It had been a while since something had caught her by surprise like this, but being wedged inside of an extremely tight, fleshy tunnel was not how Dua Lipa expected this photo shoot with a fake shark to go.
 
Why, it was just moments ago the British pop star sat lazily floating in the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean, her camera crew fiddling about with their equipment before suddenly things went black, a dark gray something rising up and out of the water and over Dua’s entire torso before diving back down.
 
Now the singer's entire body was wedged within that cold, wet dungeon that was this fish, having a lot less of a fun time doing it than her photographers said she would.
 
“God DAMN it, it’s dark in here…”, she said with an extra wiggle of her hips.
“Would somebody mind turning on a light? Not sure how you're supposed to get pictures of me when I can hardly see the inside of this thing."
 
Despite having a mic that was perfectly capable of talking the crew on the boat, all Dua managed to get out of the ruined piece of junk was static, leaving only the sloshing of the ocean beside her and the churning of the “creature” she was held in to soothe her.
 
“Hello?”, yelled Dua.
“Why isn’t anyone responding to me?”
 
Again, the silence was deafening.
 
The singer sighed aloud as she wondered what the hell the hold-up was.
 
It was all supposed to be SO simple; the crew in the boat was to take photos of her posing alongside a fake shark to promote her new album, Radical Optimism. She’d play around in its jaws a little bit, act all scared for the cameras like prey were around her, and if anything went wrong with the shark, the crew was supposed to dive right in and save her.
 
Whatever was happening INSTEAD of that plan, though, was starting to make Dua the most mad she’d been all week.
 
“Okay, whoever designed this fake shark needs to get fucking fired. Scratch that; they deserve to pad out my fucking ARSE the moment I get out of this thing.”, she growled.
“Could you have made the walls any fucking tighter? I can hardly move my god damned shoulders in this thing and a predator is NEVER supposed to feel like this. Especially one that’s eaten as many no name prey sluts as I have, so just hurry up with the divers or whatever and get me out of this thing right now!”
 
Just like before, her angered cries elicited nothing but the sounds of water churning about around her, only this time they were broken up by a deafening-
 
*BUUOOORRRRP*
 
-that echoed down the entire length of the singer’s prison.
 
“Oh, REAL funny, you guys. Laugh it up, why don’t you?”, Dua said sarcastically.
“Sharks can’t burp, you know that? They’ve got gills. Learned that in science back in year fucking four of grade school.”
 
Still not getting answer from the crew above, Dua let out a sigh as she finally simmered down among the dank insides of the supposedly fake shark.
 
“Don’t overthink it, Dua. There’s not a shark in the world that swallows its prey whole like this.”, she said calmly.
“Just keep calm and wait here until somebody comes and gets you out of this thing. Everything is going to be JUST fine…”
 
As encouraging as those words should’ve been, all confidence swiftly left the Brit’s body as the dark space ahead of her grumbled and growled just like her own stomach tended to do whenever it got a bit peckish for food.
 
A connection made all the more worse considering the fleshy walls around her were starting to move, slowly but surely pushing her curvy form ahead, towards the frightening noises.
 
“Dua, relax! This isn’t real. It’s just a fake shark.”, she said again, her voice a bit more panicked than last time.
“Whatever it is is bound to stop before something bad happens. R-Right?”
 
Dua wiggled a bit more in place as she tried in vain to free herself from her fleshy prison, only to tense right back up in nervousness again at the feeling of what definitely felt like human teeth brushing up against her back as she slid past the rounded object they were attached to.
 
“That definitely isn’t a skull on your back. It’s just there for ambiance! Ha ha!”, Dua said with a stressed laugh.
“Somebody thought it would be super funny to make this shark as real as possible! Oh, what a funny FUCKING joke! Somebody should really get their face sat on and farted out of existence for thinking up such a brilliant fucking prank on me!”
 
Try as she might to make things better, the steady tightening of the fleshy walls around her were only making the singer more and more paranoid as to if she WAS getting eaten right now.
 
The churning and groaning she’d heard before had only grown louder the farther she’d gone down the fish’s throat, finally reaching a head when, actively sweating despite the cold flesh that surrounded her, Dua reached her destination.
 
The stomach.
 
Before her sat an acidic vat of dark blue bile built up within the very real shark’s stomach, a few scattered bones amongst the bubbling broth both an indicator of what was awaiting Dua and that she was far from the only person to receive such a fate.
 
“Aw, fuck me sideways.”, she said aloud before she continued her now unwilling descent.
"I hope you choke on my fucking ARSE for doing this to me, you oversized tuna! Let me GO!”
 
Much like every time before, Dua’s complaints were met by complete indifference, leaving her to wallow in misery alone as the thick sludge that filled the shark’s stomach quickly took her breath away with its heat before slowly but surely burning away at her body once her feet (save for a heel that had fallen off somewhere in the fish’s throat) were tucked away with the rest of her.
 
There, she pounded and kicked at the walls of the predator’s gut just as countless men and women had done to her own, crying and yelling just like they did before finally succumbing to the superior being and melting away into a bone-filled and meaty paste within the span of a couple hours.
 
Back above water, news of Dua Lipa's disappearance had reached social media before the camera team had even made it back to shore, legions of fans fearing for the worst upon seeing low quality footage taken of the whole incident.
 
It wasn’t every day you saw a shark attack on camera, much less one that happened so calmly and bloodless; just one breach and she was gone.
 
For three days straight, rescue teams searched high and low for any sign of the wayward Brit, using the finest in modern day technology before a team of deep sea fishermen found what might have been the most damning piece of evidence yet.
 
Floating a few miles from where the singer was last seen were thick logs of shit floating on the ocean waves, each one lined with bones definitively belonging to a human being, and while the shat-out remains of humans haplessly devoured by sea life wasn’t a totally uncommon occurrence this far out in the Atlantic…
 
The high heels combined with the one-piece swimsuit now wrapped around the waste like the lining of a sausage was a dead giveaway that this was Dua.
 
With as much care as possible, her remains were scooped out of the sea and shipped back to England, with a picture of them still in the ice box they’d been plopped in winding up on the front page of every newspaper in Britain the very next day.
 
An embarrassing display that soon turned out to be little more than the coming of the storm.
 
In the weeks after her passing, the new album that she’d been doing the photo shoot for was deemed a flop by music publications, too bare bones compared to its predecessor and majorly lacking in the 80's-esque summertime jams that had made Dua a household name in recent years.
 
Without the songs to seal her legacy, Dua was swiftly forgotten about mere months after her cruel and unusual demise, only earning herself an offhand mention in the “In Memoriam” reel at that year's Grammys before the pop culture landscape simply threw her away just as that shark did on that fateful day.
 
In short, the world moved on; Dua was dead and the carnivorous fish that had eaten her continues to tread water to this day, casually swallowing man and woman alike just as it did with Dua.
 
The cruelty of the music world truly knows no bounds.