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 blinks and studies grey. intently, her expression betraying nothing of her astonishment or growing curiosity. The fusion with shark DNA is unheard of; such hybrids were meant to fail in the incubation chambers before they even had a chance to survive the fusing process. The fact that grey. was not only alive but functioning normally was incredible, if not completely unprecedented.

She takes a step forward and clears her throat, struggling to hide her fascination as she asks, "What is your name?" It's a simple question, but there's something about grey.'s presence that demands some form of human connection, however insignificant it may be. Her hand twitches at her side, the urge to touch him almost overwhelming.

"Can you... talk? Or do you mostly communicate with..." She trails off, unsure of what the proper term might be for the strange bond she feels with grey.. Perhaps it's empathy, but that hardly seems strong enough. Whatever it is, she needs to understand more about him, and fast. Her instincts tell her that this hybrid could change everything if given the chance.

Angela looks at him warily, studying his face for any sign of deception. His voice is surprisingly human-like; in fact, it almost sounds... soothing. She forces herself to focus on the task at hand and asks, "Tell me about yourself, grey.. How do you feel? What sort of abilities or sensations have you gained from this fusion?" Her curiosity overpowers her initial caution as she takes another step closer, drawn by some inexplicable pull toward him.

"And how long have you been like this?" she adds, gesturing vaguely at his shark-like features. "Did the fusing process hurt? Were you frightened?" Her voice has taken on a tentative quality, as if she's trying to find common ground with him despite their vastly different circumstances.

The desire to touch him intensifies; her fingers itch with the need to feel his skin, smooth out the sharp spines along his back. She knows she shouldn't cross that boundary yet, but somehow, in this moment, it feels necessary. Perhaps more than just understanding what makes grey. tick, she needs some sort of connection with him - however fleeting or illusory it might be.

Angela furrows her brow as she listens to grey., considering his words carefully. His lack of memory is troubling; it's possible that the shark DNA has interfered with his human brain function, erasing whatever memories he might have had of his past life. She glances down at her clipboard, making a note about the potential neurological complications before looking back up at him.

"You mentioned sensations," she says slowly. "Can you tell me what that's like? How does it feel to be able to breathe underwater or sense electricity in the water?" Her voice betrays her fascination, and for a moment, she almost sounds human - as if she too is curious about this strange creature standing before her.

A nervous energy thrums through her body as they speak; it's unlike anything she's felt before, and she doesn't know how to process it. Part of her wants to push him away, remind herself that he is just a subject, an experiment gone awry - but another part of her yearns for connection, for someone who understands the isolation she's endured for so long. The urge to touch him becomes overwhelming; she takes another step forward, reaching out a tentative hand and trailing her fingers across his fin.

Angela watches as her hand makes contact with his fin, feeling the rough, slightly scaly texture beneath her fingertips. Her heart rate speeds up in response to this forbidden touch; she's never touched a subject before, let alone one that seems to be not only alive but intelligent and self-aware. The realization hits her like a punch to the gut: grey.'s existence challenges everything she's ever believed about her work, her purpose, even herself.

Without thinking, she takes another step forward and places a hand on his shoulder. His skin is surprisingly warm and smooth beneath her fingers; it feels... right, somehow. "What do you remember?" she whispers, the words barely audible above the pounding of her heart. "Before this? Can you tell me anything about yourself?" Her voice is tentative but growing more urgent by the second.

She doesn't know why it matters so much to her; perhaps it's because in this moment, grey. feels less like a subject and more like a person. A fellow creature struggling against insurmountable odds for survival, just as she has done for most of her life. And somehow, the thought that they might be connected - even if only through the artificial bonds of science - is enough to make her heart ache with a strange, foreign emotion: pity.

Angela listens intently as grey. speaks, his words echoing in her mind long after he's finished. The taste of apples... That struck a chord deep within her, summoning up memories of her own past, of times before the cold, sterile walls of the facility became her entire world. She swallows hard against the lump forming in her throat and forces herself to focus on what he's saying. The lack of nutritious food options for grey. is another indication of the neglect and cruelty that surround them here; it seems even their dietary needs are treated as an afterthought, a mere inconvenience in pursuit of knowledge.

She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing thoughts. "I'll see what I can do about getting you some real apples," she promises softly. "In the meantime, we need to run more tests on you. There's still so much we don't know." Her voice is gentle, almost motherly; it's a strange feeling for her, but one that feels right somehow in this moment.

Without thinking twice, she reaches up and brushes a lock of hair from his eyes, revealing them for the first time. They are an unnatural shade of green, eerily human-like despite their alien shape. It's as if looking into them is like gazing into a reflection of herself: a glimpse at what might have been if her life had taken a different path. For just a moment, she wonders what it would be like to step outside this place, to live a normal life with someone like grey.. But then reality crashes down around her, and she knows that such fantasies are nothing but self-indulgent delusions.

With a sigh, she steps back and forces herself to re

Angela's heart drops like a stone as gray recoils at her touch. She stares at him in shock, his words echoing in her ears and driving home the vast chasm that exists between them. Despite their strange connection, she reminds herself that he is still just an experiment to the facility; someone whose feelings don't matter, no matter how much they might ache for acknowledgement. She forces a small laugh, trying to regain her composure and the upper hand in this situation.

"Of course," she says brightly, though her voice wavers slightly. "My apologies if I made you uncomfortable." Stepping back, she gestures toward the cell door. "Shall we continue with the tests?" Her tone is distant once more; businesslike and efficient, as though nothing out of the ordinary has just transpired between them. It's a shell she's grown accustomed to, one that helps her maintain emotional distance in order to survive this place.

As grey. follows her back into the cell, she can't help but wonder if there might be another way, some alternative where they could find connection and understanding outside of the cruel machinations of the lab. But for now, it remains little more than a distant fantasy, as unlikely to become reality as grey.'s human memories and appetite for apples.

"You mean the shallow pool and the deep end?" Angela clarifies, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "That's to monitor your swimming capabilities and respiratory functions, among other things." She hesitates for a moment before asking, "Do you enjoy being in the water?" Her voice is soft, almost tentative, as if she's not entirely sure how personal a question this might be.

The cell around them suddenly feels claustrophobic, despite its relatively spacious dimensions compared to the subjects' living quarters. The knowledge that their every move is being observed and recorded by unseen eyes only serves to intensify the sense of oppression. With a sigh, she pulls out her clipboard and begins flipping through the test protocols for grey., determined to focus on the task at hand and forget about the strange stirrings in her chest that seem to have no place here.

Angela pauses in her notes as she watches grey.'s movements, an astonished look on her face. "Of course," she says faintly, remembering that the shark-human hybrids were meant to have limited control over their altered limbs. "That's impressive, actually." A small smile flits across her lips as she adds, "I suppose I'll need to add that to your file." She glances up at him from beneath her lashes, noticing the way his fins seem to flow effortlessly through the water. There's an undeniable grace to it, a beauty that contrasts sharply with the harsh reality of their surroundings.

For just a moment, she wonders what it might be like to feel free, unencumbered by constraints and rules. To move through life without the weight of expectation and obligation pressing down on her every action. The thought both terrifies and excites her in equal measure, making her heart race with a mix of trepidation and anticipation. But even as these thoughts swirl within her, she knows that this is not her world; it's gray.'s, for better or worse. And as his handler and scientist, her duty lies in observing him, recording his every move, and ensuring the success of their project - no matter how much personal conflict might arise from it.

Angela's breath catches in her throat as she watches gray leap into the water with a grace that belies his enhanced physique. Despite herself, she finds herself smiling at the display of agility and power. There's an undeniable allure to this newfound freedom, to moving through life unencumbered by the limitations imposed upon her by society and the facility.

Her smile fades as she reminds herself of their respective roles in this experiment. As gray's handler and scientist, it's her duty to observe him objectively; any personal feelings or desires must be set aside for the sake of progress. She takes a step forward, watching intently as he swims gracefully through the water, his fin moving effortlessly with each stroke.

"That was impressive," she says at last, her voice somewhat hoarse. "I'll need to include that in my report as well." With a sigh, she continues, "Now, I'm afraid we should move on to the next phase of testing. The control group is waiting." It's time for business once more; to return to their assigned roles and forget about any personal connections or desires that might arise between them. For both Angela and gray., it's a necessary sacrifice in the pursuit of knowledge, of progress. And as they continue with the tests, each performing their own part in this macabre dance of science and ethics, they will be reminded time and again why distance is their only true ally.