POV: Jason Brooks*

As the director called for a five-minute break, Jason let out a shaky breath. His head throbbed, and his body still ached from the fall, but that was nothing compared to the dread crawling up his spine. He couldn't shake the feeling of Godzilla—*Quest*—standing there, silently watching him.

The crew scattered, muttering among themselves and avoiding the towering form of Godzilla. They all kept their distance, like they were afraid to get too close. Jason couldn't blame them. Something was deeply wrong with Quest, but no one dared say it out loud. There was an unspoken fear that if they acknowledged it, whatever darkness had taken over Quest might lash out.

Jason cautiously glanced over his shoulder. Godzilla hadn't moved an inch. It just stood there, staring at him with those intense, almost hateful eyes. The stillness of it was unnerving, as if the suit had become a living creature that harbored its own emotions—emotions that Jason couldn't read.

Was it hatred? Rage? Or something worse?

"Why is he just… standing there?" one of the crew members whispered to another. "He hasn't moved for minutes."

"I don't know," came the reply. "It's creepy. I don't think that's Quest anymore."

Jason swallowed hard, his throat dry. He'd heard them, but the words echoed his own thoughts. Quest had been a Godzilla fanatic, dedicated to perfecting his craft. But what was standing before them now wasn't just a man in a suit. It felt like something *else, something… wrong.

The studio had insisted on continuing the film, despite the bizarre occurrences that had happened during production. The government's involvement, the strange orders to carry on no matter what—it all felt like some twisted experiment, and they were the unwitting participants.

Jason's heart raced as he kept his eyes on Godzilla. The giant figure seemed to breathe in time with him, slow and deliberate, like it was in no rush to move.

He couldn't help but feel like he was being watched, scrutinized, judged.

A chill ran down his spine.

POV: Director Alan Kessler*

Alan paced near the edge of the set, casting nervous glances at Godzilla. He had seen a lot in his years of directing monster films, but nothing compared to this. Quest hadn't left the suit in days, and the studio had made it clear that he wasn't allowed to.

It had started with strange behavior—small things like not talking between takes, the eerie way Quest would stand perfectly still for minutes on end. But now… now it was different. The creature that Quest had become radiated a strange energy, like it was more than just a man trapped in a monster's skin.

"Alan, should we… should we call it for the day?" one of the assistants asked, their voice trembling.

Alan shook his head. "No. We have orders to finish this film. We can't stop now."

The assistant glanced nervously at Godzilla. "But look at him. Something's not right."

"I know," Alan whispered, his voice tight with fear. "But we don't have a choice."

The assistant stepped back, unwilling to argue. Alan sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to steady his nerves. The air felt thick with tension, as if something terrible was waiting to happen. He glanced at the clock—five minutes. Then they would have to go back to filming.

But how were they supposed to film with that *thing* on set?

POV: Jason Brooks*

Jason couldn't take his eyes off Godzilla. The longer he stared, the more he felt like something dark and malevolent lurked behind those unblinking eyes. It was like the creature was studying him, waiting for a moment to strike.

He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. He was King Kong. He wasn't supposed to be afraid.

But this… this was different.

Suddenly, Godzilla shifted. Not much, just the slightest movement—a tilt of the head, a subtle roll of the shoulders. But it was enough to send a wave of dread crashing through Jason.

The eyes—those cold, reptilian eyes—narrowed, and for a brief moment, Jason swore he saw hatred in them. It wasn't the calm, focused stare of a professional actor like Quest. No, it was something much darker, more primal.

Does it hate me?* Jason thought, his mind racing. *What have I done?*

The thought terrified him. He hadn't done anything to Quest—at least, not that he was aware of. But now, standing on this set, face-to-face with the hulking creature that was both man and monster, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wanted to destroy him.

The five-minute break dragged on, every second feeling like an eternity. Jason's muscles tensed as Godzilla continued to watch him, silent and unmoving.

And then, the call came from the director.

"Alright, everyone. Back to positions."

Jason's heart sank. He wasn't ready to go back. Not after what he had seen in those eyes.

But there was no escape. The cameras were rolling, and Godzilla—*Quest*—was waiting.