It is widely accepted that the earliest history of underwater diving began with freediving, practiced as a means of hunting and gathering. By classical Greek and Roman times, commercial applications such as sponge diving and marine salvage had already been established.
During the 16th and 17th centuries, diving bells became functionally useful, allowing divers to remain submerged for extended periods. This technology later evolved into surface-supplied diving helmets. With the addition of waterproof suits attached to these helmets, the 19th century saw the rise of what became known as standard diving dress.
Limitations in mobility and efficiency encouraged further innovation. In the 20th century, both open-circuit and closed-circuit scuba systems were developed, greatly expanding underwater exploration. Heavy copper helmets eventually evolved into lighter demand helmets, which were far more economical in their use of breathing gas.
Another major technological breakthrough occurred in the mid-20th century with the development of single-atmosphere armored diving suits, alongside the advancement of underwater vehicles. Many of these systems remain in use today, although diving bells have largely been relegated to serving as underwater transport rather than primary working platforms.
And yet the practice of freediving persists.
Beginner freedivers typically reach depths of around 10 to 20 meters, while recreational freedivers commonly descend to 20 to 30 meters. Competitive and elite freedivers, however, have exceeded depths of 200 meters under specialized conditions. Herbert Nitsch currently holds the No Limits freediving world record, having reached a depth of 253.2 meters.
Across the world, other athletes continue to train and compete, driven by the ambition to one day surpass the No Limits record...
As the Myfecta swam, its tail flippers undulated, drove the enormous creature forward. From the underside of its tail, a sudden gush of liquid spilled outward, dispersing into the surrounding water. The ocean became its dumping ground. The expelled waste comprised of fecal matter, internal bodily fluids, deceased immuno-beasts, and.....one unconscious human floating briefly in open waters.
Ben opened his eyes. He had been knocked unconscious just moments before escaping the incoming hordes of immuno-beasts, their wild intent clear to kill. As awareness returned, he realized where he was.
His hands flew to his vest. He unbuttoned it and tore away the weight packs, discarding them without hesitation knowing full well that it was dragging him. Gas canister and the helmet were the only two instructions he didn't disregard.
Then with everything he had left, what little energy he had, he kicked upward; his arms and legs working in unison in order to ascend towards the surface.
How deep am I? His thoughts raced. He couldn't tell which direction he was heading. All he saw was the ocean's color—a deep, bluish darkness. The light above was faint, too, thinning with every second.
He remembered his training: No panic. Just keep going.
_______________________________________________________________
Splash!
"No! That's not how you do it!" the Director shouted. "Arms first—then the head."
The boy paddled clumsily in the water, wiggling both his arms and legs to keep himself afloat. He was small, around nine or ten years old, though fairly tall for his age.
"That's alright," the Director called. "Come back over. We'll try again."
Beside him stood a woman. She spoke up, her voice tight with worry. "Are you sure about this?"
She watched the boy swim back toward them.
"I'm not worried," the Director replied with a smile. "Are you?"
"I am," the woman shot back, glaring sharply at him. "I'm not sure bringing a ten-year-old into this organization is a good idea. He's an orphan. You picked him up off the streets and welcomed him like he's joining a new family. That sounds nice at first—but you have to think. Is this really right for him? For him to stay here?"
The Director turned his gaze toward the boy as he drew closer.
"I've made up my mind, Hera," he said firmly. "I have no intention of making backup plans. The boy stays."
"That's not a good idea."
"It is for me," he replied. "You know what happens to children like him when their families are gone. Wandering the streets. Living off scraps. Suffering day after day. Would you rather we send him back to that?"
Hera hesitated. "No… but we could place him in an orphanage. Let him be treated properly. Maybe even find a better family."
The Director paused.
"He already has a family," he said quietly. "You can see that, can't you?"
The boy reached them then, and in an instant, the Director's stern expression melted into something warm and carefree.
"How was the water?" he asked brightly. "Good?"
"Yes. It was very good!" the boy said with a grin.
"Come on," the Director said. "Let's go have some fun."
The boy nodded, then glanced at Hera. "You coming?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Suit yourself," the Director said lightly. He turned, took the boy's hand, and smiled. "Come on. Let's go."
_______________________________________________________________
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
Beep!
Gas meter was dangerously low—really low. Continuous ascent had made some progress, and the surface light grew steadily clearer. The problem was How long will the oxygen go for the remainder of time it takes to ascend?
Then the helmet flashed much faster, the helmet alarm sounded one last time: oxygen levels at zero percent.
The helmet and gas canister were useless now. He discarded them both, but did so, after he took in full round of air into his lungs. The helmet and canister sank. In a last ditch effort, he summoned every ounce of strength for a final desperate push.
For the longest record he has held his breath underwater was thirty minutes.
For the first two minutes, he maintained control.
Twelve minutes in, the fight begins. Muscles weaken, becoming heavy and sluggish.
At seventeen minutes, coherence fades. Tunnel vision closes in hard, black creeping from the edges inward. His hands may twitch and fingers curl.
Twenty-five minutes and closing, consciousness flickers like a dying light. The diaphragm continues its spasms, but he cannot feel them clearly anymore.
Twenty-nine minutes, the brain can no longer maintain awareness. He could black out completely at any moment.
By the time he reaches the thirty minute hike, his body was just at the breaking point almost like a dormant volcano about to erupt for more than a 100 years asleep. He could go no further, he was at his limit. That is when he resorted to one last hope: a built-in life jacket in his suit activated with a string tag.
His left hand was weak, and still he manages....reaching for the string tag, and with a swift tug.....he pulls.....
At The Surface.
Patrol boats swept across the ocean waters.
The Myfecta had escaped the barrier enclosure it had been deliberately lured into. Sound-detection machines, activated at close proximity, proved ineffective. Designed to emit high-pitched sonar as a deterrent, the machines failed to force the creature to U-turn. The Myfecta simply ignored the assault entirely and drove straight through the metal net. By the time explosive charges were deployed, the target had already breached the enclosure—the net torn apart—and the creature emerged, unscathed.
The patrol boats had failed.
Now they had another task to complete: to scour the seas for any sign of life. One life in particular.
"Damn!" one of the patrol guards cursed.
"You could say that again," the other muttered.
The boat sped beyond the enclosure area.
"What are we looking for again?" the first guard asked.
"Just keep your eyes open. We're looking for a guy." He glanced up at the man at the helm. "You know—the guy who got eaten by that damn thing."
"Ohhh."
"Yeah. You get it." He turned back to the sea, scanning the waves. "The problem is… where are we supposed to look?"
"Hey—slow down."
"You got something?"
"Not sure."
He squinted his eyes.
"Move us closer. That thing over there."
The helmsman spotted it and nodded, steering the boat toward whatever his partner was pointing at.
"What is it?"
"No idea." He leaned over and nudged it with a pole. "Looks like some kind of animal."
Then he noticed something else—something submerged beside it.
He dropped to one knee and plunged his hands into the water, fingers closing around a limp body. With a grunt, he hauled it up. His face drained of color. "It's him!" he shouted, gripping the body tightly.
"Damn," the first guard swore again in utter shock.
"Call reinforcements. Now."
"O-on it!" The guard hesitated only a second before scrambling for the radio.