This was the first story I wrote after quite a break. Its alot longer than I thought it was going to be, but all in all, I'm quite happy with it. Also, Sharkie (you know who you are) if you're reading this, I'd like to think you get a kick out of me saying this is dedicated to you.

Ever since I heard sharks don't get cancer this idea had been floating around inside my head and I finally managed to get around and write it out. It took me a while. Well, three nights, but spread out over about two months. I'm just about to proof read it, but I suspect I'll find the first half is written in a different style to the second half. If anyone notices this and questions me about it, I'll say it was due to changing mental processes. Another thing which people may have an urge to bring up (and please, feel free to do so, I like learning from my mistakes) is a possible complete misuse of technical medical terms. To them I will reply - "Its an experimental treatment, of course its not going to be conventional"

I'll Be Watching...

By Wolphin.

When the doctor looked at me that way, I knew it was going to be 

"Mr McOnigal," he paused.  "Brian.  There is no easy way to tell 
you this."

He paused again, nothing like a little bit of silence for dramatic 

"The tests show the cancer has spread.  It has been detected 
through your lymph nodes, as well as your liver.  Plus there are 
indications it has affected several other organs."

He went on but I slipped into a daze.  I was in there for quite 
some time.  I already knew I had cancer, it started with a having 
a mole removed from my back, that went to a routine pathology test 
and the results shocked almost everyone.  It was a malignant 
melanoma.  So, I was back in for another batch of tests, that was 
when they discovered it had spread.

My meeting with the doctor was several weeks ago.  Since then I 
had undergone more tests.  For a while they gave me a good chance 
with heavy does of chemotherapy, coupled with drugs and several 
operations.  Then an MRI showed a huge tumour almost encasing my 
brain.  Apparently it was a miracle I was still functioning 
normally.  Some miracle.

The discovery of the tumour changed everything.  That pushed the 
extend of the cancer above some barrier which ruled out 
chemotherapy, coupled with fact it was deemed too dangerous to 
operate on.  They gave me six months.

The thing was, I felt fine.  Ok, a little weary at times, but not 
like I was dying.  They put that down to the tumour.  They said it 
was affecting my brain, apparently including the bits which 
determine pain.  However, they were unable to tell me why I could 
still feel pin pricks on my skin.  It was as if once they found 
the tumour, they had a closed mind about anything else.

"Thank you for your time, we estimate you have about six to eight 
months left, we will endeavour to ensure your remaining time is 
easy for both you and your family."

I think that little speech almost killed me in itself.

One night I spent most of it sitting in a darkened room, looking 
out over the glistening lights of the world.  There was so much 
more I wanted to do, so much more to see.  If I died now, a few 
people would feel sad, but the ripples would soon ease.  I had 
always wanted to make a mark on the world, I don't think I had 
succeeded in scratching the dust on the surface.  I was too young.  
At least that was true, I was only twenty five.

Some time around three in the morning I decided I was not dead yet 
and hence it was not too late for me.  If I still moved, there 
remained a chance.  For the first time in a while I went to bed 
feeling a little better.

The next morning I began researching cures.  I wanted to know what 
the common cures were, the alternatives, even the far out wacko 
ones and believe me, there are lots of them.  I called up a few 
friends in the medical research field and they gave me the names 
of some contacts.  By the end of the week I had a pile of stuff to 
wade through.  When I was first diagnosed, I had begun researching 
cancer, so I knew the basics, but I wanted to become an expert... 
and I only had a few days to do it.

By Monday morning I had a list of five people I wanted to contact 
with regard to their treatment, all were basically similar.  Most 
of them combined drugs and radiation therapy in the hope the 
combined efforts would help.  Three of the teams were sympathetic, 
but did not see how they could help.  The other two were both 
accepting patients for trials.

One of the teams was located in New York, the other was based in 
Sydney, but the actual research was conducted at a naval hospital 
up the coast.  I applied to both on the spot and was accepted to 
the Sydney one two days later.  At the time I thought it was a 
little strange, but they had said I was one of the very few who 
actually met their parameters and was willing to be a guinea pig, 
so to speak.

Three days after that, I found myself standing in their waiting 
room.  A secretary appeared and ushered me into the boardroom and 
I met the people who were going to save me.  There were five 
doctors all up, two women and three men.  Between them they had 
over eighty years of cancer research.  This was to be their 
crowning glory.  Tests in mice and primates had proved to be much 
more than there expectations, with over seventy five percent of 
the test subjects being totally cured.  I was flabbergasted, those 
were impressive figures from any treatment.

Our discussion lasted for over six hours.  Firstly they explained 
what they wanted to achieve, then described how they were going to 
achieve it and what was going to happen to me.  Then I asked 
questions, they explained and I asked more questions.  But the end 
of the day I was convinced this offered probably one of the best 
chances I had.  

Due to the aggressive nature of my cancer, it was decided to admit 
me immediately and start treatment as soon as possible.  This was 
what I had hoped for and I was prepared for it.  I left the 
meetings and was shown directly to my hospital room and given one 
of the reasons I visit hospitals - the backless green gown.

That night I lay in bed and wondered for the countless time if 
this would work.  One thing was certain, if it didn't, I'd soon be 
dead, so it would not matter that much.  

I awoke from an uncomfortable night to find someone had been into 
my room and placed a large chart on the wall.  It said "Day 1."  
For some reason this sent a shiver down my spine.  Just before 
nine, one of the doctors entered, followed by a nurse pushing a 
stainless steel trolley.

"Brian," he said.  "How are we today?"

"Nervous," I replied.

He nodded understandably.

"Well, this is to be the first injection, its pretty big and 
you'll get a booster every few hours for the next two days and 
we'll give you your first does of chemo tonight like we discussed.  
Hopefully, if everything works we'll start you on the second 
treatment in a short while, just like we discussed."

I nodded weakly.  This was the last chance to back out.  

"Ready?" he asked.

I murmured something which sounded like a yes.

He had already turned away to meddle with the instruments on the 
trolley while the nurse came over and pulled up my sleeve.  She 
lightly swabbed around a vein, then put a tourniquet around my arm 
and made me clench my fist.

The doctor had pulled out a very large looking needle and with no 
warning slid it into my arm.  I watched in mute horror as the huge 
thing entered the skin.  I could see the bulge it created ending a 
good two inches up my arm.  He strapped it in place with a piece 
of cotton tape, then pulled out an even larger syringe, connected 
it to the end and began pushing down on the plunger.

The stuff in it did not belong in my arm.  It was what you 
expected to see in a horror movie.  Almost fluorescent green, it 
literally glowed.  As he pushed in the plunger, I felt an evil 
chill begin to spread up my arm, looking down I could see the 
colour of my veins changing.  It did not hurt as such, but it 
tingled.  I felt it travel up my arm, then across my shoulder.  
for a moment it was lost as it entered my arteries, then it 
quickly spread over most of my body.

As I had been warned, the effects on me were almost immediate and 
I found myself laying back in my pillow, barely able to move.  
Eventually he finished, and pulled of the syringe, leaving the 
needle strapped to my arm.  My eyes followed him as he whispered 
something to the nurse before leaving.

This scene was repeated precisely three hours later, then three 
hours after that and again and again.  I lost count after the 
fifth dose.  My brain still functioned, but on a different level 
now.  I was aware of nurses coming in, attaching things to me, 
stuffing the glowing stuff into my arm but I seemed unable to say 
anything.  The strange thing was, below that I knew exactly what 
was going on.

The idea of the green drug they had given me was deceptively 
simple.  It was attracted to cancer cells, by itself this is not 
very useful, however, they had added bits to it to make it 
detectable by the magnetic resonator they lowered me into towards 
the end of the second day.  The resonator was hooked up to a 
computer which in turn controlled a very tightly focused beam of 
gamma radiation.  This is where the chemotherapy came into it.  
The computer was able to pick out the areas of cancer and blast 
them away with a really high tech ray gun.  This was all well and 
good except I had so much cancer in my body and it had spread so 
widely just killing the cells was not enough.  However, by 
incorporating a second mysterious drug cocktail into my system, 
they hoped that would fight the cancer before it had a chance to 
grow back. 

It is a well known fact that sharks do not get cancer.  Why this 
is so is still a mystery.  Many research teams had tried to 
emulate a shark's biology in a human patient, but without much 
success.  The research team I was a guinea pig for tackled the 
problem slightly differently.  Chemo therapy naturally takes a lot 
out of the body.  I can testify it does not leave you feeling very 
good.  Normally when someone is getting dosages like I am they 
keep you in a clean room environment and try to keep your immune 
system as protected as they possibly can and hope it, couple with 
even more drugs can counter anything which you are unlucky enough 
to pick up.

With me, they took that one step forward.  While the chemo was 
(hopefully) taking out the tumours, other parts of the drug were 
knocking out my immune system, not just a little.  


Things I never would have noticed could have killed me.  The 
common cold, for example would have been certain death.  Even 
harmless skin irritations would have probably wiped me out.

By now I was about two weeks into the treatment and frankly I 
thought death would have been much more enjoyable, however I was 
too weak to even think about that.  The chemo had taken a massive 
toll on my body.  In the fortnight I had lost over fifteen kilos, 
all of my body hair.  My skin was an strange yellow colour due to 
a nasty liver infection I had picked up and I was being fed 
through a drip in my arm.  I floated in and out of consciousness, 
vaguely aware of visitors, the constant stream of doctors and 
unfamiliar faces looking at me from behind a protective pane of 

I watched one day, through blurred vision and a general haze of 
uncertainty, as one of the nurses walked into my room and added a 
bag of blue liquid to the line feeding into my arm.  I can 
remember thinking to myself, "Isn't this nice.  They colour co-
ordinate everything."

From that day on, things began to improve.  The chemo stopped, 
apparently the shorter than normal duration was due to the massive 
doses and precision with which mine was received.  The drugs 

Speaking of drugs, I never finished explaining what mine did.  
Like I said, the chemo took care of the cancer, the first batch of 
drugs took care of my immune system and then in came the second 
batch.  At this point my system was basically helpless.  The 
researchers planned to use this to their advantage.  The blue 
stuff they were pumping into me contained a retro virus.

Retro viruii are sort of like dead viruii.  They are not exactly 
dead as such, but they can be almost programmed to perform certain 
tasks.  The one I got had large slices of DNA mixed into it.  The 
virus infected my cells and grafted the new strains of DNA into my 
sequences and my cells began happily producing genetically 
modified cells for my body.

The big question is what was in the DNA sequence.  Well, ideally 
you would want to splice in a section telling the cells "Don't 
turn into cancerous cells" but that is a little difficult if you 
don't know why they are doing it in the first place.  However, as 
I mentioned earlier, sharks don't get cancer.  So if there was 
shark DNA then that would naturally stave off the cancer growth.

That was the big idea anyway.  Kill of my immune system, 
genetically modify my cells to produce a new DNA sequence and have 
them begin production with no fear of rejection by my body.  Not 
only that, as my immune system recovers itself, it accepts the 
modified cells as my natural ones and protects them because my 
immune system will have the shark DNA incorporated into it.

It was a complex plan and I was the first test subject.  There 
were bound to be complications.  I was aware of that, I just 
didn't realise exactly how serious the complications were going to 

I noticed the first anomaly, as they called it, about six weeks 
after treatment had begun.  By now I was feeling relatively 
better.  I was still bald and exhausted from the chemo but things 
were looking up.  Tests had revealed the cancer had been almost 
totally wiped out and the small amount which remained was 
diminishing with each test.  I was still confined to my bed and 
quarantined in the clean room, but I was also becoming more 
active.  Most of my days were growing increasingly restless and I 
was bored out of my mind.

It wasn't until I was dragging my hand across the sheets and they 
caught on something I actually noticed the change.  My hand sort 
of snagged the bedding and I found it hard to pull it away.  
Curious, I lifted by fingers to my eyes and peered at them.  Each 
nail was definitely longer and seemed to be darker as well.  
Wiggling my toes I sensed they had grown and when I mustered the 
energy to look, I found those too had began to darken.

I mentioned that to the nurse.  They examined them closely then 
concluded it must be something to do with the radiation.  They had 
probably grown and no one had trimmed them and now they were dying 
off, new ones being pushed in from below, hence the darker 
coloration.  It was a good theory, but something about her look 
told me there might be something more to it.

A few days later I noticed my skin seemed to be loosing colour.  
It was greying in appearance and felt like it was drying out.  I 
pointed this out to a doctor and he said it was due to the 
radiation.  Just the outer few layers of skin dying off due to 
radiation poison.  It was nothing to worry about.

I took his word for it and kept quiet when I noticed the next 
anomaly.  My eyes seemed to be behaving strangely.  I would go to 
open them and my eyelids seemed to pause a moment before opening.  
It was disconcerting to say the least.

I next began to feel twinges with my bones.  Its hard to describe, 
but my skeleton felt, well, strange.  It wasn't painful as such, 
it was more like an awareness that something was different.  Not 
wrong, just, well... different.  I passed this one off to the two 
months of constant bed rest.  Luckily, around that time the 
doctors decided I was well enough to be allowed to get up.  At 
first I was still confined to the clean room but that restriction 
was lifted after it was shown my immune system was almost back to 
where it was before I was admitted.

The room they gave me overlooked a small cove.  I must admit I 
liked places which could afford almost private beaches and seaside 
rooms for their patients.  Apparently it was bequeathed to the 
navy by someone who died of cancer and the hospital had grabbed 
it.  At first I hobbled around my room uncomfortably.  My bones 
were still sore from lying in the bed all the time and I had 
developed a strange lean forward.  What was even stranger was how 
it felt kind of natural and a lot better than standing up 
straight.  They took a pile of x-rays, held muffled conferences 
and decided that if it felt ok to me, there was no harm to it.

I first began to suspect they knew something I didn't when they 
refused to let me look at my x-rays.  I wanted to see what had 
happened to my hands and feet.  They seemed larger than normal and 
the nails had developed into definite claws.  Trimming the nails 
back left my hands feeling strangely unbalanced so I let them grow 
long.  When I asked to see the films they made some feeble excuse 
about confidentiality and locked them in a cabinet.

Three days later, at four in the morning I decided I wanted to see 
my files.  My jaw had begun to ache, along with the base of my 
spine and I was not getting told anything.  I snuck out of my room 
and eased my way along the deserted corridors to the researcher's 
offices.  I knew exactly where my records were being kept, I had 
seen them consult them many times.

It was a filing cabinet in the office of the head doctor.  The 
research wing was deserted and I easily made it to his room.  
Surprisingly, his door was unlocked, as was the cabinet and I 
pulled out the top drawer, flipping through the thick folders 

The entire wad of information was devoted to me.  I fingered 
through, finding a file marked "clinical summary" and flipped it 
open.  One of the side effects of that strange sensation with my 
eyes was I had found my night vision had increase out of sight.  I 
was able to read the typed notes in the moonlight with no problems 
at all.

The beginning was filled with events already knew, my history, 
preliminary test results, the chemo treatment.  Things did not get 
interesting until the last couple of pages.  As expected, there 
was a lot of scientific talk, but hand written notes on the side 
such as "Subject shows signs of successful combination of shark 
and human DNA"; "X-rays confirm increase of cartilage to skeletal 
structure";  "Anticipate full and final transformation with next 
few days"  The next few pages were computer generated pictures of 
me with areas highlighted.  One such area was my neck, which had 
the note "increased bloodflow - possible???"  A circle around my 
eyes revealed "nicatating membrane in place and appears to be 
functional.  Subject not aware of existence"  Well, that explained 
one thing at least.

I continued to flip through the folders.  The meaning of many 
passing way over my head, but the general gist of it was clear 
enough.  I was turning into a shark.  Most of my bones had already 
dissolved into cartilage.  I had claws on my fingers.  My eyes had 
changed.  The changes to my skin was not caused by the radiation.  
That was the early formation of scales.  

I felt like confronting the team with this file and demanding what 
they were on about.  Then I stumbled across the red page.  That in 
itself was a warning.  The other warning was the words "Top 
Secret" stamped across the top.  A third warning should have been 
the "Department of Defence" letterhead.  I skimmed over the 
contents, then stopped and double checked before carefully reading 
through them again.

The entire project had been underwritten by the Department of 
Defence.  It was an experimental project to genetically engineer a 
perfect warrior.  So far the results were encouraging, but 
survival testing of the subject and an autopsy would confirm this 
in the near future.  It took a while longer as the meaning sunk 

I was literally a guinea pig.  In a few weeks, they were going to 
lock me in a room, perform tests on me until I died, then cut me 
open and study the results.  

I may be a freak, I may owe my life to them, but there was no way 
I was going to let them slice me up.

Hollow footsteps caused me to jump, my chest hit the open draw and 
it slid shut, closing with a metallic bang.  The footsteps 
suddenly changed, a torch beam shining through the office space.

"Halt!" called a voice from an unseen guard.  "Stay were you are."

Overhead lights began to hum into life and I heard the crackle of 
a two way radio.  Within a few seconds I would be found, hauled 
back to my cell, tortured and killed.
I made a spilt second decision.  

To my left was a window.  

I threw myself out of it.

There was a smashing of glass, a sensation of falling, somehow I 
found myself pivoting in mid-air, then my feet hit the grass.  I 
literally felt my legs flex under me, this cartilage may be an 
asset after all.  Looking up I saw a security guard looking out of 
a fourth story window as he screamed into his radio.

Lights began to come on around the compound and I knew I had 
precious little time.  I could hear the gentle surf, tantalising 
close and let instinct guide me.  I turned and fled towards the 

It was probably the hardest run I had ever done in my life.  
Behind me I could head shouts of  anger and dismay as I dodged 
around emerging security personal.  A small paved path lead 
between two buildings, around a corner and down onto the sand.  
From one end of the beach a jeep began bouncing over the sand.  I 
head guns beginning to fire as I crossed the strip of pale sand.  
My feet hit the water and I felt a burning sensation in my 
shoulder.  I stumbled and almost fell, but somehow continued to 
push my way further out to sea.

Then I was swimming.  I could sense the men gaining behind me and 
somehow that pushed me on further.  As I rounded the headland, 
something grabbed my foot, pulling me back.  Instinctively I 
lashed out and felt a sickening rip as a sharpened toenail connect 
with some part of the guard's body.  The grip lessened and I broke 
free, but the struggle took its toll and I felt myself slowly 
slipping to the bottom of the ocean floor.

I had made it out of the sheltered cove and was caught in the icy 
grip of a strong current which was pulling me deeper and further 
out to sea.  I tried to fight it, but felt myself spiralling 
towards unconsciousness.  My lungs burned as I floundered 
desperately for air, then it became too much, panic kicked in and 
I found myself gulping mouthfuls of the near freezing water.  I 
gagged, trying to get it out of my lungs, only to swallow more.  
My entire body went numb as the oxygen began to fall from my 

I felt the darkness coming up to greet me as my neck began to 
throb strangely.  There was a ripping sensation and I gasped.  
Then gasped again.  I seemed to be breathing.  Well, not breathing 
exactly, my mouth moved and I felt better.  The darkness began to 
recede, leaving the inky blackness of the ocean at night.  I 
tentatively reached up and felt along my neck.  There, running 
down the sides were five slits which pulsed as I opened and closed 
my mouth.  Realisation dawned.

They were gills.  I had gills.

At that point I became aware of the amount of energy I had 
expended over the chase and allowed myself to continue the decent 
to the ocean floor.  It was cold on the bottom, I felt myself 
slowing down, but that it did not seem to bother me.  I found a 
sandy niche between two lumps of rock and slid myself into it.  
Falling into a restless sleep as my body changed around me.

While I slept my body transformed itself.  The actual change was 
relatively quick, it took a matter of hours.  I am guessing my 
system sort of saved itself for the change then forced it out in 
one small burst.  I gather the burst was triggered by my escape 
and near death experience, but I am not one hundred percent sure 
of that.

When I awoke later I ached all over.  Not a painful ache, sort of 
a knowing ache.  As if my body was trying to inform me things were 

And things definitely were different.

For one, I had a tail.  It trailed out behind me for at least five 
foot.  Its end was tipped by the familiar twin edged blade.  The 
top section extended about a foot or so above my tail, the bottom 
section much smaller, but very noticeable.  My tail seemed to grow 
out from my waist, not stuck on my backside like a mammal's, 
instead it seemed to be more part of me.  A continuation of my 
body.  My legs seemed more out of place if anything.

Speaking of my legs, my feet had grown.  They still had the claws 
and if anything they were longer than before, but now my foot was 
closer to being liked a webbed fin.  It was wider and somehow I 
could tell I was only going to walk on part of it, my ankle was 
going to stay above the ground.  Just below my waist on the 
underside of my tail were what looked like two tubes, a pair of 
fins growing from their base.  Curious, I reached down.  The 
sensation was enough for realisation to dawn.  Claspers.  Well, at 
least I was still male.

My hands were similar to my feet.  Larger, webbed and tipped with 
sharpened claws.  Starting just above my wrists and travelling to 
past my elbows were what had to be fins.  Curious I ran my hands 
over them, they were firm, yet flexible and strangely rough.  As a 
matter of fact, all my skin was rough.  Then I remember the 
research notes, my scales must have developed, only they were not 
scales.  They were those things which sharks had, denticles.  
Almost like tiny teeth covering a thick hide.

I suddenly remember my teeth and explored my mouth with a clawed 
hand.  My entire face had changed, It was definitely more shark 
like, a pointed snout, no nostrils that I could feel, but a very 
large mouth.  Opening it slightly I could feel rows of small, 
sharp teeth and idly wondered were they had come from.  I felt 
over the rest of my head, it was smooth and streamlined.  No ears, 
but I could hear the reassuring bubble of the water somehow.  My 
neck had grown too, filling out so my head fitted smoothly onto my 
shoulders, there was no neck to speak off, just my gill slits 
which flared slightly as I unconsciously breathed through them.

I turned in my now cramped niche, I was much bigger that before, 
but incredibly more graceful and flexible.  I caught my tail as it 
slid by, examining its colouring.  It was counter-shaded, light 
below and darker on the top.  Its very tip was bleached white and 
there were darker bands travelling along the top of it.  I 
realised at least two of the species which made me were probably a 
silver tip and a tiger shark.

Unsure how exactly to proceed I pushed out into the depths and 
stroked my tail, cutting through the water, getting use to the 
form.  Strangely I accepted it well, I'm not sure if it was just a 
changed outlook or if the physical change had affected me mentally 
as well.  Loosing my human form did not seem to matter.  I suppose 
in a way it was as if the old me had died and the new me was 
starting afresh.

I was aware of the small fish in the water around me.  The way 
they ducked into nooks and crannies or attempted to bury 
themselves in the sand to hide.  It wasn't until the third bite I 
realised I had grabbed a large blue groper in my claws and had 
bitten two huge chunks out of it.  Were my teeth sharp or what?  
And I was ravenous.  It wasn't until another two fish later that I 
felt an almost contented full feeling.  Part of me was revolted 
with eating raw fish, but most of me looked upon it as lunch.

By now I found myself back at the entrance to the cove which 
housed the hospital.  I paused at the mouth, debating if I was to 
enter or not, however it was deep.  I knew I had no fear of being 
seen or cornered so I pushed on inside, staying low to the bottom.

Over towards one side was a yacht one of the directors used.  He 
only went sailing on the weekends, but he like that keep it 
anchored in sight of the office, a bit like a status symbol.  I 
did not know what I was planning to do until I reached the anchor 
rope.  Slowly a plan formed in my mind and I crept to the surface.

My head broke the water silently, protected from the shore by the 
hull.  Reaching up, I effortless stuck my claws through the 
polished fibreglass and hauled myself onto the deck, staying low 
and out of sight, deliberately leaving jaggered and splintered 
holes over anything I touched.

Above the water I felt more vulnerable and open, but not entirely 
out of place.  There was a slight panic as I suddenly wondered if 
my lungs would still work, but a silent coughing fit later 
revealed they had suffered no permanent damage.  I slunk into the 
cramped cabin and looked around.  A mirror caught my eyes and I 
moved to examine myself.  I made a handsome shark.  About eight 
foot tall, complete with long tail, the lean forward was a bit 
alarming, but all in all, I thought I looked cute, but knew others 
would find me terrifying.  Humanity was lost to me now.

That thought brought me back to my mission.  Looking around I 
found a convenient chair and lifted it up.  Opening my maw, I felt 
my lower jaw distend and I clamped down on the plastic and wood 
backing.  The entire thing shattered.  Releasing it I looked at 
the damage.  The back of the chair had a huge bite taken out of 
it.  Idly I fished bits out of my mouth as I looked around for 
something to write with.  I finally found a tube of red lipstick 
and eyed a convenient wall.

I scribbled my message with some difficulty before placing the 
chair below it and returning to the comfort of the cool water.  As 
I made my way up the coast to the tropics I wondered what the 
director's reaction would be when he saw my act of vandalism.  

They already knew I had changed, but I gather they had assumed I 
had died after I was shot since there were no search parties.  
Then, a few days later the director would have found a splintered 
chair with a bite taken out of it beneath a message written in 
red... "I'll be watching you..."

Well, a shark transform, I've been meaning to do one and I finally got around to it. Sorry of anyone found it a little on the long side, it turned out considerably longer than I anticipated, mainly due to my ramblings in the middle. Anyway, hope you liked it. :)