Documentary: Toilet Hunter


Written by Septia.


-Psllt- -Clpth- A dripple echoed throughout the halls of rust and moss, accompanied by the coursing of diluted sludge coursing along the underground canals. Caged light fixtures provide less illumination, than illumination it was a source of looming shadows, ensnaring the chamber. 


“The sewers of Kung Hung. Little has progressed in terms of its functionality since its conception hundreds of years ago. While it leads fulfills its function in ferrying waste products towards modernized facilities, it is the equivalent tof a dirt path leading to motorway. Here mould is left to ferment, inspections were seldom, and pests roam between the shadows.” 


A shade covered the back wall, then whipped out of sight with a ripple of moisture rustling in its path. 


“It is these ecological significances and seclusion, that transforms it into a breeding ground; a home for peculiar species to develop.”


Down the corridor, down the hall lined with rows of canals, the shadow of a tail withdraws into an opening.


~ 1 ~


Faint squelches and slithering crept through and coil along the tunnel -Chrlrlpstsh- -Chhvlrlssh- a shape spanning the girth of the tube trudges through dung juices. 


 “Copro-ophidomorphic Ceilidh. Colloquially named the ‘Bombshell Boa' can make its way through any opening larger than one deci, this pipe provides it no challenge. Contrary to its denotation, the species exhibits a chimeric origin; aspects of humanoid, lizard, and insectoid. Yet, its primary contribution, owed to that, of the cephalopod.” 


-Chrlrlpshts- The Bombshell clamped its hand around the brim of an opening ahead, its nasal slits widened -Chrppstlp- -Cjhtsk- Cracks and snaps of bone slotting into place echoed through the pipes, as it drew itself upwards, consistently bent to a sharp 70 degree angle as it clambered upwards, the majority of its body slugging and morphing along in the manner of a single lash of seaweed. 


“It is through this relation, conjoined with a minimal –  yet collapsible – bone structure, that this six meter Bombshell Boa, can traverse through 75% percent of Kung Hung's sewers. This has become a crucial aspect for its survival, as a creature of this size can only sustain itself on the scattered vermin of Kung Hung's sewers, for so long.”


“Come on, gunna be sum time today, eh? Sack o' junk.” A pink Axolotl grumbles staring at their mobile for another few long seconds without the slightest hint of a reply. “Bitch ass jerk think she can get tha better off fs ha-... heck.” He grunted when the mobile clattered to the ceramic flooring instead of slotting into the pants bagged around his ankles. He leaned down, lifting his rear off the toilet seat. 
	The amber hued pool of liquid was disturbed by a bubble. Then another. Soon, heralded by a shifting -Chrrlrlch- squeaks of buffed porcelain, a shadow surfaced. 


A majority of lavatory connecting pipes to sewers have a diameter below one deci. But a majority does not equate total. As long as larger piping remains in use, the bombshell boa, finds a venue to hunt. 


“Dumb bitch's gonna get what coming to em.” The axolotl gruffed, seating themselves back onto the plastic ring. -Scchllpth- -Chlrpthhwwtwp-. A whip of tensile rubber followed up with a smatter of a wet towel as the amphibian's hind was engulfed by a congealed suit of humidity. 
	“What in the s-.” 


The Bobshell boa's tongue harkens to the insectile kingdom, behaving as a proboscis, yet as flexible as the creature itself. Upon contact the very tip of the hollow muscle undergoes an explosive expansion, until its rim has sprawled to constrict an area over ten times its initial diameter. This creates a vacuum that seals the prey shut with a grip strength few in its size class can match. The processes which harkens back to the suction cups of the octopus. Alternatively, for a simile befitting the Bombshell's environment – it functions as a plunger hold.” 


“Heck did I do wrong? what are you even, hosf. Wthat 'ss so grrosmfms. Wfmpwhw gmpghs.” 
	Long arms clamped and patted up along the Axolotl's chest until they smacked over his maw, leaving his cries muffled under a mask of fermented sewage. The palms scoffing him down to the engorging maw, plunger tongue reeling him ass first into the Bombshell's gaping abyss. -Chrrlpsths- A crinkle and flush of taut skin and a rustle of building foam squealed from the slick maw, enveloping the amphibian's thighs, folding him into an engorging bloat steadily distending on her gullet, soon surpassing her chest and bobbing as a stuffed kangaroo's pouch jostled before their neck. 


“While intelligent, the Bombshell's manner of restraining and silencing their prey is reliant on instinct. The Bombshell's attention is directed toward the highest prerogative for a hunt encounter: Assessment. The gullet of the Bombshell is rapidly filled towards obscene bloating, this simulates the maximum capacity of the creature's gastrointestinal tracts, if the prey's overall volume exceeds this capacity, the Bombshell will proceed to regurgitate, and retreat into the safety of the sewers. Otherwise...” 


-Chrkrpsths- -Gllmmpgpsgnpsh- With a grand guzzle and crack of discombobulating ribs the chest of the Bombshell was laid unobstructed by internal anatomy, and the Axolotl sank as a fishing bob, with lags folded upwards and knees hanging over the brim of their lips, head sinking until he felt the creature's lips suckling over his neck. 
	“Mfmwpghg wmgpwghwa.” he scrambled. With the shuffle of his pants his phone toppled out onto the floor. -Vrrrbbt- -Vbbrrrbt- It begun to buzz. “Mmfpghgawahpwa.” He scrambled, as the palms fondled his head, cramming it past the elastic orifice. -Glglpgmsh- -gglgphms- the swallows clamping his head taut to his legs, his whiskers flinching on the edge of the lips as they descended into the moaning -MGMpgsha- -Bfhrlgprusk- gurgling pit. 


“Freed from the restraint of their rib cage, the bombshell’s gullet and stomach connect to a singular chamber, According to speculation  that this distending membrane is so optimized for encapsulating and containing prey hinting towards an amphibian inheritance, specifically frogs. However in the manner which their skin stretches and wraps so taut against the prey's skin, their outlines remains visible throughout the process, suggesting this is a further connection to the flexibility of the cephalopods. Once this biological sluice has been breached, the prey has little hope of escaping, becoming the Bombshell's three star dinner course.”


The Axolotle's view shrunk, lips crawling over his head, shrinking as an aperture of meat towards his legs, and sealing him in the dampened atmosphere consisting of humid refuse, foaming saliva, and the brine of his own sweat. 
	-Chrrlpsgu-- -GooMGpgshr- -Mmcpghss- The Bombshell arched her neck back with each swallow, sending his flail legs deeper with each guzzle, drained down to inflate the squirming bulges on her abdomen, engorged to the point of swathing over the brim of the toilet seat and the flab of the deluging body piling over, until their lips swathed over their ankles, and wedged under their shoes. -Sppths- -Spthsths- Prying the footwear off with their lips, as the cork to a bottle -Somgpbths- and swallowed, so the last bulge in their neck funnelled down into their guts. -Chhgrlpgbths- -Gbrhhrggmpgsh- 
	“Phaaaa…” She exhaled a breath of ammonia and musk. -Bbhruhrraaaallpooorsp- followed by a belch rippling the surface of their gut and blotting out their cheeks as the hot air funnelled through, constraining the stomach's skin to vacuum. The bulges and shifting bloats on their gut gaining sharpened definition around contours and crevices.


“The act of expelling excess air post-consumption ensures the their physiology remains mobile, prevents bloating, and limits the capacity of struggle for their catch. An essential vacuum seal in theory, if not in practice. At this stage of feeding, the Bombshell Boa faces an issue. Despite expelling lungfuls of guttural smog, their abdomen is swollen from their prey. Wedging themselves back into the sewers in this state would require tunnel acrobatics even the Bombshell would be jealous of. The initial cycle of digestion is completed after ten hours, during which the Bombshell is unable to vacate through their entrance route.. This, is when it has to get creative. 


~ 2 ~


A nurseshark in janitor's cap slips through the bathroom door. 
	“Cleaning time, anyone in here? Just me? Good, good, that's fine,” he ensured the empty room and sprays the mirror with cleaning agents. 
	“Mmnf, is that…” they mumbled, sniffing out an odour in the air. The janitor following his nose to one of the stalls furthest out… and peeks inside. 
	“Oh, skies that reeks of tha… ohh, w-wow.” 
	Inside the stall sits the toilet, lid up, and within a coiling mountain of raw bowel mortar trailing up out of the bowl, its peak gracing near the top of the porcelain backing. The load laid drizzled in crackles — coffee-sump black sprouted through the sickly leaf-yellow dung. Droplets of bowel slime sweating down the crevices and drippling down into the curling layers of filth below, sinking back into gaping fractures. The whole heap oozing an odour of brine marinated hide and licorice distilled in a cloudy alcohol. An intoxicating, meaty stench, that exhumed from the pile of clay constipation. 
	“Ourhk…” That is not going down anytime soon…” The shark relents, coughing as they shut the stall closed to take in a clean breath. “I swear, big eaters aught to keep themselves to bathrooms befitting their… pufk… magnitude…” He proceeded to bandage the door over with warning tape, making a note in their ledger, and shaking their head with disappointment as they proceeded to continue cleaning. 


It is well-known that a cephalopod poses an unrivalled affinity for camouflage. Where almost species share this, numerous octopus posses the trait of morphing not only pigments, but sculpting pigments. It is Through this process of moulding and malforming the skin of their tail that the Bombshell avoids detection, taking on the appearance of a clogged lavatory. This coupled with glands producing a methane rich odour, which alternates in intensity and flavour based on location and diet – completes the illusion. Several configurations of this process has been recorded to accomplish this. In some, their upper body withdraws through the initial tubing, leaving their their prey in the bottom of the bowl, whilst the remaining tail completes the illusion in a matter of coiling and manifesting its camouflage. This is structurally preferable, as the Bombshell will know when it is safe to vacate the premises, as it can continuously check the girth of their prey with the opening to the pipes. Another configuration involves the Bombshell suspending its body hanging within the conal swirl of its tail, clutching a suspended analog with the bulge of its prey clutched taut. As if in an embrace. It is uncertain what this pose accomplishes, as while it can suede struggles, that is rarely an issue the species face, and the untangling is comparatively cumbersome and slow. However, this behaviour has been observed enough to be taken into consideration. 
	The most common outcome of this disguise provides the Bombshell with a safe, secluded environment for digestion, lying undisturbed for severely hours. If disrupted, it will attempt alternate methods of escape, some have been seen escaping windows and through street bound sewer hatches.. This one, however, has all the time in it requires, to melt its meal to such a macerated state, it will vanish down the pipes again to seek refuge in the sewers. 


~ 3 ~


-Chhfpghts- Cghptgs- -Cbhrhrpsths- A surge of collected sewage, a pastey dough of amber and auburn hurled from the opening in the sewers, flooding out with diluted liquid to a chunky slurry, joining the river of muck  below. -Shpthgs- -Csphts- Patties of congealed mulch clumping together in the fall, lodging stuck to gradually build up a clog of viscous mud, and -Bchrhpghs- splattering into the sewage, droplets of tar and bile sluggishly spilled to and fro, before they incorporated into the sewage and diluted, blending in. 
	A pair of shoes, tied togethter, where hoisted out through the opening by an arm, and tossed to the side,  -Cllpht- joining a small disparity of footwear and tattered clothing. The Bombshell lounging in the pipe, turning and inspecting the Axolotl's phone, fiddling with the screen, and swiping through applications. -Bhhuraaalrp-. 


It is for its sudden attack the Bombshell Boa got its name but unlike detonations, its traces are slipping out of sight melding into shadows, as a serpent in the night. This successful hunt can sustain them for weeks. Coupled with their disparaging numbers, the attacks are infrequent. A mating ritual yet to be observed. Joining numerous mysteries about the Bombshell Boa, yet to be uncovered, beneath the underbelly, of Kung Hung. 


~ 4 ~


“Geeze, he's been really upset… Usually hear from about now… did he mean what he said last…?” an axolotl mumbled to herself, flicking her phone back and forth on a cafe table. Then typing in another message. 
	“Hey, don't be mad, ok? Can't we instead just be friends again? There's benefits available.” She added some flair to the message. But, still nothing. “Pha…” she sighed and went to pay for her drink. 
	-Vrrrbt- A response flashed up on the screen: “Sure bae, we're we meeting up?”