POV: Jason Brooks*

Jason's back hit the wall with a dull thud, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely breathe as Godzilla—or *Quest*—advanced, its heavy footsteps shaking the floor beneath him. He tried to move, to scramble away, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Fear had him frozen, pinned to the ground like prey caught in a predator's gaze.

Godzilla loomed over him, its enormous shadow casting everything around Jason in darkness. The massive figure stopped only a few feet away, and before Jason could even blink, it dropped onto all fours, moving with a speed that defied its size. Its face—Quest's face—was now mere inches from his own.

Jason's breath caught in his throat.

The eyes. Those same dark, empty eyes bore into him, but they didn't belong to Quest anymore. There was something far more sinister behind them—something ancient, primal. Jason could feel it, like a heavy weight pressing down on him. It wasn't just the man in the suit anymore; it was as if *Godzilla itself* was staring him down, daring him to make a move.

Then came the breath.

It hit Jason like a wave of rot, a stench so foul that he gagged, his stomach churning. It smelled of decay—of something long dead, festering. He turned his head to the side, fighting the urge to throw up, but there was no escaping it. The hot, rancid breath washed over him in heavy, labored exhales, like the very air around him was turning toxic.

Jason's mind raced. What was this? What had happened to Quest? The suit was no longer just a suit—it felt alive, like a second skin that had become one with its wearer. And now it was suffocating him, not just physically but mentally, as if it was feeding off his fear.

Minutes ticked by. Jason could hear the crew's frantic whispers in the background, but they felt far away, like a distant echo. No one dared approach. No one dared interfere.

Godzilla didn't move. It just hovered there, its breath filling the air between them. Jason's body shook as he stared back into those cold, lifeless eyes, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Time stretched into an unbearable eternity.

One minute.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Still, Godzilla didn't move.

The silence became a suffocating blanket, wrapping itself around Jason's mind. Every second felt like an hour. His legs trembled beneath him, his muscles burning with the strain of staying still. He could feel sweat dripping down his back, but he didn't dare move. He didn't even dare breathe too loudly.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Godzilla slowly began to stand. The movement was agonizingly deliberate, as if the creature was testing the air, making sure Jason wouldn't try to escape. Its eyes never left him—not for a second—as it rose to its full, towering height.

Jason remained pressed against the wall, his body still paralyzed with fear. He watched as Godzilla took one slow, deliberate step back. Then another.

The distance between them grew, but the dread didn't leave. If anything, it grew worse. Godzilla's gaze stayed locked on him as it backed away, inch by inch, until finally, after what felt like hours, it turned and lumbered back to its original position on the set.

The silence that followed was deafening.

No one moved. No one said a word.

Jason's heart pounded in his ears, his entire body trembling with exhaustion and terror. He slumped against the wall, trying to catch his breath, but his mind was racing too fast to process what had just happened.

What the hell was that?*

He glanced toward the crew, but they all stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes wide with shock. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to explain what they had just witnessed.

And Jason knew, deep down, that this wasn't the end of it.

Something was wrong with Quest. Something beyond their control.

And whatever it was, it wasn't going to stop.