Alongside the ice chippers on deck, the rope bearers, and the brave (although quite foolish) lighting engineers, Philippe and his crew sought to bag the deadliest genetic mishap and thorn in their crabbing seasons side to haul back (in many pieces mind you) to their shores.
Philippe’s bowels turned to water. He’d long grown his sea legs, but even the most seasoned fisherman wouldn’t be able to stand the conditions he faced now. His hands shook with the rise and fall of adrenaline and fear. “He will be disoriented once blinded, thrashing madly for an approximation of 10 minutes where then he may finally appear sedated.” the oceanic biologist explained before they set out on their expedition. “Then, and only then, can he be subdued and ultimately killed.” Special lights, of unknown wattages, were secured to the decks and masts of their boats. Their weight and clutter of wire did nothing to help the deck hands and navigators; even their trustworthy boats moaned beneath the additional burden-the heat they emitted even showed defiance to the biting cold. “Oh, I almost forgot. Whatever you do, make sure he is not cornered. I cannot say this enough!” The biologist fidgeted, obviously showing reservations.
That’s when things got interesting…
Painter 8 | 2008 | Submitted for conceptart.org's creature of the week event: Glacial Terror