The larger shark, JX-170, circled slowly, its sleek body cutting through the water with ease. Hunger gnawed at its belly, a sharp, familiar ache that demanded satisfaction. It sensed the smaller shark, NX-642, moving in tandem, just outside the periphery of its vision. They didn’t communicate in words or sounds, but in the rhythm of their movements, a silent understanding bound them.

The water is alive tonight, JX-170 thought, the faint electric signals of distant fish twitching through its ampullae of Lorenzini. It veered slightly to the left, picking up on something larger. A stronger pulse. Mammal, perhaps. Slow. Vulnerable. Closer.

NX-642 mirrored the motion, smaller but equally precise, its hunger sharpening its focus. It could sense JX-170's intent, a deep pull of purpose shared between them. The two had hunted together before, and each time was the same: the larger one led, the smaller one shadowed, waiting for the signal.

The scent hit them simultaneously; a faint trace of blood carried by the current. It wasn’t strong, but it was enough. Enough to trigger the primal drive that surged like a tidal wave through their senses. NX-642 darted forward, impatient. Hunger must end. Now.

JX-170 slowed, pulling rank with its sheer size, a subtle flick of its tail sending a warning. Wait. Don’t waste the energy yet. It adjusted course slightly, honing in on the scent, the signals, the subtle disturbances in the water. It could feel the prey now, the vibrations of a creature swimming, unaware. Weak, tired, or simply unlucky, it didn’t matter.

NX-642 complied, falling back, its own body thrumming with anticipation. Close. So close. Its thoughts were simpler, driven by raw need. It knew its role, the finisher, the one to clean up what JX-170 began. The larger shark always claimed the first strike, a breach of speed and power that startled the prey into shock. The smaller shark thrived in that chaos.

JX-170 began to rise, its body tightening like a coiled spring, ready to explode upward. Now. The decision wasn’t conscious, it was instinct, honed by millions of years of survival. It surged, water parting around its streamlined body as it breached the surface. The prey, a seal, barely had time to react before rows of serrated teeth tore into flesh, dragging it down.

NX-642 was there in seconds, its jaws snapping at the thrashing meal. Mine too. Together, they tore the prey apart, their movements harmonized in an ancient dance of survival. The taste of blood filled the water, rich and metallic, satisfying the primal hunger that had driven them.

JX-170 glided through the dark water, its thoughts sharper than the hunger that remained in its belly after sharing the meal. The scent of blood always lingered in its memory, not the faint, fleeting trails of prey that barely filled its maw, but the rich, intoxicating essence of those who got away. The ones who were more than a meal. It remembered them, not with emotion as humans understood it, but with the deep, instinctual drive etched into its ancient mind.

It also remembered its other companion. Its ally. Not that it understood the concept of friendship, but there had been something between them, an unspoken coordination, a shared purpose in the hunt. The thing above water had killed it. JX-170 had searched for the ones who controlled the thing, swimming through miles of endless water, but it had never returned. The absence lingered, a void that only heightened its awareness of what had been lost.

That was how it found the creature, the one that had placed the thing on its body. The memory was seared into its being, as vivid as the first breach. The cold, unnatural grip of the device had wrapped around its dorsal fin, stripping it of its freedom, its dignity. They had pulled him from the water, exposed him to a world it didn’t understand, and in doing so, humiliated its brilliance. The weight of that thing had marked it, driven it, until it was gone, torn away over time, just as it had disappeared from NX-642.

But JX-170 hadn’t forgotten. It never would.

It had found one of them, the creatures that walked on land, that dared to think themselves beyond reach. And it had ended them, its jaws closing with finality, its power proving their weakness. The memory was satisfying in a primal, visceral way, but the satisfaction didn’t last. The ocean was vast, and there were others. Always others.

Now, it swam with purpose, the blood trails faint but promising. Beside it, NX-642 followed, a smaller shadow sharing its silent mission. The thing they had left on their bodies was gone, but the scars ran deeper. JX-170 would hunt, feed, and continue to remind the ocean, and those who dared enter it, that nothing was above the oldest predator on Earth. Nothing.

The ocean was vast and unyielding, and the hunger that spurred his search would return. It always did.