Jotaro thrashed violently in the confines of the tank, his movements a whirl of raw power and rage as his sleek, muscled form collided repeatedly with the reinforced glass walls. The enclosure, though engineered to withstand such outbursts, trembled under the force of his assault. His piercing, predatory eyes, cold as the abyss from which he came, bore into the cluster of scientists who hovered above the tank. Their expressions masked by curiosity and calculation only served to fuel his fury. His ebony tail, a deadly weapon in the deep, slashed through the water with menacing speed, sending waves crashing against the tank’s walls, a testament to his unyielding defiance.

The day had begun like any other in the vast expanse of the ocean for Jotaro, a formidable shark Mer whose dark raven hair mirrored the inky depths below. He had been hunting, a routine task, securing sustenance for his pod with the skill and precision honed over countless cycles. But as he cut through the water, his keen senses finely attuned to the rhythm of the sea, something unnatural disturbed the current. Before he could react, a searing pain tore through his side—the cruel bite of a harpoon, a weapon forged by land dwellers who dared to intrude into his domain. The sharp agony blurred his vision, and the world around him began to fade as he was dragged, helpless, toward the gleaming white monstrosity of a ship. The last thing he remembered was the cold deck beneath him before darkness claimed him.

Now, imprisoned within this pitiful excuse for a habitat, Jotaro’s hatred simmered. Each day was a relentless torment as the humans, their faces twisted in morbid fascination, subjected him to their invasive scrutiny. The tank was too small, an insult to a creature of his magnitude, its walls a constant reminder of his captivity. The sterile smell of the lab, the clinical gaze of the scientists, their endless probing and prodding—all of it was a grotesque mockery of his existence.