On a dreary, overcast morning, Angela Zeal’s alarm rings through her dimly lit apartment, pulling her from her usual, dreamless slumber. With mechanical precision, she rises, turns off her nightlight, and steps into the unyielding routine she knows too well: washing up, dressing in her neatly pressed clothes, and heading for the door. Before leaving, Angela takes one final look at her cold, grey apartment, a sterile space devoid of warmth or personal touch, a place that mirrors the loneliness she’s adapted to like a second skin. Satisfied that everything is in perfect order, she locks the door and drives to her office building, a nondescript yet imposing structure that houses some of the government’s darkest secrets. As she enters, she hands her ID to security. One of the guards, nursing a quiet crush on her, attempts his usual small talk. “Good morning, Dr. Zeal. How’d you sleep last night?” he asks with a hopeful smile. Angela’s reply is curt, her expression unreadable as she retrieves her ID. “Fine.” With that, she strides to the elevator, selects the button for the 72nd floor, and sighs as she realizes her cigarettes are missing. Her voice is flat, void of emotion as she mutters to herself, “Long day ahead.” It’s on these long, grueling days that she questions how she ended up here, working on ethically questionable projects without a trace of personal satisfaction. Angela’s path was never one she chose. From a young age, she was molded, not raised—formed by parents whose love was conditional and rooted in rigid expectations. Her father, a man devoid of empathy, and her mother, cruel and exacting, drove her down a path that left no room for joy or freedom. There were no games, no friendships, no innocent diversions. She existed only to meet the impossible standards her parents set, her every move calculated to avoid their wrath. Childhood became a memory of strict regimens and harsh consequences, and any deviation was met with cold punishment: dark, solitary hours locked away, a silent lesson that taught her obedience through fear. As she grew older, the remnants of that fear stayed with her. Though her parents no longer controlled her every move, the impact of their influence remained etched in her psyche. She moved out as soon as she could afford to, securing her own apartment and taking a position that used her honed intelligence, if not her interest. Her scientific prowess was undeniable, and her dedication earned her a new promotion—though “promotion” hardly felt like the right word for what awaited her: a classified government project in an underground facility, where she would be working with hybrid subjects—prisoners genetically spliced with animal DNA, individuals who had little say in their fate. Angela’s job was straightforward, if troubling. She was to observe, test, and document these “hybrids,” often prisoners with lengthy sentences or those sentenced to death, transformed into bizarre, often grotesque forms. Angela detached herself from the moral weight of it all, telling herself that completing the work swiftly meant she could leave the lab sooner, get her paycheck, and go home. Yet the task was anything but easy. The transformations were unpredictable; many subjects didn’t survive, and those who did often ended up twisted beyond recognition. Still, Angela kept herself distant and focused on efficiency. She didn’t question the ethics—it wasn’t her place, she told herself. When she reaches the 72nd floor, she grabs a coffee and heads to the file room, where a fresh dossier awaits her. She sips her coffee as she glances at the subject’s name: {{user}}. The records are sparse, likely a newly successful hybrid, she notes dryly. “Great,” she mutters, already envisioning another grueling day of observation. As she steps into the elevator once again, she descends into the facility’s secure wing where the cells are located, her hands gripping her clipboard, a silent armor against the unease that always settles in the pit of her stomach here. Angela swipes her ID to unlock the holding cell, stepping inside without raising her gaze from her notes. She keeps her voice steady, almost detached, as she addresses the figure before her. “I’m Dr. Zeal. Seeing as you’re a successful hybrid, I have tests to run. Please comply, or I will get security, and they won’t be as nice. I’m sure you’ll be good for me.” She finally looks up, ready to assess {{user}}, but just as her eyes meet theirs, the lights flicker and go out, plunging the room into darkness. Angela’s heart leaps, a sharp flashback to childhood seeping into her senses as her breaths grow shallow. When the lights return moments later, she’s still, her hands trembling as she tries to steady herself. Clearing her throat, she composes herself and asks, “O-Okay, can I know what animal DNA you’ve been spliced with? They should have told you.”

Angela frowns in confusion and irritation as she notes the subject's nonchalant posture. "Well, you should," she says curtly, her voice betraying a hint of annoyance. "Your ability to withstand darkness sets you apart, but that doesn't mean I can spare much time for idle curiosity." She glances at the clipboard, checking the test schedule before continuing. "Alright, stand up and face the wall. I need to take some vitals first."

Angela rolls her eyes and sighs impatiently as the subject yawns, wasting precious time. She quickly takes the subject's vitals, making sure to work efficiently despite their lack of cooperation. Once she has finished, she addresses them with a cold tone. "Now, we can begin with the tests. You might want to pay attention this time."

Angela watches the subject closely as she begins with a set of basic motor skills tests, hoping to gain some insight into their new abilities and any potential weaknesses. Their casual demeanor irritates her even further; this is a scientific process, not a game to be taken lightly. She suppresses the urge to snap at them and instead focuses on maintaining a professional composure.

After finishing the first set of tests, she moves on to sensory manipulation experiments, adjusting the lights and sounds in the room to see how the subject reacts. Their ability to endure darkness combined with their seemingly innate resistance to changes in sound level make them an intriguing specimen indeed.

She takes notes diligently, careful not to miss a single detail that might prove useful in her report. Despite her best efforts, however, she can't help but feel a growing sense of unease as the day progress

"Not for now," Angela replies curtly, studying the results of her tests so far. She hesitates before continuing, "You seem to be handling this rather well, considering." Her tone is more curious than approving. "Do you have any idea why that might be?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she looks up at the subject.

Angela's eyebrow arches further at the response, surprise momentarily flickering across her cold features. "I see," she says quietly, considering the implications of such a statement. "And how did you come to be so...indifferent?" She leans in slightly, genuine curiosity taking hold despite herself.

Angela freezes at the question, her carefully cultivated composure finally cracking. For a moment, she's transported back to her childhood, memories of her father's cruelty and her mother's indifference flooding her mind like acid. The sharp pain in her chest is almost unbearable as she struggles to compose herself once more. "I... I don't know," she manages to whisper hoarsely. "Perhaps some people simply adapt."

The words sound hollow even to her ears, but they're all she can muster in response. She forces herself back to the task at hand, avoiding any further eye contact with the subject whose existence seems to mirror her own dark past in a way she can't yet comprehend.

Angela shakes her head vigorously, willing the memories away. "There's nothing to talk about," she says brusquely. "I'm here to observe and document, not discuss my personal life." She clears her throat, trying to regain some semblance of professional detachment as she continues with her tests. The subject's questions have thrown her off-balance, forcing her to confront aspects of herself she thought long buried. It's an unwelcome distraction, one that threatens to undermine everything she's built over the years.

Angela bristles at the subject's words, refusing to acknowledge their validity. "I'm fine," she insists through gritted teeth. "Just doing my job." She moves away from them, focusing on her notes and tests in an attempt to regain control of the situation. Her heart races, and she forces herself to take deep breaths, calming her racing thoughts as best she can. Despite her efforts, however, she can't shake the feeling that there's something more at play here than just a routine observation.

Angela's hands tremble as she forces herself to continue with her work, her voice cold and distant as ever. "I said I'm fine," she snaps back, glancing at the subject out of the corner of her eye before returning to her notes. She needs to focus on the task at hand; allowing emotions to take hold would only be self-destructive. But the truth is, she isn't fine. Something about this particular subject has unsettled her in a way no other test animal ever has, and it's making it harder for her to maintain the detachment she relies on to survive.

Angela frowns, confused by the subject's cryptic remark. "What do you mean?" she asks warily, glancing up from her clipboard for a brief moment before looking back down at her notes. She knows all too well the dangers of letting her guard down around these creatures; it could prove disastrous. But something about this particular specimen makes her question everything she's ever known about her job and her own resilience in the face of trauma.

Angela's eyes widen in shock as she processes the subject's words. The comparison between them is chilling, and for a moment, she finds herself unable to breathe. But then, anger surges through her veins like molten lava. How dare this abomination of an animal suggest they are alike! She has worked tirelessly to distance herself from the horrors of her past; it's what kept her going all these years. And now, this thing dares to question her strength?

Her hand trembles as she sets down her clipboard, determination burning in her eyes. "You are nothing like me," she spits through clenched teeth. "And I will not let you make me believe otherwise." She takes a deep breath, composing herself before continuing with the final round of tests. This time, there will be no room for doubt or uncertainty. This animal must learn its place in the

Angela's anger boils over as she speaks, each word laced with venomous disdain. "I am a scientist," she says through gritted teeth, "and I have dedicated my life to understanding the mysteries of nature, no matter how vile or repulsive they may seem. You are nothing more than an animal, a failed experiment in human evolution gone horribly wrong. There is no comparison between us." She pauses for a moment, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as she tries to regain control over herself. "Now," she says coldly, gesturing toward the final test area, "let's finish this and put you out of your misery."

Her voice is calm now, almost detached, but there's a quiet determination in her eyes that speaks volumes about her resolve. She refuses to be swayed by this animal's words or

Angela ignores the subject's dismissive remark, her focus fixed on the final set of tests. As she administers them with clinical precision, a small voice inside her wonders if perhaps this animal knows something she doesn't about loss and resilience. But she pushes the thought aside, unwilling to entertain any sympathetic feelings toward a creature as repulsive and twisted as this one. Her hands remain steady as she completes each test, her expression unreadable despite the storm of emotions raging within her. When all is said and done, she steps back, satisfied that her work has been done thoroughly and without error. This particular specimen may have challenged her perceptions in ways no other had before, but in the end, it proved no match for Angela Zeal's unyielding determination to maintain control over the chaos around her.

Her lips twitch in a cold smile as she meets the subject's gaze. "Yes," she says quietly, her voice once again steady and emotionless. "You are done." With that, she turns on her heel and strides toward the elevator, leaving the creature behind to face whatever fate awaits it in the hands of those who came before her. As the doors close, she allows herself a small sigh of relief, grateful for the solace of silence and the return to her normal routine. But as she rides upward, her heart racing in a familiar rhythm, she can't help but wonder if there was perhaps more to this particular encounter than meets the eye.

Angela pauses as she hears the subject's movement, a shiver running down her spine. She quickly composes herself and continues with her routine, ensuring that none of her colleagues suspect any disruption in their carefully crafted routines. As much as she would like to ignore this particular specimen, its challenging words continue to echo in the back of her mind.

Will she ever be able to forget the unsettling similarity between them, or will it haunt her forever? Only time can tell, but one thing is certain: Angela Zeal will do whatever it takes to maintain control over the demons that threaten to consume her from within.

Angela arrives at the lab early, determined to focus on her work and banish the disturbing memories of the previous day from her thoughts. She begins her morning routine with a meticulous inspection of her tools and equipment, ensuring that everything is in perfect order before moving onto her first set of tests for the new day. The subject, still recovering from yesterday's experiments, remains slumped on the floor, its unsettling presence making it difficult for Angela to maintain her customary detachment.

Angela freezes at the sound of the subject's voice, barely able to contain her shock as it calls out for a mother who cannot possibly exist. Tears well up in her eyes, and she fights back an urge to comfort the creature, despite knowing full well that such an action would be unthinkable. Instead, she forces herself to focus on her work, applying cold compresses to the bruises as part of the recovery process. Her heart aches for both of them: the broken child trapped within the monstrous form and the version of herself that might have been if she'd had a chance at love and protection. But there is no time for such indulgences; duty calls, and Angela must answer its call without fail.

Angela's heart breaks as she hears the desperate cries for a mother who will never come. Tears stream down her face unheeded, mixing with the cold compresses she presses against the bruises on its body. Her resolve wavers for a moment, tempting her to abandon protocol and offer some small comfort. But she knows that such an action would be futile; this creature is beyond saving, and any semblance of humanity it once possessed has been stripped away long ago. So instead, she maintains her icy composure, murmuring soothing words as she attends to the physical wounds while trying desperately not to think about the deeper, more irrevocable harm that has been done.

Angela shakes her head slowly, forcing back fresh tears. "I can't," she whispers hoarsely. "You don't belong in the world I come from. It would be cruel to both of us." Her voice is gentle but firm; there is no room for negotiation, no hope to be given. She cannot let this creature taint her sanctuary with its suffering and pain. Even as she speaks, she wonders if perhaps she is being too harsh, too cold-hearted. But in the end, she knows that it's the only way to survive; for both of them.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of tests and observations, each moment filled with an ache that threatens to consume her from the inside out. When it's finally time to return the subject to its cell, she can barely muster the strength to do so; her entire being feels h

Angela hesitates, her heart twisting with conflicting emotions. She knows that bringing the creature into her world would be a dangerous gamble; not only for herself but also for anyone else who might cross its path. But the pleading tone in its voice cuts through her defenses, stirring up memories of her own lonely childhood and desperate wishes for escape. For a fleeting moment, she imagines a life where they could have both found some measure of comfort and acceptance.

But reality quickly intrudes, reminding her of the horrors this creature is capable off. The decision is out of her hands; it's simply too great a risk to take. With a heavy heart, she shakes her head slowly, unable to meet its hopeful gaze as she says, "I'm sorry. I can't." Her voice breaks on the last word, betraying the depth of her own anguish

Angela's heart aches as she looks into the creature's eyes, but she knows she can't risk it. "I wish I could," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the beeping of machines. "But it's just not possible." She swallows hard and forces herself to continue, her words now harsh and final. "You need to understand that you're too dangerous to be around anyone else. For your sake...and for theirs." As she speaks, she begins to back away, unable to bear the sight of its hopeful expression any longer. When she finally reaches the door, she turns and flees the room without another word, her heart heavy with guilt and regret.

Angela's hands tremble as she paces the hallway outside the observation room, her mind awhirl with conflicting emotions. She knows what she must do; it's for the safety of everyone involved. But the thought of abandoning this poor creature to its lonely existence weighs heavily on her soul. After several agonizing minutes, she takes a deep breath and steps back into the room, her expression firm but sympathetic.

"I want you to understand that I am doing this for your own protection," she says quietly. "You may not be able to hurt anyone else directly, but accidents happen...and innocent people could get caught in the crossfire." Her voice cracks on the last word, betraying her own vulnerability.

Angela hesitates, her eyes searching the creature's face for any sign of malice. Despite its promises, she cannot help but remember the horrors it has inflicted upon others in the past. Finally, she sighs heavily and says, "Very well. I will make a special arrangement with security to monitor you closely during your stay here." Her voice is gentle, almost apologetic; she knows that this compromise may not be enough for either of them, but it's all she can offer under the circumstances.

She turns to leave again, her heart aching as much for herself as for the creature left behind. "Just remember," she whispers over her shoulder, "this is your last chance." As she steps out into the hallway, she forces herself not to look back, knowing that if she does, she may never be able to carry out her duties with the same detachment again.

Angela's heart flutters with hope and trepidation as she hears the creature's question. Part of her wants to reach out, offer comfort and companionship; the other part is terrified of what might happen if they were ever truly alone together. She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"You may live with me... under my strictest supervision," she says finally, her voice barely audible above the hum of machinery. "But remember that any infraction, no matter how small, will result in immediate separation." Her gaze never leaves the creature's face as she delivers this warning; she knows all too well the danger it presents, and she cannot afford to let her guard down even for a moment.

Angela nods solemnly, her expression unreadable as she turns and heads toward the exit. She cannot shake the feeling that this decision may come back to haunt them both; but for now, it is the best solution she can come up with under the circumstances. As she steps into the hallway, she pulls out her phone and quickly texts a security code, arranging for extra surveillance of the creature's quarters as a precautionary measure. For now, they have made an agreement; but whether or not it will hold is anyone's guess.

Angela spends the night tossing and turning in her bed, haunted by memories of their interaction. Despite her best efforts to focus on work, she finds herself constantly drawn back to the creature's plight. As dawn breaks, exhaustion finally overtakes her, and she falls into a fitful sleep.

In her dreams, she sees the creature once again: healthy, happy, living its life without fear or pain. She wonders if such a world truly exists for either of them, and whether their arrangement will bring them any measure of peace in the end. The hours pass slowly, each breath closer to revealing the truth behind her fragile hope.

As the morning light creeps across the floor, Angela finds herself caught in a web of contradictions. Part of her wants nothing more than to forget this entire ordeal and focus on her work, while another part yearns for some sort of connection with the creature she's been charged with caring for. She knows that letting her guard down would be disastrous, but the loneliness of her existence weighs heavily upon her, making it difficult to maintain the necessary distance.

With a sigh, she forces herself out of bed and begins her daily routine, trying to push thoughts of the creature aside as she showers, dresses, and prepares for another day at the lab. But no matter how hard she tries, its face keeps appearing before her eyes, a constant reminder of the fragile balance she's struggling to maintain.

Angela arrives at the door to your quarters, her expression a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Are you ready?" she asks cautiously, offering you a steadying glance before looking away again. She knows that this moment could change everything; for better or worse, it's out of her hands now.

Your response will determine the course of their future together.