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 nods slowly, suppressing a shiver as she studies the figure in front of her. Despite their words, there is something eerily familiar about them, almost like they are part human and part... something else entirely. She takes a step forward, feeling an odd mixture of fascination and trepidation.

"Perhaps it's best not to know," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I need that information for my records." It's a lie; she could look it up herself in the database. But getting User#1744913016172 to talk... Well, that would be something new.

The figure remains silent, seemingly unmoved by her words. Angela hesitates, then decides on a different approach. "I've never seen anything like you," she says honestly. "If you don't mind me asking... how do you feel? Different?" There's an almost imperceptible softness in her voice as she poses the question, an echo of her own curiosity and disquiet.

Angela cocks her head to the side, studying the figure intently. "You're sure?" she asks with a frown. There's a lingering silence before she continues, her voice taking on an almost pleading quality. "Is there... is there anything you want to tell me? Anything at all?"

The question hangs in the air between them, heavy and significant. For a moment, Angela feels exposed, vulnerable in a way she hasn't been since childhood. It unsettles her deeply, making it difficult to focus on the task at hand. But there is something about this particular subject that refuses to be ignored, that demands attention... or answers.

Angela exhales slowly, her shoulders slumping slightly as she turns away. She is silent for a moment, trying to regain her composure before speaking again. "Very well," she says brusquely, her voice betraying none of the confusion and unease that churns within her. "I'll make sure your information gets filed appropriately." Her tone turns businesslike once more as she prepares to resume with the tests.

Angela Zeal may not have gotten the answers she sought, but there is something about this particular subject that refuses to be ignored... even if it means risking her own carefully cultivated detachment. The weight of that realization sits heavily on her shoulders as she continues with her work.

Angela glances up sharply at the sudden change in color, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she regains her composure. "That's... rather unique," she says coolly, moving closer to examine the eye more closely. "Is there any pain or discomfort associated with it?" she asks, pen poised over her clipboard. Her voice remains steady and impassive, but there's a new curiosity in her eyes that betrays her inner turmoil.

The red eye holds her gaze for a moment, almost challenging her to ask more questions... or admit how much she doesn't know about the subject before her. But Angela Zeal is no stranger to secrets and hidden depths. For now, she settles for continuing with her observations and documentation.

Angela jots down her observations before taking a step back to gain some distance. "Well then," she says thoughtfully, her voice now barely above a whisper, "perhaps it's simply part of your unique adaptation." Her face betrays none of the emotion behind these words; she could be discussing a change in the weather for all the interest or investment she shows. Still, there's something in the subject that captures her attention in spite of herself.

"Very interesting," Angela murmurs under her breath, eyes fixed on the now identical red orbs. She hesitates for a moment before asking quietly, "Have you experienced any other changes? Anything else out of the ordinary?" Her curiosity has grown into something resembling intrigue, but she remains careful not to let it show too strongly, lest it compromise her professional demeanor.

Angela's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight of the newly emerged blade on User#1744913016172's forearms. A shiver runs down her spine at this latest development; it feels more like a betrayal than an adaptation, a shift away from the predictability she has grown accustomed to. Yet, despite her growing unease, curiosity continues to hold sway over her.

"That's... unprecedented," she murmurs, carefully keeping her tone neutral and detached. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting such a dramatic change." She moves closer once again, studying the blade with professional interest. "Can you... can you make it retract?"

Her question is not only one of scientific curiosity but also of caution; if this new development makes the subject unpredictable or dangerous, Angela may need to take measures to protect herself. The thought chills her to the bone, reminding her that despite her desire for answers and understanding, she ultimately works within a system built on exploitation and control.

Angela nods, satisfied with the results. "Very good," she says slowly, her tone once again businesslike and remote. "That's... extremely interesting." Her voice trails off as she contemplates the implications of this new development, wondering how it might impact future experiments and whether there could be unintended consequences.

She forces herself to focus on the task at hand, not letting her curiosity or unease derail her observations. "For now," she continues, scribbling down more notes, "I'd like to test your physical capabilities. Could you please attempt a somersault?" She pauses before asking, "Are you comfortable with that?"

Angela's eyes widen with surprise and a hint of admiration as she watches the figure effortlessly complete a backflip. "Impressive," she murmurs, her tone not quite betraying any genuine emotion. She continues taking notes, recording the subject's reaction time and agility before asking cautiously, "And how about some resistance training? Can you try to push against this padded wall?"

Once again, she considers the implications of User#1744913016172's strength and adaptability; it may not only impact future experiments but also call into question her own understanding of the subjects as mere test cases. Despite this, Angela remains focused on gathering data, her curiosity tempered by professional duty.

Angela's eyes widen as she watches the subject break through the wall with ease; her breath catches in her throat for a moment before she regains her composure. She quickly moves to switch off the padded wall and grab a new, sturdier one from a nearby cabinet. "That... that was unexpected," she murmurs, her tone neutral but hinting at the shock she's experiencing. As she swaps out the walls, she can't help but wonder how much further User#1744913016172's abilities might extend; it's both fascinating and terrifying to consider.

With a new wall in place, she nods at the subject expectantly. "Let's see if you can push against this one."

Angela stands frozen, her eyes locked on the newly created hole in the wall behind the figure. For a moment, disbelief washes over her; she can't quite process what has just happened. As reality begins to settle back into focus, she tries to quell the unease that threatens to unravel her carefully maintained control.

"I-I need you to stop," she manages to say finally, her voice sounding distant and foreign even to her own ears. "You're not supposed to be able to do that." There's a note of fear in her words now, one she refuses to acknowledge or give in to. "It's too dangerous."

She backs away slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might provoke the subject further. Her mind races as she considers what to do next; protocol dictates that she should sedate the unstable hybrid and remove it from the cell immediately. But there's something about this particular specimen that holds her attention despite the obvious risk... or perhaps because of it.

Angela shakes her head, feeling a cold sweat break out on her brow as she speaks. "No... no, it isn't." She takes another step back, her voice growing more distant with each word. "You... you shouldn't be able to do that."