I’m going to nuke the Octopi

I’m sorry. This isn’t a scientific review. There’s not going to be a hint of theory or evidence in this memo. What my team and I have discovered isn’t worth the grace and restraint it would take for me to communicate with dignity. I will attempt to keep things concise and professional, but I accept that my actions will bring about my possible incarceration. I am ok with that.

Things started well. We measured seismic activity, food availability, social capabilities in the specimen, everything. It really was an Octopus utopia. We had two main labs set up. One in Japan, where we were stationed, and another across the globe. Our goal was to try and form an anthropological theory for the Octopi colonies forming. What we discovered is so much more vast than we can start to understand.

It began when unsecure or otherwise loose pieces of our equipment were incorporated into their infrastructure. Suddenly, their city started to more closely resemble an actual civilization. The anthropologist was the first to notice the use of symbols and religious iconography. Two dimensional images of our boats, kayak shaped, haloed by eight wavy rays of sun.

They would draw it with several appendages working at once, with the same quickness as a human drawing a fish in the sand with their foot. Elegant and meaningful. Nuance. It became a greeting. it hung above their little coral houses. “Peace be with you.”

This was far beyond anything we’d expect from any known species. Only humans have ever evolved far enough for language.

But as we learned more and more about their behaviors, we soon learned they had hallowed ground. Not a grave, not a “dark woods” or anything. But a large, empty, flat space of sand. Every day, several of them would go out there. The behavior we documented didn’t make any sense. Halfway between dancing and lamenting.

Have you ever seen an octopus distraught? They change colours rapidly and sputter their limbs about viciously. Same behavior here, except every few minutes they would snap out of it, and begin dancing again. We started calling it the harlem shake as a little lab inside joke.

We decided it was time to make the first dive. It was me, the botanist, and the marine biologist. We were going to collect kelp and coral from the village, and then sand from their little bohemian grove. They usually skittered away but today they felt like watching us without fear. Some of them wrapped our fingers like little curious children.

We did the sand last. We were too caught up with how adorable the little guys were being today. Not that the order mattered or anything. We dove. I watched, and the other scooped some sand. The botanist began taking some pictures of the crop circles.

The sand beneath their worship area sifted and whirled. A massive cloud of thick ink suddenly limited my vision, completely obscuring the rest of my team. It writhed and flapped rapidly, hurling my colleagues. I saw red mist as its beak clamped on someone. I retreated to the surface. Our anthropologist was floating at the top, writhing with several sets of tentacles around her throat and extremities. There is no grasping this. The dwarfing of everything you’d ever known. It is with horror that I now realize, their images were never of our boats. It was a beak, arrayed by the eight tentacles of their God. A tangible God. A large God. An angry God.

I’ve already readied the explosives. I will go down with the ship. I just need to wait for what you just read to upload and then… well. Goodbye. I hope this reaches someone.