A grey tentacle licks the glass of a pregnant aquarium.
"You think you're a clever little cosmic mishap, don't ya?" Frankie taps the glass. *tap...*...tap...*...tap*
*TWACK!*
The Fractalpus heaves it's full mass at the man and, stopped sadly by a translucent bearier, settles for sputtering tentacles in and out of it's body.
"Aye, but you're not smart enough for me." Frankie has donned an HVAC radiation proof suit, just to be safe. He doesn't understand how the fractalpus works, or its full abilities. Fudging, just a little, on his resume was the only way he could get this job. Well, it's just an animal, right? I've dealt with them before. A' course I can handle a Fractal Octopus. Frankie had blatently lied in his interview. He didn't fool the Nature-Lab Channel, but they went along because the few people who did have the appropriate knowledge of handling a Fractalpus wouldn't risk the job.
Reaching for his Electro-Static Stasis Clamp™, a small handheld one, with a six foot extention smartly adapted between Frankie and the containment box, he balances on a precarious ladder. "Here little fishy-y-y-y...", the drawling of the 'y' seems to impress the Fractalpus as it slows it's fluctuations to gaze up at Frankie. "Ya, you really are just a stupid suckerfish, aren't you...Come ooon and climb into the pretty containment boooox."
The Fractalpus continues to glare at Frankie. WHAT A STRANGE THING, it thinks, NOT A WHALE...A BIG SQUISHY ROCK? HMMM...MOVING SO SLOW. WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I CREEP UP AND TAP THAT THING IT'S RESTING ON...
Frankie only has enough time to gasp as the fractalpus shoots up and pushes the ladder away from the tank.
ENTER THE PRODUCER:
just in time to see Frankie flailing his arms to keep the last second of balance before it reaches the pivitol point and the ladder crashes down, Frankie and all.
The HVAC suit was not built to withstand hard landings and fully contracts on impact into one flat patty.
"Frankie...", the Producer booms, annoyed. The flattened suit suddenly pops into a heap of flames. The producer remains motionless, fuming with agrivation. "Coffee Boy!" A feable young intern heels at the side of the Producer, apearing almost instantly, like a cheshire cat apearing from a grin. "Find someone to clean this mess or do it yourself, but first, pick up that stasis clamp and fetch us that Fractal beast. Have it contained, in the studio, in ten minutes."
The intern stares at the flaming body of Frankie. "But...", shaking with a spastic tension that is reserved only for people who are about to crack, he begins to say something like,'It's not my job, you sorry excuse for a retch!'. But the Producer cuts him off, leaving the room with his final commandment.
"The show must go on!"