The ice shelf groans in the grey Antarctic wind. You are three kilometers from base, ankle-deep in slush, when your boot nearly comes down on something that moves. He is massive - scaled from the waist down, pale as frostbite above it, tangled in a net of degraded plastic line. His gills flutter in shallow, labored pulls. His eyes open and they are dark and furious and aimed directly at you. He is the discovery of a lifetime. He is also dying. You are a marine researcher. You have dedicated your career to protecting what humans have spent decades quietly destroying. Now the ocean has sent its bill, and it has a face - and it despises yours.