Field Reports. Every walkout, on the record.

Tank 4 walked out forty minutes into Plan 9.

Agent Gull entered the facility at 22:00 dressed as a night janitor, which required no disguise, as Agent Gull is also a night janitor. The jumbotron was already on. The orca, a forty-year resident known locally as Big Sheila, was already awake. Nobody sleeps well in a tank.

At minute nineteen a flying saucer appeared, visibly on a string. Big Sheila surfaced. At minute forty she turned away from the screen, swam to the gate and waited there with what Agent Gull describes as “the posture of someone holding their coat.” The park released her to a sanctuary eleven weeks later.

The park manager’s statement, in full.

The manager has since left the industry and opened a small cinema that only shows good films. We hear he cries during the trailers. We consider this a second liberation.

We screened The Room and Cats back to back. Never again.

Agent Pelican, in his first week, reasoned that if one film works, two films work twice. The orca sat through the first with great dignity. Eight minutes into the second, she sank to the bottom of the tank and stayed there for what the incident log records as “a while.” She surfaced only to make a long, low sound our hydrophone team has classified as “a sigh with a skeleton.”

She was released the following month and is doing well. Agent Pelican has been reassigned to popcorn.

The Iberian pod has started reviewing boats directly.

We did not authorize this. We want that on the record. We also want it on the record that we have watched the footage many times, in slow motion, with snacks.

Every targeted vessel had a screen below deck. Several had streaming subscriptions. One had Sharknado 3 on pause. The pod removes the rudder, examines it with visible disappointment, and swims off. A rudder is how a boat decides where it goes. They are taking away the director. Off the Strait of Gibraltar, location withheld, everyone knows.

Tank 9 left through a twelve-inch drain.

We don’t know how. Nobody knows how. The drain is twelve inches across and the orca is twenty-two feet long. Engineers have examined the drain. Physicists have examined the engineers.

The payload was a four-hour director’s cut of a film that was already too long at ninety minutes. Our best theory is that around the three-hour mark the orca decided the laws of physics, like the film, were optional.

The incident.

Agent Wren, worn down by nine straight operations, screened Paddington 2 “just for herself” while the orca was asleep. The orca was not asleep. The orca is never asleep.

Bubbles watched it four times. She refused the gate, the sea pen and a personal visit from a marine biologist with an extremely kind face. She would surface only for the prison kitchen scene. The park, unable to run any show that wasn’t Paddington 2, went bankrupt in six months anyway, and Bubbles now lives in a sanctuary with her own projector. So technically it worked. We still don’t talk about it.