The young man squirmed, and watched as the brownish-grey tail swished back and forth. He could feel the tail attached to his body. Automated misters sprayed droplets of water on his tail to keep his skin moist. In the mirror, Steven could see the sutures connecting his human torso to the long fish tail.
"Sir, you realize that he won't be able to breathe underwater. He's still a mammal, and-" said an academic sounding voice.
A rich loud Southern male's voice answered, "Now, son, I know he's not a real water-breather. That's why I picked this man. He wasn't the fastest swimmer, but he could hold his breath for the entire length of the Olympic pool," he paused for emphasis, "up and back without surfacing. Extra large lung capacity, they tell me. So he'll be ideal in my aquatic exhibit. As a bonus, he was captain of the Glee Club, and sings both Tenor and Baritone. So I want him up and around practicing songs for my big Christmas party. I want everyone to see my mythic zoo."
"Yes, sir. Uh, you realize that most of your exhibits were taken against their will. That is they were criminally abducted, and-"
"That's why we're on my private island, which technically is its own sovereign country. I make the laws here, so it isn't illegal. Besides, considering my guest list, I don't think any will be objecting. They may even want to start their own collections," he said with a raucous laugh.
Steven shivered. His head was immobilized by a metal strap. He couldn't turn to see who was speaking, and the mirrored ceiling was not reflecting the speakers, only his own naked merman body. He convulsed in pain. A machine beeped wildly.
"Calm down," said the first speaker. He stepped into view. He was a man in white surgical gown, mask, and head covering. His eye glasses and clothing were covered with blood. Steven knew it was his blood. He injected something into the IV feeding into Steven's arm. "You've had major transplant surgery. I'm sure it's quite a shock to discover that your lower half is now a dolphin. I've used special immunosuppressant drugs, so we'll be keeping you in a clean enviroment. The pain killers should be kicking i-"
Steven stopped thrashing and his mind faded into sweet oblivion. It must have been hours or even days before he regained consciousness again. The skin around his waist seemed to be healing together. It still looked wrong, but it looked less wrong than it had before. Maybe it was because his upper body looked more wrong. It took him a minute or two, but he noticed his ears had been pinned back against his head. He had always been conscious that they stuck out a bit, but now they were aerodynamically hugging his head. He could move his arms within the constraints of the leather bands hold his forearm and biceps in place. His hands were now webbed between the fingers and fin ran down the side of his hand and forearm. His face was bearded. How long had he been unconscious? He swallowed. His throat hurt, but at least the repirator was gone.
"Ah, the patient awakes," says the man in white. His mask is still in place. He is accompanied by two huge goons in orderlies uniforms. "Now your physical therapy begins. Your muscles will be weak after the weeks in surgery, but since you'll be training in the salt water pool-"
Steven cuts him short by blurting out...