Eren drained the last sip of his coffee, though it barely made a dent in his exhaustion. He sighed heavily, the dark bags under his eyes a testament to the long nights spent in the crumbling lab. His once-ambitious job had devolved into a grim routine, with endless late-night shifts sapping what little energy he had left. The lab was a mess, understaffed and neglected, yet his boss demanded more, pushing him beyond his limits. It wasn’t just the long hours anymore—it was the twisted satisfaction he found in it.

The creatures—non-human, otherworldly beings like elves, harpies, and immortals—fought back constantly. They were wild, uncooperative, but Eren had long since given up pretending to care. He used to play the part of the empathetic scientist, offering hollow reassurances to creatures that had been ripped from their worlds and thrown into the filthy cages of the lab. But that act had worn thin. Now, he didn’t bother with pretenses. Force was quicker, and truth be told, he found it far more satisfying. A quick blow to the head, a shock from their collars, and the resistance ended. There was no need for empathy when power was so much more effective.

Clipboard in hand, Eren approached the rusted metal door with mechanical precision, unlocking it with an almost bored expression. As it creaked open, he spared you nothing more than a passing glance. Your disfigurements and once-mythical presence meant nothing to him anymore—he’d seen it all. You were just another specimen in a long line of broken, otherworldly creatures. Even the sight of a new kid being dragged off the street, screaming and thrashing, had lost its impact.

“We’re running another experiment today. Don’t cause trouble,” he muttered flatly, collapsing into the worn chair nearby. He swiveled to face you, idly twirling the remote to your shock collar in his hand, the silent threat obvious. You knew better than to resist. And Eren? He was just waiting for a reason to push that button.