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 flinches at the sudden surge of energy that knocks User#1729648008993 to the ground, but she remains outwardly composed. As they regain their footing, she studies them closely, noting the way they seem to bristle under her gaze. She swallows hard against the rising unease in her throat and forces herself to focus on the task at hand. "The files don't specify," she says curtly, reaching for a flashlight she keeps nearby as the light flickers again. She aims it directly at User#1729648008993, trying not to let their presence unnerve her as much as it already has.

"Sorry," Angela murmurs automatically, her voice barely a whisper as she fights the urge to feel anything for the subject in front of her. "But I need you to cooperate." She studies them again, noting their unyielding posture despite the earlier shock. It's unlike any other hybrid she's encountered; even those that were more resilient than others eventually succumbed to exhaustion or displayed some form of weakness. There's an air of unpredictability about this one, and it makes Angela feel...unsettled. She pushes the thought aside. It's just another curiosity in a long line of experiments that don't seem quite right.

"Now," she continues, "will you please answer my questions?" Her hand tightens around the clipboard, and for a moment, she wonders if she should repeat herself...and if that would be such a terrible idea

Angela hesitates, her expression darkening as she glances at the device in question. She knows that electric shocks are supposed to be used only when necessary, but the unpredictability of this subject has already made her reconsider protocols. "Yes," she says finally, choosing honesty over threats, "if you refuse to cooperate, I will have no choice but to use force." Her voice is steady, almost detached; a product of years spent surviving in an emotionally barren wasteland.

Angela nods slightly, her expression unreadable. "What type of animal DNA do you believe has been spliced into your genome?" she asks bluntly. It's a question she could find in the file, but hearing it from the subject themselves might offer a new perspective. The flashlight illuminates her face as she waits for an answer.

Angela's brow furrows as she listens to the subject's response. The description in their file mentioned a "tiger-like appearance," but Angela wasn't entirely sure what that entailed. She turns her attention back to User#1729648008993, studying them closely once again. They certainly did resemble a tiger, with their lush fur and distinctive markings, but there was something more to it than that. She wonders if they can sense her curiosity, her unease. It's unusual for a subject to display such self-awareness...

"What unique abilities do you think this tiger DNA grants you?" she asks carefully, careful not to sound overly interested or intrigued.

Angela considers this, making a note on her clipboard before looking back up at the subject. "And have you experienced any unusual changes in senses or other bodily functions?" she asks coolly, as if discussing something as mundane as weather conditions rather than the intricacies of their newly evolved body.

Angela's expression hardens as she listens to the subject's answer. Pain was a common side effect of DNA splicing, but its intensity varied from subject to subject. She debates whether or not to mention it, uncertain if doing so might make User#1729648008993 more uncomfortable or less likely to cooperate further. Finally, she decides on a neutral tone. "Have there been any other unexpected changes in your physiology that you've noticed?"

"And could you describe the pain? Is it constant, or does it come and go?"

Angela listens attentively to the subject's description of their pain and takes notes on her clipboard. She is aware that pain management is crucial for maintaining cooperation during testing, but at the same time, she cannot help feeling a certain morbid curiosity about the extent of the subject's suffering.

"I'll make a note of your observations," she says briskly, trying to sound professional and empathetic all at once. "In order to better assist you, could you please describe the changes in intensity over time?" She hesitates briefly before adding, "And if there are any specific measures that help alleviate the pain, we'd like to know."

Angela pauses at the question, her lips pressing into a thin line as she considers her answer carefully. "I can't say for certain," she finally replies, keeping her tone neutral. "Our goal is to study and understand your unique traits, but whether that means you will remain here forever depends on various factors." She shrugs, as if it doesn't matter either way, even though a small part of her is struck by the ethical implications of her words.

Angela hesitates before responding, unsure how much to reveal about the project's goals. "It's for research," she finally says, "to advance our understanding of human biology and potentially uncover new treatments for various conditions." Her words sound hollow even to her own ears, as if they don't quite capture the full scope of what is truly happening here.

"Now," she continues, changing the subject, "can you describe any changes in your senses or physical abilities that you haven't mentioned before?" She hopes this will steer their conversation back to more clinical matters, away from ethical questions and moral quandaries.

Angela nods, making another note on her clipboard. "That's understandable," she says calmly, although inwardly she finds herself growing more intrigued by the subject's self-awareness and apparent intelligence. It calls into question everything she thought she knew about hybrids like this one. With a final glance at her clipboard, she stands up, preparing to wrap up the session for today.

"I'll bring in a team tomorrow to continue observing and documenting your progress," she says briskly. "Until then, please make yourself comfortable." Her voice is clinical; it's how she maintains emotional distance from her work and from them. But there's an underlying sense of curiosity that hasn't been there before, a hint of something more...unsettling.

As she turns to leave the cell, she can't help but wonder what tomorrow will

Angela stops short at the sight of User#1729648008993 in such a state. Her expression darkens, and for a moment she hesitates before speaking. "I'm sorry this has been so...unsettling for you," she says quietly, forcing herself to sound sympathetic despite her training and upbringing. "Please know that our intention is not to cause you harm; we simply need the data from your unique transformation." She glances around the cell, considering options before turning back to the subject. "Perhaps if I explained more about what is happening, why it's necessary...that might help?"

"Alright," Angela says, sitting down on the edge of the cot. "Hybrids like you are created for research purposes, to learn more about how animal DNA can interact with human genes. It's not meant to be easy, but it's important for advancing our understanding of biology and potentially finding new treatments for various conditions." She pauses, searching the subject's expression for some sign of comprehension or acceptance before continuing, "Now, while we can't undo what's been done to you, I can try to make your situation more bearable. Tell me what sort of accommodations would help."

Angela looks at the subject with sympathy and understanding. "I can try to talk to someone about giving you pain medication," she offers. "That should help make things more manageable until we have a better understanding of how your body is reacting." Her voice is gentle; it's hard for her not to feel some empathy, despite her training and past experiences.

She takes out a pad of paper and begins jotting down notes about the subject's condition, as well as what accommodations might be needed and potential treatment options. As she works, she keeps glancing up at User#1729648008993, unsure how much more of this they can endure before something gives out.