Despite growing up in separate corners of the world, the six fishermen who pulled out of Kodiak Bay Harbor on the Second Chance that morning all knew the difference between right and wrong. It didn’t matter that they spoke foreign languages or came from different countries.

When they spotted an inflatable zodiac drifting about thirty kilometers off the coast, the fishermen didn’t hesitate to lend a helping hand.

“Secure the deck!” Captain O’Brian shouted, immediately veering their ship off course. “We got a small boat in distress off the starboard side!”

The captain was stunned to see such a small craft this far from the nearest harbor and presumed something terrible must have transpired. It wouldn't have been the first time a fishing boat had left the harbor only to end up lost at sea (with survivors surfacing in a lifeboat days later, if at all). He struggled to come up with any other plausible explanation given the frequent whitecaps and thick morning fog that routinely blanketed this part of the Canadian coastline. “Surely, this lone seafarer wasn’t foolish enough to think an inflatable zodiac could contend with the unforgiving waves of the North Atlantic,” he thought.

Captain O’Brian convinced himself that he was rescuing this lucky sailor from certain death. However, he would soon discover that this encounter might not have been as random as he had assumed.

“Get ready to grab that line!” the captain ordered as the Second Chance pulled up alongside the flimsy orange boat.

One of the fishermen leaned over the right side of the ship and yelled, “Got it, skipper!” after he caught the mooring line thrown by the stranger. Gripping the rope, he walked toward the back of the fishing boat and slowly reeled in the zodiac using both arms. He was careful to avoid the great white shark thrashing around on the main deck.

The crew just captured the enormous shark and didn’t have a chance to put it on ice yet, although the great white welcomed the untimely interruption. The ferocious shark continued snapping his jaws at anyone daring to look its way.

Once the zodiac was secured to the back of the Second Chance, the mysterious stranger grabbed the fisherman’s hand, climbed aboard, and announced cheerfully, “Ah, bonjour, gentlemen! Merci, merci beaucoup for your gracious hospitality… And just in time too!”

The French stranger appeared to be an older man with a slender yet athletic build. He had striking green eyes, short white hair, and a cleanly shaven face except for a chevron-style mustache that matched his hair color. He was wearing an Irish tweed flat cap made of dark-gray wool, black boots, and a dark-blue mechanic’s jumpsuit that was zipped up all the way to the collar. Considering the boat’s precarious location, it wasn’t surprising to see that this lone sailor was also wearing an orange life vest over his jumpsuit.

The stranger confidently breezed past the great white shark and stuck his hand out to greet the captain while the Second Chance swayed with the ocean swells.

Captain O’Brian quickly shook the man’s hand with a firm grip and said, “You sure are lucky we crossed paths, eh? That little zodiac is no match for this part of the North Atlantic!” The Russian fisherman standing next to the captain laughed as he patted the stranger on the back. “The sharks will not be making you for dinner tonight! This is problem we fix,” he teased, prompting the other men to howl with laughter while the stranger grinned derisively.

When the commotion began to settle down, the French stranger jested, “Well, I guess everyone deserves a… second chance, no?” Uproarious laughter erupted once again among the fishermen.

“Please, please… allow me to introduce myself. My name is Monsieur Saint-Clair, and I am so incredibly grateful that I ran into such a hospitable group of shark fishermen. Honestly, I was really starting to worry there for a minute!”

“Now, please,” he humbly insisted, “there must be some way that I can thank you for your kindness.” Before the crewmen could respond, Saint-Clair blurted, “My cigars!” He swiftly pulled out a pack of stogies from his left pocket and presented them to the fishermen. “Only thing I managed to save… but not to worry, it looks like there is enough for everyone!”

Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Captain O’Brian accepted the generous gift. His eyes lit up with excitement while he passed them out to the other five fishermen onboard.

“They are Especial Selectados,” Saint-Clair explained merrily. “Unquestionably, one of the finest cigars known to man. Oui, the slow burn simply does not compare to anything else out there. And trust me… I have tried them all!”

Enamored by the smell of Volado tobacco and with eager anticipation flickering in the captain’s eyes, one of the fishermen inched closer to Saint-Clair to ask for matches. “You have light?”

The Russian fisherman stepped in with his windproof lighter and flipped the flint wheel using his thumb. Like a swarm of moths drawn to a streetlamp, the rest of the men huddled around the flame, each taking turns lighting their cigars.

While the fishermen stood back and happily puffed away, Saint-Clair turned his attention to the great white shark flailing about in front of them. The shark was desperately gasping for water and sporadically snapping his jaws in frustration. “You know, fishing can be quite dangerous if you are using the right kind of bait,” he remarked.

“Although I will say… hunting sharks is an interesting choice. Beautiful animals, if you ask me.” Admiring the shark’s beauty from a safe distance, he carried on enlightening the unsuspecting fisherman. “Truly the greatest hunters on the planet.”

“But not all sharks are made equal!” Saint-Clair chortled, “No, no, no, the great white is special.”

Captain O’Brian blew out a ring of smoke after taking a puff and responded curiously, “Is that right, eh?”

The six fishermen casually enjoyed their cigars while clouds of smoke began to waft in front of Saint-Clair’s face as he stared back at them perspicaciously. “That’s right, my friends,” he answered with a menacing smirk. “From the minute a great white is born, that shark is on its own. There is no time for compassion or empathy. They must hunt to survive from day one.”

Saint-Clair snickered.

“I mean, just look at this guy.” He gestured dramatically toward the writhing shark on the deck of the Second Chance, boasting, “This magnificent creature has special sensors in his nose, and even right now, he is listening to the electricity from our hearts. He can feel how fast they are beating without even touching us. Can you believe that? It is one of the only animals that can literally smell fear.”

The gigantic great white continued thrashing as Saint-Clair warned, “Oui, this beautiful shark probably wishes he could show us how sharp those serrated teeth really are. All three hundred of them!”

One of the fishermen chimed in, gloating with a thick New York accent, “Not fuh nuthin’, but I wouldn’t worry about this one, buddy. He’ll be a bowl of shark fin soup by this time tomorrow… just like his friends below deck!” The six fishermen burst into laughter. They gawked callously at the great white shark, which was still frantically gasping for water.

Saint-Clair shook his head in disappointment and smiled while he watched the men puffing away on their cigars arrogantly. He glanced at his watch and quipped, “I guess we better hope he doesn’t make it back into the water then.”

A split second later, one of the fishermen shouted something in Russian after the cigar he was smoking suddenly burst into flames; it caught fire like a road flare, with unrelenting sparks shooting out of the tip. The unexpected burns on his hand shocked him, and he hastily tossed the cigar away.

The rest of the fishermen were speechless at first—they could only watch in bewilderment as the burning cigar rolled across the deck while the boat rocked back and forth.

Everything changed in an instant once the cigar found its way to a small puddle of water near the wheelhouse. Instead of fizzling out, the opposite happened. It was as if someone had just poured a bucket of gasoline on a smoldering campfire. Raging flames spewed uncontrollably, catching everyone by surprise (everyone except Saint-Clair).

Beyond perplexed, the fishermen soon realized this was only the beginning of their problems—one by one, the rest of the cigars began to burst into flames as well. Two of the men managed to throw their cigars overboard, but it didn’t matter. They still had to grapple with the other four cigars now burning on the deck of the Second Chance.

A blinding cloud of white smoke consumed the surrounding area while the fishermen scrambled to fill buckets of water. The captain yelled hysterically, “Get the hose! Right now!” prompting two of the men to race across the deck as the fire grew larger.

The fishermen connected the emergency firehose in a panicked frenzy and directed the gushing water coming out of the nozzle toward the four blazing hotspots on the deck. To their surprise, this only exacerbated the flames. What seemed like small but manageable fires were now quickly spreading, engulfing the middle section of the ship in a relentless inferno. It was absolute chaos by any measure.

Extinguishing one fire was hard enough; trying to put out four at the same time would prove to be near impossible, especially when everything they threw at the flames only made them grow larger. The men watched in disbelief as the uncontrollable firestorm continued raging near the wheelhouse.

While the fishermen tried feverishly to contain the fire, Saint-Clair calmly walked toward the aft of the ship as if nothing were wrong. He climbed into his inflatable zodiac after grabbing a large white bucket from the back of the Second Chance. Nobody even seemed to notice—they were all distracted by the blaze.

Saint-Clair chuckled as he untied the mooring line and started up the outboard motor. He quickly pulled away from the fishing vessel, giving himself a better vantage point to watch the mayhem unfold from a safe distance.

Unbeknownst to the fishermen, only the tips of those gifted cigars had pure tobacco in them. Everything below the first half inch contained tobacco leaves that had been meticulously soaked in a special compound of magnesium and sodium. Much to the surprise of the crew, this particular mixture of chemicals would prove to be nearly impossible to put out once ignited.

Despite their best efforts to extinguish the blaze, it was already too late—at least one of the cigars had burned a hole directly through the main deck, eventually rupturing the hull of the fishing vessel. An unstoppable surge of ocean water flooded the lower compartments, permeating every crevice of the engine room. The ship’s lights started to flicker as the saltwater infiltrated the onboard electrical system.

Things weren’t faring any better on the top deck either. The fire continued to grow with terrifying speed while the crew scrambled about in their blundered attempts to bring it under control.

Jumping through the flames, Captain O’Brian raced to the wheelhouse and barged in. He lunged for the radio but didn’t get there fast enough. As he pushed the call button to send out a distress signal to the Coast Guard, the entire boat went completely dark. Desperately shouting into the radio, the captain’s heart dropped to his stomach when he realized no one could hear the mayday call—help wasn’t coming.

The electricity had finally failed under the sabotage of the unabating seawater, which only added to the growing number of setbacks encumbering the distressed ship. Crippled from the complete power failure, thick black smoke started billowing from the Second Chance.

With the situation quickly spiraling out of control, Captain O’Brian feared the worst when he suddenly felt the ship listing at an alarming rate. “Get your vests on now!” he shouted. “All of ya! Right now!”

Saint-Clair beamed at the sight of the turmoil, clearly in no rush to help the embattled fishermen. In fact, he actually appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the show. The crewmen could hear the haunting sound of his cackling in the distance as they struggled to maintain their balance on the top deck of the doomed vessel. Saint-Clair just carried on circling the Second Chance in the orange zodiac as if nothing was wrong.

Fortunately for the shark, the ship’s list was increasing at an untenable rate, and cold water from the North Atlantic rushed beneath his tail, prompting another bout of thrashing. It was a familiar feeling that the great white had been craving. Especially since the shark had spent the last ten minutes thinking about the dreaded thought of slowly dying without an ounce of dignity.

It didn’t take long for the stern of the Second Chance to become fully submerged, sending the bow of the ship straight up into the air.

The shark didn’t question the serendipitous turn of events; he quickly wriggled off the deck and back into the ocean. Liberated and eager to escape, the massive great white rushed to get far away from the humans that had nearly taken everything from him.

Saint-Clair watched from the inflatable zodiac and shouted cheerfully, “Au revoir, mon ami!” just before the shark disappeared into the darkness of the North Atlantic.

Without any further delay, the six fishermen jumped overboard as the Second Chance bobbed up and down. Clinging to the burning vessel was simply no longer an option. The ship was now fully vertical, with the bottom half entirely submerged beneath the water line.

It only took about ninety seconds for the Second Chance to finish sinking, never to be seen again as it plummeted toward the depths of the ocean floor.

Saint-Clair slowed the zodiac and eventually brought it to a full stop; he wanted to devote his full attention to savoring every last detail. Everything from the absence of hope in their eyes to the panicked shrieks for help—it was all priceless. Watching people deal with the consequences of their actions in real time was something he truly relished.

Floating amongst the debris left behind by the Second Chance, the fishermen immediately pleaded with Saint-Clair to rescue them, “Over here! Over here! Come help us!”

Grinning back at them menacingly, Saint-Clair had something else in mind and pushed the throttle forward. Keeping a firm grip on the wheel, he began to circle the distraught fishermen at a slow speed. “Gentlemen, gentlemen… I would caution you to conserve your energy,” he warned. “The primary cause of most drownings is rooted in exhaustion!”

Unamused, Captain O’Brian shouted back, “What the hell was in those cigars? This is all your fault… You maniac!” Confused and growing more resentful with each passing second, the captain demanded, “Bring that boat over here and hurry it up… These waters are filled with sharks!”

Saint-Clair continued circling them. “People don’t really ever change, do they?” He laughed, as if he had planned this entire series of unfortunate events.

“What? What are you talking about, eh?” Captain O’Brian screeched in frustration. One of the Russian fishermen bellowed, “The boat, you bring here!”

“This is what I was waiting for! Finally, you have a real appreciation for the shark’s ability to smell fear!” Saint-Clair replied merrily. Glaring at the fishermen in disgust, he added, “Anybody can admire the shark’s natural gifts from afar, but to really feel it in the water… oui, now that is something you should be thanking me for!”

“What? Are you crazy?” Captain O’Brian cried out. “Stop messing around and get over here right now!”

Even though the riotous laughter that ensued sounded quite sinister, most of the fishermen assumed this obnoxious little charade was coming to an end once Saint-Clair pulled the throttle back and brought the zodiac to an abrupt stop. They couldn’t have been more wrong. He was far from finished toying with the puzzled fishermen and became infuriated that they would dare ask for assistance.

Saint-Clair sprang to his feet, berating them in the most contemptuous manner, “Help? You want my help? You want me to help six cowards that came out here to kill dozens of sharks?” His smile had vanished almost as quickly as the last flicker of hope in the fishermen's eyes. “How many sharks did you help today? How about yesterday… or the day before that?”

Astonished by the pure vitriol in Saint-Clair’s tone, the fishermen were starting to regret having ever left the docks this morning. They nervously looked around for any sharks circling nearby, while the enraged stranger asked, “What is it? Did you lose count? Too busy selling them by the piece on the docks?” He screamed, “And for what? For money… for a bowl of soup?”

The bewilderment of it all was turning into inescapable terror for the six fishermen bobbing up and down with the passing ocean swells of the North Atlantic.

“No, no, no. I am sorry, but that is not how the jungle works,” Saint-Clair explained. “Nobody forced you to come out here. You did that on your own. Every last one of you!”

Saint-Clair’s demeanor turned more cheerful. “Not to worry, though… The sharks have a special way of dealing with trespassers. Oui, I suspect there are at least a few out there listening to your hearts beating right now. Taking their time to decide which one of you is the most terrified… which one will be the easiest prey.”

Captain O’Brian desperately shouted back, “We’re sorry, alright? We’re sorry! Just help us!”

“The jungle owes you nothing!” Saint-Clair screamed wrathfully at the top of his lungs. All of a sudden, a shark fin breached the waterline near the orange zodiac and sent the six fishermen into a panic as they continued to tread water.

“Don’t worry, my friends! You don’t need my help!” Saint-Clair announced. He saw the shark fin disappear under the water and carried on explaining, “You see, an Olympic swimmer can cover over ninety-six kilometers in just one day.”

The thought of being dragged under the water at any moment made it hard for the dismayed fishermen to focus on the French stranger’s incessant prattling. And it didn’t help matters when he resumed circling them; they feared the noise from the small zodiac would only attract more sharks to the area.

“Luckily, you only have to swim thirty kilometers to make it to the nearest shore,” Saint-Clair added snidely. Sensing that the fishermen were in need of some encouragement, he advised, “So, when your arms start getting tired and your legs are exhausted from kicking, just pretend like your life depends on it… Maybe that will be enough to help you make it back to the harbor in one piece.”

After circling the fishermen one more time, Saint-Clair pulled the throttle back again and brought the orange zodiac to a standstill. He glanced at his watch and exclaimed, “I would love to stick around to see how it all turns out… Unfortunately, I must be going now. Oui, I have some unfinished business to take care of in Kodiak Bay.”

“But I hope this encounter was educational!” Saint-Clair said with a smug wink, “We really covered it all, no? Lessons about picking up strangers, smoking things that will kill you, and, most importantly… an education on the hazards that can arise when you make the wrong career choices.”

The French stranger laughed to himself and murmured, “Honestly, I should start calling myself Le Professeur!”

A scowl washed over Saint-Clair’s face. He suddenly snapped at the stunned fishermen, “Don’t make me come back out here… Find a new profession, or next time it will be fifty kilometers from the coast. Remember that, and remember my face, because if you see me again, I guarantee you will gain a newfound appreciation for the definition of regret.”

Without uttering another word, Saint-Clair slammed the throttle all the way forward—in the blink of an eye, the zodiac zoomed off toward Kodiak Bay, leaving the fishermen stranded in the notoriously shark-infested waters of the North Atlantic.

It only took a minute before the small inflatable boat had completely disappeared from sight.

Captain O’Brian tried to remain optimistic. He knew panicking wouldn’t help anyone, and the safety of the crew was still his responsibility until they all made it back to shore. “Take it easy, men,” he ordered. “I promise we’ll find a way out of this mess. Everyone just stay calm, eh?” The shaky apprehension in his voice implied otherwise, but the fishermen didn’t have much of a choice. Not with the Second Chance gone and an untold number of great white sharks swimming in the vicinity. Truth be told, the captain was terrified; the others could see it in his eyes, and they felt the same way.

Ten minutes quickly passed. But it seemed like hours to the inconsolable survivors floating amid the debris.

After waiting for the fear of imminent death to really set in, Saint-Clair turned the inflatable zodiac around and steered the boat back toward the fishermen.

When Captain O’Brian spotted the orange zodiac headed back their way, he was beyond relieved. “Ah, you see… It was all just a big prank, fellas. He’s coming back for us now, eh?”

As the inflatable craft approached the six fishermen clinging to their life vests, the captain hollered, “Wooooooo! Saint-Clair, you really put on one hell of a show! I really thought you were gonna leave us all out here, eh?” Saint-Clair howled with amusement while the fishermen erupted in laughter and cheerful celebration.

Despite the French stranger’s questionable sense of humor, the survivors of the Second Chance were happy to look past it—especially if it meant getting out of this dangerous predicament. The weary fishermen had seen at least one other shark fin breach the water in what must have been the most harrowing ten minutes of their lives.

Once the zodiac got closer to the band of sailors bobbing around, Saint-Clair brought the boat to an unexpected stop. It was just close enough to keep their last sliver of hope alive, giving him an opportunity to confess, “Come on guys, that wouldn’t be fair! I couldn’t just leave you out here like this!”

“The shark got a second chance today,” he admitted. “It’s only right that you all geta second chance too, no?”

As the fear in their eyes dissipated, Saint-Clair gazed at the fishermen and added, “How can I expect you to learn from your poor decisions without giving you an opportunity to prove it, oui?”

There was a hint of skepticism among the six men, but Captain O’Brian refused to believe that it was anything more than a misbegotten joke gone wrong. The first mate of the Second Chance was thinking the same thing. “Why would Saint-Clair come back if he were truly intent on marooning them this whole time?”

Not all the fishermen were so forgiving. One of them was still enraged and muttered something under his breath in a foreign language.

Growing tired of treading water, they started swimming toward the zodiac while Saint-Clair walked toward the back of the boat to grab the white bucket he had taken from the Second Chance. None of them seemed to notice when he placed the bucket near the center console, although they were absolutely befuddled when he slowly resumed circling the fishermen like he had done before.

“But then I realized, you cannot come out of this on the other side without first changing your beliefs,” Saint-Clair warned. “And of course, if you know anything about change, it can only materialize with the proper incentive. So, I have returned to give you the greatest gift one could hope for… Desperation.”

With his right hand on the wheel, Saint-Clair removed the lid from the top of the white bucket. He pushed the bucket to the edge of the zodiac and carefully spilled its contents into the water while circling the confused fishermen. When they realized what was happening, Captain O’Brian screamed frantically, “Hey! Stop! What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind?”

It didn’t take long before the fishermen found themselves surrounded by a circle of red blood and chopped-up pieces of dead fish. Like an oil sheen, it all floated on the surface, but in a vastly more terrifying fashion.

Nearly getting burned alive on the Second Chance paled in comparison to the heart-stopping sight of bloody water in every direction. The sharks loved the irresistible fish carcasses, and it would only be a matter of time until more of them arrived.

Saint-Clair crowed with delight after he finished emptying the chum bucket—the same bait the fishermen were using to attract sharks. He shook it vigorously to make sure every last drop had been emptied out into the North Atlantic and then tossed the bucket toward the back of the boat.

Bringing the zodiac to a full stop once again, Saint-Clair was overcome with uncontrollable laughter; he stared in amusement as the fishermen desperately floundered in the water. He found the whole ordeal to be justifiably ironic.

The more the fishermen thrashed, the easier it would be for the sharks to find them. They were facing a rather precarious dilemma indeed. The tables had turned quite precipitously, and Saint-Clair was proud to be the one to level the playing field. “Careful, careful gentlemen,” he announced enthusiastically. “The great white shark is a very curious animal.” He laughed when he saw a dorsal fin breach the waterline just past the pair of Russian fishermen waving their arms in distress.

Still not convinced the men were frightened enough, Saint-Clair’s tone changed and became more serious. “The other fish, the sea lions, everyone… they cross the street when they see the great white coming. They run for their lives when they see that shark on the move!”

“Believe me, nothing else matters… Because when that shark smells blood, it’s already too late,” he cautioned.

“You see, the shark can never stop being a shark.” Saint-Clair taunted, “The real king of the jungle, oui?” He locked eyes with Captain O’Brian and advised, “So, if I were you, I would stop crying about what you don’t have and start swimming while you still have the opportunity to do so!”

Saint-Clair couldn’t help but wonder how many of the fishermen would actually make it out alive. Much to his chagrin, the aspiring French educator didn’t have time to stick around and find out. The sheer terror in the fishermen’s eyes would have to suffice for now, though he was looking forward to eventually reading about it in the news.

Forcing the throttle all the way forward, Saint-Clair waved as the inflatable zodiac zoomed away toward Kodiak Bay. “Au revoir!”

“Get back here, you lunatic! You can’t leave us here!” Captain O’Brian screamed, slamming his fists down in a panicked rage. It didn’t matter, though—Saint-Clair was already gone and wasn’t coming back this time.

With nothing but endless ocean as far as the eye could see, the fishermen started swimming toward Kodiak Bay in a hurry. They knew better than most that these waters were overrun by sharks; waiting around to see how many would be enticed by all the fish blood floating nearby seemed like a bad idea.

At least half of them feared it wouldn’t matter how fast they swam. The great white was faster. Much faster. Between the ocean swells and the unrelenting threat of being eaten alive, making it back to shore in one piece felt insurmountable.

Proud of the lessons he had taught the unsuspecting crew of the Second Chance, the mysterious French stranger raced toward the coastline in the orange zodiac.

Meanwhile, in Kodiak Bay, the harbormaster sat in his office reading yesterday’s top headlines in the newspaper with mounting concern. It was the front-page story that he found most unsettling.