Finley, or Fish Boy as he preferred (though the nickname stung a little less now that he wasn't actually a fish), adjusted his oversized spectacles. His abnormally large head, a souvenir from his ill-fated transformation from aquatic lifeform to landlubber, bobbed precariously with each hesitant step. The malfunction that had gifted him with prodigious intellect had also cursed him with a gait resembling a drunken penguin. He’d become a vegetarian out of a strange, lingering empathy for his former brethren, a decision that now felt particularly poignant.

The aroma hit him first – a briny, fishy assault that sent a shiver down his spine. He’d accidentally stumbled into "The Clam Bake," a seafood restaurant whose neon sign pulsed with an almost malevolent glow. The air thrummed with the cacophony of clinking plates, boisterous laughter, and the sizzle of frying crustaceans. Finley froze, his already limited field of vision further constricted by the sheer volume of seafood-related stimuli bombarding his senses.

A wave of nausea washed over him. He saw shimmering scales in the polished mahogany tables, heard the frantic flapping of imaginary wings in the clatter of cutlery. The smell of grilled shrimp morphed into the phantom scent of his own fishy past, a pungent memory that clawed at his throat. The cheerful chatter of the diners transformed into a chorus of mocking voices, each syllable a tiny, barbed hook piercing his already fragile sanity.

He saw a lobster, its claws twitching menacingly, staring directly at him from a tank. Or did he? The line between reality and hallucination blurred. Was that a waiter, or a giant, menacing crab in a tuxedo? The faces of the patrons swam before his eyes, morphing into grotesque parodies of fish, their eyes bulging, their mouths agape in silent screams.

Finley’s large head throbbed, the pressure building until it felt as if it might explode. He stumbled backward, his oversized glasses askew, his already precarious balance completely lost. He let out a strangled cry, a sound half-human, half-fish, a desperate plea lost in the din of the restaurant. He was surrounded, engulfed, by the very essence of his former life, a terrifying, inescapable ocean of seafood. His vegetarianism offered no solace, his intellect no escape. In that moment, amidst the chaos and the cacophony, Finley Fish Boy lost his mind completely. The restaurant, once a vibrant hub of culinary activity, became his personal, seafood-infested hell.