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Marcel — Description

Marcel was born out of a terrible nuclear accident. The tsunami that followed the reactor's explosion swept away thousands of lives. Among them was a dance teacher, who, as he struggled to survive in the radioactive waters, decided in a last desperate act to bite a passing octopus.
"Maybe I'll get superpowers," he thought. He didn't really believe it, but it was the only option left.

Sinking his teeth into the poor cephalopod, both he and the creature were dragged closer to the reactor's molten core, where, in the peculiar logic of radioactivity, their souls fused. The dance teacher was no more, nor was the anonymous octopus. Instead, Marcel was born.

Marcel quickly went viral online. But he hated it. He didn't want to live as a freak-show attraction, nor inspire the niche fantasies of questionable fetishists.
At 9 meters tall, no keyboard or touchscreen was big enough for his feet and when he tried to speak, the sound resembled a pig gargling slime in front of a fan.

His only way to communicate was through dance. He tried everything : waltz, rumba, cha-cha, twerk... Each attempt racked up millions of views, but people only saw them as funny, cringey videos.

Desperate, Marcel had an idea. Instead of relying on movement, he would use the rhythm of his steps, doing Morse code.
For weeks he choreographed his masterpiece, every section beginning and ending with a clear SOS pattern, so that no one could miss the message. The dance lasted nearly an hour, ugly, awkward, painful to the ear,
so no one could mistake it for a simple song. It contained all of his anguish, sadness, and loneliness. "This will be my last video," he thought. "They'll understand me this time."

The video went viral instantly, making headlines worldwide. Critics and dance experts declared it a revolution. Never before, they said, had a performance expressed such pure joy and optimism.
People copied "the Kaijū Dance" everywhere, at weddings, parties, nightclubs. A universal phenomenon… yet no one understood its real meaning.

Marcel was invited to every TV show, answering questions by tapping his feet, provoking nothing but hilarity and joy from the audience.
Then he began an international tour, alternating between furious, despairing choreographies and heartbreaking laments. But no one ever understood it.
His unmatched success stirred jealousy among dancers whose careers he eclipsed. Organizers, too, despised him : repairing the floors after his shows cost a fortune, and the constant stench of fish from his dressing room made venues uninhabitable.
They conspired against him. And they chose the cruelest plan of all.

One evening, mid-performance, thousands of LEGO bricks rained down onto the stage.
Marcel screamed in agony, producing a sound so powerful and disgusting that the audience began to vomit. His trembling, moist flesh crashing into the front row amplified the horror.

The entire scene was filmed and broadcast instantly, commented on, reposted, slowed down, remixed, hijacked, and memered. The wave of revulsion spread the world. Millions unfollowed him. People deleted videos of themselves dancing his routines. Riots broke out.
Marcel fled, banished from humanity, into the depths of the ocean.

Now he roams the seabed, bitter and alone. Sometimes, if you listen closely through the water, its faint tap rhythms can still be heard echoing.