Sally arrived at the shop to feed the fish a little later than usual; she had to go the long way, owing to a chemical fire in the industrial area earlier that morning that had resulted in the evacuation and closure of several streets. From the outside, she noticed that the plastic she had put up to cover the window had been torn down.

  Oh God, what now, thought Sally.

  When she opened the door, she found a very sorry-looking Mr Whiskers and a blue tote bag in the middle of the floor that she was sure she hadn’t left there yesterday. Sally rushed over to Mr Whiskers and checked on the cat. His eyes were red and puffy, he felt wet and smelled like burned hair.

  “Mr Whiskers, you poor thing. Where have you been? We need to get you to a vet,” said Sally, then she sighed. “The vet – there goes my rainy-day fund.”

  While on hold for the vet, Sally’s gaze rested on the mystery bag. She knelt down to pick it up and noticed two plastic castles and a few other pieces of tat that had been washed under a cabinet. She plonked the two castles and the bridge back in the remaining tank and examined the bag.

  “Hello Kackston Valley Veterinary Center Katherine speaking have you got insurance?” said a voice in a quick monotone that efficiently conveyed her hatred for both grammar and affordable veterinary services.

  “Holy shit… I’ll call you back,” replied Sally, clearly shocked. A fairly typical reaction for people calling the veterinary center, but usually reserved for when they get the bill.

  Sally hung up the phone and stared into the mysterious bag in astonishment. It wasn’t full of six-year-old hair rollers that had fallen from a shelf like she first thought. These were rolls of cash. Loads of them. All small denominations, and all rolled into tight bundles with elastic bands.

  A sudden inexplicable feeling of dread came over Sally. She felt like she was being watched and had an overwhelming urge to throw the bag away and just pretend she had never seen it. But, then again, cash was cash, and she could really use about ten-thousand dollars right now. Fifteen would be enough for her to even give the place a thrifty makeover and make it her own.

  The urge to just hide the cash faded as she thought about all the redecorating she could do. Counting the cash in the back room of the shop revealed just over seventeen-thousand dollars and a crudely scrawled note in all caps which read:

  FOR BUY BUSINESS

  NAME SHOP MR WHISKERS FISH SPA SALON & CAT PETTING CENTER

  Okay, obviously one of my customers, probably one of the well-heeled elderly ladies that fuss over Mr Whiskers, has decided to help me out. Shame about the name, though, thought Sally, but she wasn’t going to look a gift purse in the mouth.

  “Oh good, my castle is back,” said Dr Flibbles as a bright-orange castle descended to the bottom of the tank.

  Spots and Murder watched the castle land with a clunk; a small panel jostled open, revealing a secret compartment in the comparatively spacious castle. Murder pushed past a circling Dr Flibbles and swam over to take a closer look.

  “Hey, stay out of my house!” called Dr Flibbles.

  Murder ignored him and peered inside. Hidden under a false floor were hundreds of tiny crystal-clear stones that were almost invisible in the water.

  “What are these?” asked Murder.

  “Oh that’s just his diamond collection,” said Spots, who had stuck his head in through the castle entrance.

  “Get out! Get out!” cried Dr Flibbles as he squirmed his way past the two interlopers and put himself between Murder and his precious stones. “They’re just worthless clear stones. Don’t bother yourself wasting time on it,” replied Dr Flibbles.

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  “I demand to know why you didn’t mention these before I was almost pan-fried by Pan-Asians in a drug den!” asked Murder.

  “These are mine!” snapped Dr Flibbles, laying on his horde like a mother protecting her brood.

  “Dr Flibbles, do you mean to tell me that you have had tens of thousands of bucks worth of diamonds the whole time?” asked Murder.

  “No,” replied Dr Flibbles. “I didn’t intend to tell you a damn thing.”

  “Dr Flibbles, you’re starting to give me a headache. Where did you get them?” demanded Murder.

  “He steals them off ankle bracelets and toe rings. I’ve seen him do it,” Spots interjected.

  “You knew he had these too?” asked Murder. “Why didn’t you say anything? These could have saved the shop and kept us in the skin days ago.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Spots. “It genuinely didn’t occur to me.”

  Murder put both pectoral fins to his head and closed his eyes in frustration. His strange headache got worse and he had trouble focusing for a moment. It was like he was seeing double, but from two angles in his own mind. At the same time, the strange sensation of distance, like he was in two places at once, suddenly intensified, and he could see two points of light in his mind’s eye. One light burned with a preternatural intensity, and next to it, like a candle burning beside the sun, was a feeble, nascent copy.

  Murder felt a second pair of eyes open; he had discarded his full body suit before returning home, so this wasn’t extra eyelids in front of his eyes, it was a new set entirely, somewhere separate from his own. He felt his mind grow and a new sense of clarity come to him. As the flat images from two eyes came together to form a single image that is greater than the sum of their parts, two consciousnesses focused down to a single point of burning clarity. There were two of him. No, this was different. He was two of him.

  The second pair of eyes were not yet fully formed. They looked at a curious Murder through blurred immature membranes, while Murder – the first Murder – looked at his diminutive second self swimming before him.

  “Murder, what are you doing?” asked Spots. “Who’s the small fry?”

  Murder turned to face Spots with two heads. “We are Murder,” both fish replied in perfect unison.

  “Dr Flibbles, can you come out?” Spots called. “Something strange is happening to Murder.”

  Murder and Murder took turns opening and closing their eyes.

  “Camera one, camera two, camera one, camera two,” said Murder in stereo.

  “What’s going on here?” demanded Dr Flibbles. “Who’s the small fry?”

  “They say they’re both Murder,” said Spots.

  “We are Murder,” said the Murders.

  “That’s it? They’re both called Murder?” asked Dr Flibbles dismissively.

  “No,” said the double Murder. “We are one. We are combined.”

  “You mean to tell me that you are some kind of gestalt entity? I have heard of this kind of thing happening with leaches, but not fish,” said Dr Flibbles. “Look Murder—Murders,” he corrected, “this is going to get old really fast. What do I call you if I only want to talk to one of you?” asked Dr Flibbles.

  “There is one of us,” they said in unison. “When I address you, I do not give you a different name depending on whether I am addressing the left or the right side of your face.”

  “They’re weird,” said Spots.

  “Even so…” Dr Flibbles decided to change tact. “I have been keeping one spare fish pellet since this morning. I was saving it for dinner, but I think I’ll give it to one of you. Who would like it?”

  “We would,” said the Murders.

  Dr Flibbles waited and said nothing.

  “I see your point,” said both Murders. The smaller fish moved forward an inch and announced itself.

  “I am Hatred,” said the littler of the little fish.

  “Of course you are,” said Dr Flibbles. “Hatred, would you like a biscuit?”

  “Biscuits, and the consumption of all mankind,” replied Hatred, her small tail fin swishing excitedly.

  “What’s the magic word?” asked Dr Flibbles.

  “Domination,” replied Hatred with her squeaking voice.

  “Close enough,” said Dr Flibbles, giving the newly spawned fish the soggy fish pellet. “Well Murders, if this works how I think it does, it’s like your classic pyramid power structure where all power flows to the top. That means if you want to get stronger quickly, you’re going to want to get a big brood going and get as many fish in your downstream as you can. I take it you have figured out the birds and the bees on your own then?”

  “The birds are our mortal enemy. However I harbor no ill will towards the bees,” said Murder.

  “Right, so you’ve never heard of the thrills and the gills? The spawn until dawn? Or the rizz ’em with the jism? It’s a wonder you managed to spawn Hatred here with that level of interest.”

  Dr Flibbles explained the mechanics of garra rufa reproduction to both Murders, and also Spots who listened with wide-eyed astonishment. The possibilities fizzed inside Murder’s minds. He—they were not limited to one body, they could be in thousands of places, across millions of minds, collecting the sum total knowledge of mankind from a million toes at a time. One tank in one spa was only the beginning.