We all stare at Doctor Finrot in shock.

‘Did she just say she’s going to shrink the sun?’ I whisper.

‘Our sun?’ says Gilleon.

‘The sun sun?’ Hunter repeats.

‘Whose son?’ asks Gnash.

‘Shhh!’ we all say.

‘But … but … but …’ stammers Agent Frond. ‘Without the sun, we can’t survive!’

‘You mean you can’t survive,’ says Doctor Finrot. ‘Us anglerfish, we hate the stupid sun! It’s far too big and bright, and it burns our poor sensitive eyes. If we want to take over the surface waters, it simply has to go!’

‘Take over the surface?’ gasps Agent Con. ‘But anglerfish live in deep ocean.’

‘Exactly!’ cries Doctor Finrot.

‘Right down the bottom. Do you have any idea what you surface-dwelling critters do all day? You POO. All of you! Octopuses and whales and squid and sea snakes, and don’t get me started on all you fish. You just POO, POO, POO, all day long. And you know what happens to all that stinky, slimy POO?’

‘It fertilises the seaweed?’ suggests

Agent Chip.

‘Delivers nutrients to coral reefs?’ asks another agent.

‘It sinks!’ shouts Doctor Finrot. ‘All the way down to the bottom of the sea, where WE all live. We spend all day swimming around in your POO. It gets in our laundry. Up our nostrils. In our food! Well, we anglerfish have had enough! We want to swim in clean waters for once. And my krill-iant three-step plan is going to ensure our victory. It’s otterly stool-proof! Er, I mean FOOL-proof.’

‘You’ll never get away with this, Finrot!’ shouts Agent Con.

Doctor Finrot gives an evil laugh. ‘Hahaha! Really? You have only nine minutes left to stop me, and each and every one of you is tied up. Say goodbye to your pesky little sun.’

Up in the vent, the four of us turn to each other.

‘This is a crab-tastrophe!’ Hunter whispers. ‘We have to do something.’

‘Like what?’ I ask. ‘These are the number-one villains in the world, remember? We’re just ordinary school sharks!’

‘We’re way more than ordinary sharks,’ says Hunter. ‘We’re JAWSOME. There’s nothing ordinary about us!’

Gilleon puts his snout in the air. ‘What are we supposed to do, sing them a lullaby?’ ‘Hmm,’ says Hunter. ‘Being a rock star isn’t just about music. It’s also about … stage presence.’ A toothy grin spreads across her face. ‘I think I might have an idea.’ She reaches into her jaws and pulls out a backpack.

‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘My carry-on luggage,’ she answers simply. ‘I always carry it with me.’ Then she grins. ‘Now, listen up. We’re going to put on a show and invade the invaders!’