?”
Kagen didn’t smile. He pointed with the handle of his rake.
“Do you see his eyes?”
Renji followed the gesture.
An otter floated on his back near the far edge of the pond, paws folded neatly on his chest, face tilted toward the sun. His eyes were open.
Red.
Unblinking.
“Oh,” Renji said. “Huh.”
“That’s not normal,” Kagen said.
Renji stood, brushing damp leaves from his knees. “Otters float like that.”
“No, not that.,” Kagen replied. “Look at his eyes. Those are intentional eyes.”
Renji blinked. “Intentional how?”
Kagen lowered his voice, just enough. “Those are the eyes of something that watches. Memorizes routines. Knows when the sanctuary closes.”
Renji frowned. “Kagen—”
“He waits,” Kagen continued, already committed. “Lets everyone think he’s harmless. Gains trust. Gets familiar. Then one night—quiet night—bam.”
Renji crossed his arms, amused. “‘Bam’ what?”
“Aquatic massacre.”
The otter rolled slightly in the water, still staring.
Then he lifted one paw.
Waved.
Renji broke.
“Oh my god,” he laughed, clapping a hand over his mouth. “He heard you.”
“I’m serious,” Kagen said. “That’s a threat wave.”
The otter blinked once. Slowly.
“I’m calling it now,” Kagen added. “If anything happens around this pond, that’s your guy. Murder Otter.”
Renji wiped his eyes. “You can’t just name him that.”
“Already did.”
The otter let out a sound—low, rough, impossible to place—and drifted a little closer to the reeds.
Renji pointed. “I guess he approves.”
They stood there for a moment, watching the water settle again.
“…If I go missing,” Kagen said, quieter now, “start here.”
Renji snorted. “Deal.”
The otter floated on, paws folded, eyes open.
Watching.
