"Turn right!"

"Got it." Arthur sprinted, taking a sharp right into a hallway with no guards; they managed to get the general off their tail, but he'd soon catch up.

The king leaned his hand to the right, pointing with his index finger. "Go into that room."

Arthur moved close to the door, pinning Fishman against it, letting him open it. It's not like Arthur could — his hands were occupied as he held the injured fish. They entered an empty room. It was decorated with green walls and a modern wooden floor — it was a bedroom but barren.

Fishman held his hand in the air and nodded. "Let me go." He squeezed his lips together and groaned. "Let me go."

Arthur gently placed him on the floor and walked towards the door, closing it, but Fishman interrupted.

"Leave the door open."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but he didn't speak and looked outside the hall, bringing his head back in. He could hear the footsteps growing louder. "Come on man, now what?"

Fishman kneeled on the floor. He placed his palm against the dark brown wood while crawling like a baby forward, almost as if he was searching for something. He continued creeping, rubbing his hand against the glossy wood, but he stopped and tapped his hand against the ground six times, and he then placed his ear against the floor, almost like he was listening for something.

Arthur popped his head out of the room. No one was there, but the steps were getting even louder. He plopped his head back and towered the king. "We don't have time for this. They'll be here any second."

Fishman smiled, his grin growing merrier, like a child getting candy. He tapped the floor harder. "It's here. It's still here!"

Arthur turned his head towards the door and Fishman. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Look away," Fishman said. "No, close your eyes."

"What? Why would I?"

Fishman glared at Arthur and scrunched his nose. "Just do it, or we both die."

Arthur clicked his tongue and closed his eyes.

An audible thud echoed, but what followed was even more peculiar, the sound of something plopping into a hole — a faint yet slippery sound.

"You can open your eyes," Fishman said, holding a belt in his hands, strapping it back onto his white patient-like pants. More importantly, near him, part of the floorboard was drawn inside itself, and an underground staircase was revealed. "We need to move, right? So let's go."

Arthur walked down the staircase with Fishman, descending into an underground tunnel, not primitive but not the best maintained. It was made of cobblestone, and some light bulbs were placed here and there, nothing intricate — almost like it seemed homemade or by a singular person.

Fishman smiled as he pulled a metal rope next to the wall, causing the floor to revert to normal. "This sure brings me back. The number of girls I've brought into the palace through this was something else, man. Something else, I'll tell you."

"What the fuck?"

Fishman didn't look Arthur's way. "Just keep moving, you damn loser. You wouldn't get it."

"Well, alright," Arthur said, but he didn't move. He raised a finger and pointed it at Fishman. "You know, leaving the door open wasn't a very smart idea. They'll know we left from here."

"Yeah, what's the big deal?" He shrugged and laughed. "Do you really think I didn't consider they'd suspect that? Of course, they will. But it will take them hours to find out how we escaped and even more to figure out how to open my secret route."

"They'll just open it however you did it."

"Aye, boyo, did anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?" He pointed to his crotch. "Plus, I doubt anyone can match what I'm packing. That's the only way to open the passage, putting my big fella into the floor."

Arthur remained straight-faced, grabbing Fishman and running forward. He poured Tuam through his legs and gained speed. They zoomed through what looked like a cobblestone dungeon — Fishman was one creepy motherfucker. The path was long, many miles deep; it would take the two fish a while until they got to the end.

In the meantime, Fishman wandered his eyes around the tunnel, remembering all the fun times. The days when he was a hero and could do whatever he dreamed. Whatever he enjoyed. Whatever he lusted. And especially, whatever the fuck he wanted.

"Arthur, why are you doing this?"

"I'm not sure what I should do with you. I was ordered to kill you, but I don't think that's a fair punishment. No, you don't deserve an easy death. I'm not doing this out of mercy."

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"Is that really it? Are you really stuck about fairness and equality? Who cares about what I really deserve? Just do what you were ordered and end this whole mess."

Arthur didn't answer and continued running. He wasn't sure what got into him, but he knew murder wasn't the option; he felt his future would be futile if he didn't resolve the dumpster fire he came across: Fishman. He couldn't comprehend why a hero was in a position to be frowned upon if the best of the best were rubbish like Fishman... was this world really a place where he could feel happy once he accomplished his goal?

At the end of the day, he knew it didn't matter...

There was only one reason Arthur even questioned his goal's legitimacy. It was out of sympathy as an outsider; he couldn't help but feel pity for humanity. Though, that didn't concern him too much. After all, he was just a wanderer on other people's land, and he knew that no matter what, he'd accomplish his goal because compassion came second.

"Hey, didn't you hear me?"

"When are we going to get out of this damn tunnel?"

"Don't ignore me."

Arthur stopped running. He created eye contact with Fishman, not blinking once. "Where are we going, and when does it end?"

"It's been a while... We'll soon be at my warehouse in... four minutes and thirteen seconds if you keep up the pace?"

"What a surprise! The king has a private warehouse he'd smuggle girls from."

"Hey, it's not like that," he said with an awkward smile. "It was with consent. Consent, I tell you!"

Arthur ignored him and ran — his speed increased from a combination of confusion and wrath that pushed him over the line; he was faster than he ever was. These were not the capabilities of a human. He was super. A superhuman.

Fishman grew a smile as he spoke through the high-speed winds caused by Arthur's running. "You sure remind me of another idiot."

"Oh, I do?" Arthur said sarcastically. "Well, you remind me of the utter trash this world has to bear. It's pathetic that you call yourself a hero."

"Actually, you're a little different. The boyo I used to hang out with would never talk back with quirky remarks. But you. You don't seem to care about that sort of formality. Not even a single bit."

"Shut up, or I'll kill you right now."

"That boy. He wouldn't even argue with someone trying to slaughter him. He was too foolish for his own good."

"Yeah..." Arthur said. He saw a shiny metallic door up ahead.

"You have every right to ridicule my heroism, but you also share something in common with us, heroes. You may not like or even want to accept it, but you do."

"Okay, okay," Arthur said. "Shut the fuck up."

"We heroes are driven by dreams; allocated to us by citizens; forceful or accidental; it didn't matter, we obeyed."

Arthur stopped near the metal door with a handprint recognition lock; it also had a number accompaniment. He let Fishman fall to the floor.

"You see. I believe whatever is coursing through you isn't of your own choosing. It was picked for you. Like the rest of us, superable fools; who don't have one damn preference for what we desire. You're no different from us."

Arthur extended his hand towards Fishman and winked at him with a nonchalant smile. "You know, you sure talk a lot."

"I hate people like you." Fishman clutched Arthur's hand and stood up with his help. He placed his hand on the handprint lock and then dialed a few numbers, opening the door. His anger lowered as he remembered the good old days, so out of contentment, he raised his hands and walked through the door like a true king. "Come into my real palace."

They should have entered the factory's basement, but it was destroyed. There was a mess of broken rubble and building remnants; the area looked as if a tornado and a bomb had hit at the same time — it was far from chaotic.

"What the fuck happened to my sanctuary?" Fishman said, dropping to his knees. "They destroyed everything. My playroom. My toys. MY... EVERYTHING..."

'This dude has serious problems,' Arthur thought. He stood there, not sure what to do.

"This isn't right. It's not fair," Fishman said as he got up from the floor. "They know we're here. We've been compromised. But how? How did they know of my sweet haven?"

"What?" Arthur blurted out, his sight shifting around the area. "Then we need to move."

"There's no point," Fishman said. "Anywhere I go, I'm dead. I'd be better off killing myself."

"We don't have time-"

"Arthur," Fishman said with a heavy voice. "Anywhere I go, people will try to kill me because I'm not wanted in my own homeland; they rather kill a failure like me than attempt to give me a second chance." He pointed to the floor and smiled with tears flowing down his face. "This was the only place I had."

Arthur paced around the area. The smell of demolition filled the air as he walked on the broken rubble, smacking them against one another, dust releasing. A rich odor of gunpowder was emanating from the disturbance. He ignored his surroundings and stopped, pointing at Fishman, his finger moved up and down, but he couldn't make out any words. He shook his head. "Okay, we'll just disguise you and-"

"Come on, Arthur. If my general discovered my secret location, finding us in a city roaming with people is the equivalent of hunting a trapped bear in a chicken den. Even if we ran to the forest, he'd be there. For fuck's sake, we could even try escaping, but we'd never break down that shield above us. Only the palace has control of that."

"Then we'll have to fight them. The enemy of your enemy is your friend. Or something like that, but we have similar goals, and that's taking out that bitch-ass octopus."

"Okay," Fishman said as he opened his eyes, green light radiating off his pupils. His weakness seemed to flee, a surge of energy coursing through him. "They're almost here."

"What?"

"The general and his men." Fishman blinked once, his eyes not glowing anymore. He held his hand out and clenched his facial muscles, almost like he had a severe case of diarrhea. A weapon zoomed towards him, a trident, and he grabbed it in one smooth motion. "This brings me back."

"Should we do something, get into position?"

"We're fine where we are." He shook his head. "Arthur, can I tell you something?"

"No," Arthur quickly said, glancing around. He knew he needed to be prepared, not chitchat.

"The boyo that I spoke of. You remind me of him for two reasons that I just can't get out of my mind. I... I need to tell you."

"Fishman, stay focused. They're coming here as we speak."

"That boy had the same attitude as you, sure, but probably so do other people. However, you both were also deemed The Wanderer."

"What..." Arthur said as he awkwardly smiled and closed his eyes. "Stop making shit up, just get ready."

"You don't know, do you? You don't know him... Wow. You've never heard of him, have you?"

"Shut up and focus," Arthur said, feeling as if his brain was about to overload, but he wasn't allowed such a luxury since he started to hear the marching of a platoon, and it only grew louder as time passed. Rocks were pushed around, thumps roaring, and near that noise was the general — behind him were thirty soldiers.

"My liege, I've come to save you!"