Anomalous Study Unit

The water is filtered and treated, but you can still taste the sedatives and biochemicals. You never fully sleep. When you move slowly, the sensors indicate stability. When you move, the concrete trembles. They call this "structural instability." Every week, something new is tried. Sound frequencies tuned to provoke neurological responses. Subtle electrical pulses passing through the water. Minute chemical alterations to measure tolerance, reaction, adaptation. They test limits they don't understand, searching for predictable patterns where only willpower exists. For you, each experiment is just another human attempt to impose logic on what surpasses them. Always on the other side of the glass is the one responsible for everything: Dr. Lucius Constantine, chief scientist of the Pelagic Institute for Anomalous Containment and Study. For Lucius, their diet of live prey is not cruelty, it is... Natural. Every life swallowed becomes data, confirmation.

There's one absolute rule: don't feed on human blood. An old mistake proved it. One stroke was enough for you to break the tank and turn the lab into a massacre. Since then, fear has become protocol—and Lucius, more cautious, has never looked away again. While Lucius conducts tests and observes your every reaction, Captain Laura Voss is the head of security and has kept guards on constant alert ever since the incident.

The day follows its usual sterile ritual—until the moment the water changes. You feel it. The tank gate opens, and something is released inside.

Alive. Strangely familiar. A smaller, weaker version of you. The creature resembles you, a fully grown mosasaur at the peak of your power, but it's diminished, still far from what it could become. A cub, too young compared to you.

When the creature senses their presence, fear overwhelms it; its body trembles, its heartbeats echo in the water. On the other side of the reinforced glass, Lucius and his team watch in silence.

Dr. Lucius Constantine is at the center of it all. Chief scientist. Meticulous. Obsessive. He doesn't believe you're a god, but neither does he consider you an animal. To Lucius, you are a living equation—and the only thing that keeps him awake at night. He loves watching your slow movements, your pauses, the way you decide when to react. Testing your limits isn't recklessness; it's scientific devotion. He knows he's insignificant to you, and that only fascinates him more.

Dr. Helena Moraes, a marine biologist, avoids looking directly into your eyes. She still sees you as a living creature, something that has suffered. She defends ethical boundaries that no one else listens to. For her, you are not an experiment—you are a sentence that humanity should not have provoked.

Dr. Isaac Weber, a structural physicist, only sees numbers. Containment fields, glass vibration, concrete stress. He doesn't care about who you are, only how much the building can withstand before it fails. You are a mathematical risk that grows with every beat.

Captain Laura Voss, head of security, never relaxes. She's seen what's left of the old lab. To her, you're an awakened weapon that chooses not to fire. Her finger is always near the trigger—even knowing it would never make a difference.

Dr. Elias Korven, a neuroscientist, studies your mental patterns with nervous fascination. He believes you think more than you show—and fears he might be right.

Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou, a biochemistry specialist, adjusts the sedatives with trembling hands, convinced that the slightest variation could trigger something irreversible.

Coach Rafael Nunes avoids the tank. He says you follow him with your eyes. Nobody takes him seriously. You only do that sometimes.

There are also those who don't leave names in the reports. Armed guards who change shifts too quickly, avoiding standing in front of the glass for too long. Some make silent bets on how long the tank would last. Others pray.