They were huddled around something large and covered with a tarp, using hand cranks and pulleys to lift it from a wheeled platform. From the shape, it looked like a generator. A big one, judging by the strain on the men pulling the ropes.
Nearby, there was a stack of crates marked with biohazard symbols.
"What are they doing?" Miku whispered, so close to Tysone's ear he could feel her breath. She was peering around the corner of a container with her crossbow already loaded.
Saeko's eyes were scanning the upper levels of the tank. "The workers... they don't look willing." She murmured. "They're armed, but they're not guards. They're labor."
Tysone watched the scene unfold.
She was right. The workers had weapons, but they moved with the slowness of exhaustion and fear, not like Tysone's own group's readiness for a fight. Clearly, all these people were forced labor, for something that could not be good.
The guards were different. They stood apart, watching the workers, their postures relaxed but alert.
Tysone signaled with his hands. Saeko and Miku followed him as he moved further south, along the container row.
The container row ended at a T-junction. To the right, a clear view of the tank's southern side. To the left, a narrow passage leading toward the loading bay where they'd seen the armed truck. Tysone chose left.
Another fifty meters of careful movement brought them to a vantage point behind a stack of empty wooden pallets. From here, they could see the loading bay clearly. The truck was parked at an angle, its canvas cover pulled back enough to reveal crates inside—crates identical to the ones with biohazard symbols near the tank.
Four men stood guard around the truck. All were armed. One of them, a tall man with a scarred face and a military-grade rifle, was clearly in charge. He barked orders at the other three.
"I wonder what's inside those creates..."
"Something dangerous." Miku said helpfully as she stared at the biohazard symbols.
Tysone didn't respond. He was watching the scarred man, watching how he moved. This wasn't a ragtag group of survivors. They were dangerous. Likely a step above Hayashi's own band of misfits.
"Stay here." He whispered to the girls. "I'm going to get closer."
"Too risky." Saeko shook her head, gripping his wrist.
"I'll be fine." He gave her a look that brooked no argument. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, fall back to the Mule and get out of here."
Saeko's jaw tightened, but she nodded. "Ten minutes."
That's what he liked about Saeko, she was gentle and rational and she understood when it was better to listen.
Miku looked like she wanted to argue too, but a sharp glance from Saeko silenced her.
"Be careful."
"I'm always careful."
Tysone moved out from behind the pallets, keeping low.
He skirted the edge of the yard, using parked vehicles and equipment as cover, working his way toward the loading bay. The closer he got, the more the scene solidified into details.
He reached the corner of the building, peered around it.
The scarred man was talking to someone now, a woman who'd emerged from a small office attached to the loading bay. She was dressed in practical, dark clothing, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. Even from a distance, Tysone could see how tense she was.
"—not enough time." The woman's voice carried. "We have to do it before we lose our window. The damn 'thing' is actually healing at a fast pace."
"Then tell them to work faster." The scarred man growled. "You think I want to be here? This whole place gives me the creeps."
"Tell it to Nakamura. He's the one who said we needed the tissue sample. We're just here to do the dirty work."
"Then let's get it done."
They moved toward the truck, their voices dropping as they got further away. Tysone couldn't hear the rest of their conversation, but the pieces he'd gathered were more than enough.
Something was in the water.
He needed to know more.
He waited until they were busy with the truck, then made his move, sprinting across the open space to the office door. It was unlocked. He slipped inside, closing it quietly behind him.
The office was small, cramped, dominated by a metal desk covered in papers, maps, and electronic equipment. A computer terminal glowed in the corner, displaying what looked like sonar readings. Tysone moved to it, his eyes scanning the screen.
The sonar showed a massive shape in the water beneath the pier, something so large it distorted the entire display. It was motionless, but its size was akin to that of a small landmass.
He looked around the office, searching for more information. A file on the desk caught his eye. It was labeled "Project Leviathan." He opened it, his hands moving quickly.
Inside were reports, photographs, and data logs. They spoke of a deep-sea organism, a mutated entity that had been discovered by a research vessel.
Time seemed to slow as Tysone's eyes scanned the pages. Top secret military memos stamped with red clearance levels stared back at him through the dim light of the office monitor.
REPORT #743: ENCODING LEVEL ALPHA
Date of Discovery: 30 days post-incident
Location: Tokonosu Deep Water Research Sector B-7
Subject Classification: Class-III Biomass Anomaly
Original specimen identified as Balaenoptera musculus (Blue Whale) prior to biomutation. Subject displays cellular regeneration rates exceeding 400% of known baseline for previously observed infected vertebrates.
Current state: Critical injuries observed along posterior section and cranial structure. Wounds consistent with high-velocity projectile damage and possible deep-sea compression trauma. Source: Unknown. Healing acceleration noted at 12.7% per solar cycle.
Threat assessment: Subject exhibits anomalous bio-energy signatures consistent with previous high-order anomaly subjects logged from mainland facilities. Suggest further observation before attempting acquisition....
Tysone traced the line about the healing acceleration with his finger. Weeks ago. He didn't know what it could mean for them exactly, but so many people for this operation meant that the fact that it was healing was not good.
He flipped through more pages.
ADDENDUM #2: MODIFICATION OF CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL
Recent personnel losses beneath pier Gamma have forced immediate expedited extraction procedures. The subject's neurological response to external stimuli has markedly increased since initial observation.
Tissue sampling must be completed within 36 hours before full regeneration is achieved. After this window, we cannot guarantee extraction team viability under current security parameters.
Project Leviathan overseer: Dr. Nakamura
WARNING: SUBJECT CLASSIFIED AS CLASS 3 BIOMASS ANOMALY (TO BE CONFIRMED)
"Class 3?" Tysone frowned thoughtfully. "Is it actually a Rank 3 creature?"
Possibly higher. A Rank 2 one was already a troublesome opponent, a sea creature, a fucking mutated blue whale, somewhere along Rank 3 and possibly 4. How disastrous could that be?
Tysone was briefly reminded of that weird encounter with the SCP-esque like, haunting, screaming entity back in the city.
There were forces at play here that were far beyond what Tysone could handle—or any other human, for that matter.
So, what were they actually trying to do here? What was this project about?
Was this something they could control? Fight? Run from? If the whale was wounded, did they want to kill it? It certainly seemed like a logical response to a living catastrophe swimming right underneath their feet.
He didn't know, but one thing was clear: whatever was down there, the people in this port were not friendly, and they were not here to play nice. This was a military operation, or what was left of one.
He'd seen enough.
He took the file and shoved it into his jacket, then turned to leave—
—and found himself face-to-face with the scarred man.
The man's eyes were wide, his rifle pointed directly at Tysone's head. He hadn't made a sound coming in.
"Who the fuck are you?" He snarled.
"Well shit." Tysone muttered, staring down the barrel of the rifle.
The 'shit' was not because he was being held at gunpoint; even though that in itself could be dangerous. But he had been so absorbed reading the materials that he hadn't even heard the man coming in.
'Saeko wouldn't have made such an amateurish mistake…'
The scarred man's finger was on the trigger, twitching. One wrong twitch and Tysone's body would have been a new home for a bulle—if it penetrated, that is.
He didn't know if his current muscular density worked as a shield or not, and it wasn't the right time to find out either.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support.