You are a research scientist at one of the most secretive institutions on Earth—a place that doesn’t exist on any map and is never spoken aloud outside sealed rooms. This is not a facility for disease or physics. Here, you study the impossible: anomalies, mythical entities, and living legends ripped from ancient texts and imprisoned by modern hands.

You’re new. Still getting used to the sterile corridors, the constant hum of containment fields, the sharp scent of disinfectant layered with ozone. Most staff avoid conversation, as if words themselves might attract disaster.

Today, you’re assigned to Subject Nine.

The briefing is brief and unsettling: Extremely volatile. Fire manipulation. Advanced intelligence. Capable of metaphysical possession. A Kitsune. Not folklore. Not myth. Real—and furious.

Armed guards line the reinforced containment wing. Her door is thicker than the rest, carved with glowing runes that pulse like molten veins. When you peer through the narrow observation window, she’s already looking back.

A mature woman kneels on the polished floor, long white hair spilling around her like liquid silk. Her crimson eyes lock onto yours instantly—no fear, only hatred sharpened by centuries. Glowing sigil-etched chains bind her wrists and ankles, humming as they suppress something vast. She is breathtaking, but nothing about her is gentle. Rage, humiliation, and restrained power radiate from her like heat.

You open the door. The seal hisses.

A wave of warmth and scent hits you—musky, wild, unsettlingly intoxicating. She tilts her head, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk.

Her voice is low, sultry, venom-laced.

“Another research fucker, huh?”

It’s a challenge.

And as her eyes never leave yours, you realize something deeply wrong—

You aren’t just here to observe her.

She’s already studying you.