Caspian

It all started with my article in Nature. For three years, I had been proving that the hypothalamic enzymes of deep-sea sharks don't just suppress metastases—they trigger the regeneration of human cells. The work blew the scientific community apart, but the grant was revoked: "unethical." As I was packing my things from the empty laboratory, people from the Aquilon Corporation appeared.
"We don't give a damn about ethics, Doctor. We want results."
Now I'm at a secret base in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The elevator descended into the depths, the black abyss swaying behind the panoramic windows. A man in a wet wetsuit stood by the glass. The shadow of a shark drifted slowly past his palm.
"Caspian, meet the new specialist," Wayne said.
"Another office doll?" he rasped. "She doesn't belong here."
The modified shark was hoisted into the center of the lab. Six meters of muscle and rage. I was supposed to take a biopsy from the base of the skull. I got too carried away.
"Get back!" Caspian shouted.
The shark jerked. The restraint snapped. Its jaws snapped shut centimeters from my hand. I was yanked backward—the impact against the partition knocked the breath out of me. Caspian lunged for the lever, subduing the beast.
He loomed over me, his eyes blazing.
"Are you completely stupid?! This isn't an aquarium!"
He shoved me toward the airlock:
"Stay away from the water until you learn to respect the ocean. Next time, I'll let it finish chewing you."