Trial 139C

~ The first year: August ~

The air was muggy and warm at the end of August. The taste of salt water was in the air as Bentley sweated and biked up to the front gate of the Lufdor Institute. The guard in the gate box pressed the button that slid open the large iron gates and waved him through without a word. Bentley peddled past without stopping, tossing a polite ‘good evening’ at a curly-haired female guard he recognized. It had been months before the guards become familiar enough with him to let him through without insisting on inspecting his pass. It was nice that he could just keep peddling, now, to the building and lock his bike to a parking sign outside without having to stop for the third degree. Especially in this heat.

Following his usual routine, Bentley went in the intimidating, double doors in the front and made his way back through a maze of corridors to the janitors’ room. There, he dumped his coat in his personal locker and loaded cleaning supplies into the cart he used. He paused in front a small, cloudy wall mirror, glancing at his reflection.

To stop his unruly, brown hair from plastering to the sweat on his forehead, he tied a lime-coloured bandana. It made his grass-green eyes even more vivid, not that Bentley noticed. What he did notice was that he really needed a haircut. Maybe on his next day off, he planned idly. He fingered the tips of his hair, glancing once more in the mirror before popping earbuds in and turning his playlist on. Ready to start his shift, Bentley exited the room and pushed his cart down the hall towards the first room on his roster.

It was a quiet night. Sometimes, he ran into scientists working late. They would be slaving away on their computers or hunched over microscopes, but that night no one was around. Bentley didn’t mind the solitude, he just went room to room... spray, wipe, sweep, repeat, music turned up loud.

He deliberately left room 117 to the end of his round. Room 117 housed the trial.

Bentley keyed the extra security code in to release the heavily fortified door and pushed his cart in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had been cleaning this room now for nearly two months and the sight still made his heart beat faster – the bizarre jumble of shark and human DNA that made Trial 139C neither human nor animal.

As usual, the creature swam closer to the large floor-to-ceiling window the moment Bentley walked into the observation room.

“Hello, C.” Bentley greeted him. Talking aloud to the trial had become habit, even though he wasn’t sure how much the creature could understand or hear through the window.

Trail 139C treaded water near the bottom of the tank. His motions appeared effortless, allowing him to focus his entire attention on Bentley. Soulless, black eyes stayed trained on the 20-year-old’s every move. When he had first started cleaning this room, the relentless scrutiny had unnerved him. But he had grown used it.

Now Bentley just stared back at him, fascinated as always. He wondered how much the creature could see. Would everything be blurry, like it was when he opened his eyes under the water at the community pool? Could he recognize Bentley?

Grabbing a grey rag and spray bottle off his cart, Bentley approached huge window. This was his favourite task. Unhurriedly, he dragged the rag over the glass, cleaning in long, sweeping strokes. The trial moved on the other side of the glass, following Bentley from one end of the room to the other. The brunette took the opportunity to study 139C.

The creature was...striking. His skin was a light tan, almost faded to white lower on his chest and across his belly, tinged grey-ish in low light. His neck was thicker than the average human’s, hatched with gill slits on each side. The gills were open now, drawing in water to allow the crossbreed to breath in the water, but Bentley had seen him above the surface, too. On the left side of the tank there was a sloped rocky surface that breached the surface, allowing the trial to pull himself out of the water to sunbath on warmer days. There, the gills shut, leaving thin lines that could be mistaken for scars when 139C was out of the water, breathing air.

The shark DNA influenced his face, as well. He had a wide, straight nose, and his eyes were rounder that full humans’ and glossy black, as if the pupils had blown wide to fill the whole orb. His jaw was square and prominent – it would have to be to house the razor sharp teeth kept in that mouth. Bentley rarely saw them, but what teeth he had glimpsed were white, knife-sharp, and serrated. The trial had black hair, fanning out from his head in tangled waves in the water. His body hair was black as well, but sparse, only really noticeable under his arms and around his groin.

139C’s body itself was massive, at least six and a half feet long, thick yet streamlined with solid, corded muscles that pushed him through the water with incredible speed and grace. He had a slight protrusion on his lower back, along his spine: a small but sharp, curving dorsal fin, not nearly as big as those found on full sharks. His hands and feet were large, with webbed fingers and toes.

Once the glass was sparkling clean, Bentley glanced back up at the trial. 139C was still scrutinizing him.

Bentley couldn’t stop the small smile that quirked his pale lips. “Dude, they need to get you a TV or something if this is the most interesting thing you have to watch every night.”

In response, the trial pushed himself away from the window and kicked off to swim a slow, lazy lap of the tank, head swiveling in the water to keep Bentley in his sightlines.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watched his prey clean. No, not prey he reminded himself. Human. He had been trying hard to fight his predator instincts where the young human was concerned. It was hard, the shark so much a part of him now.

The young human male was wearing a cloth to tie his soft-looking curls back. He approved because it keep his face fully visible. Making it easier for him to read the human’s expressions and try to read his lips when he talked to himself as he worked. The prey, human, moved to the glass wall, wiping it with a cloth, lingering on this task. When the glass was polished, the human looked up at him, saying something, lips curving into a boyish smile. Fragile human body inches from the tank.

He kicked through the water, the close proximity too much of a temptation. As he swam, he ran his tongue over his sharp teeth imagining, as he did every night, that the glass was gone and he could sink his teeth into the undoubtedly succulent flesh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ September ~

Mid-way through September, Bentley was cleaning the observation room; old school Daft Punk blaring in his ears. It had been raining all week, and he had been trapped inside all day. As a result, he was brimming with excess energy.

He swept and cleaned and emptied the trash, then kept going, wiping the big tank window and the desks and then climbed up a ladder to dust one of the huge, heavy book cases – the whole time his head bobbed and foot tapped on the ladder rungs to the music.

He was wired, the music was pounding, and he was all alone. Well, aside from the trial, of course, who was watching over him from the window.

Preoccupied by the music and his cleaning, Bentley didn’t notice when the door opened and another person walked in. He nearly fell off the ladder when a hand touched his leg.

He jerked back, grabbing the rungs with one hand, pulling his earbuds out with the other hand, head whipping around to see who had touched him.

A seriously gorgeous man stood at the foot of the ladder. The stranger was dressed in the severe, dark grey guard uniform assigned to the Lufdor security team. During his time working at the Institute, Bentley had seen quite a few guards; more than one would think would be required for a simple research facility.

Despite the austere uniform and no-nonsense, cropped military haircut, the man was smiling up at Bentley with a twinkle in his eye. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Bentley climbed down off the bookcase quickly, pushing a hand through his curls. He adjusted his glasses – a nervous gesture. “No, problem. I just wasn’t paying attention.”

The man held out his hand in greeting. “My name’s Jude Meyer. I head up the security here.”

Jude Meyer was unbelievable handsome. The sort of handsome Bentley had only every seen on TV screens. He had warm, golden skin and dark hair, Middle Eastern in appearance. His thick, black eyebrows swept over his dark eyes. Bentley felt butterflies take flight in his stomach, and he straightened up to his full, nearly 5’11 height. He set down his dust rag and wiped his palm on a pant leg before offering his hand to shake. “Bentley Torres.”

Jude clasped his hand and gave a firm shake. His eyes seemed to lock onto Bentley’s, “Nice to meet you.”

Bentley stared back, transfixed, not pulling his hand free, though he knew he should. Only well-learned manners had him chiming back, on autopilot, “Nice to meet you, too.”

Behind him, the trial hit the glass. The impact made a dull, thudding sound.

Both men looked over – Bentley in surprise, Jude with a mild sort of interest. The trial was snapping his teeth angrily; black, predatory eyes trained on the guard.

Jude didn’t lose his smile. He walked over the tank, looking at the crossbreed with faint admiration in his eyes. He placed a hand on the glass. “Hey, guy.” The trail snarled and snapped on the other side of the glass. Jude chuckled and pulled his hand back. “Damn, he’s an angry sonofabtich, isn’t he?”

Bentley frowned a little, watching the interaction. 139C looked damn scary, lips curled back to show off a mouthful of razor-like teeth. The trial was staring at Jude as if the guard was another shark swimming into his territory. “He’s not usually so... aggressive.” Bentley slowly put his own hand to glass; the trial didn’t snap at him, he didn’t even glance in his direction.

“This is the first time I’ve met him.” Jude made polite conversation, his attention on the trial. “I just got promoted to this post from one of the other facilities Lufdor operates. I’m trying to get to know all the trials and the employees here.”

“They have other facilities? Like this?”

“Yes.” His answer left no room for further discussion on the topic. A masculine smile curved his mouth and he changed the topic deftly. “Now, I should go, I have several more rooms I want to visit.” He paused, stepping into Bentley’s space. His smile was the definition of charming, and Bentley was definitively not immune. “It was nice to meet you, Bentley Torres. I’ll be seeing you around.”

Bentley nodded and watched the guard exit, eyes unthinkingly shifting to watch the way the dark uniform hugged Jude’s ass as he walked out.

The trial thudded the window again, drawing Bentley’s attention. When Bentley turned back to him, 139C had a look of grim disapproval on his face.

Bentley chuckled, picking up his rag and turning back to his work, “What’s your problem, C? That man is seriously hot.”

Bentley jumped out of his skin when the trial responded by slamming the window hard enough to send vibrations through the walls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He may have being watching the way his human moved on the ladder, stirring to some unheard music, but he certainly didn’t miss the second human entering the room. This one was muscular looking, potential competition, wearing the much-despised, dark uniform that denoted guards. Every muscle in his body tensed as the uniformed man walked up behind his unsuspecting human. Rage narrowed his vision to a thin tunnel as his human descended the ladder and took the man’s hand. His human shouldn’t be looking at another with that obvious look of admiration. Bubbles escaped his mouth as he released a harsh snarl. He hit the glass to emphasize his message. Mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ October ~

October 1st brought some good news into Bentley’s life. It was a testament to the strange twist his life had taken in last few months, that he was so eager to share that news, not with his friends or family, but with the transgenic shark at his work.

Entering room 117, Bentley was almost giddy with his news. As usual, 139C cut through the water to the window as he rolled his cart in.

Bentley abandoned his cart and walked over to the window, hand digging into his jean’s back left pocket for the folded paper there. “Hey, C! Guess who got the lease on a new apartment?”

Since he had moved to Pickford, he had been living in one of the few apartment blocks the town boosted. His lack of a job at first had necessitated the choice of a small bachelor suite in a cheaper, more rundown apartment building. The kitchen had literally been within arm’s reach of the bed and the bathroom was down the hall, shared by several different tenants. Once he had gotten the job at Lufdor, he had begun saving up, and had been waiting for an apartment unit to open up across town in a more up-to-date, if unadorned complex.

He took the lease agreement out of his pocket, unfolding it, and proudly pressing it to glass. “One bedroom, separate kitchen/living room, and my own private three piece bathroom, score!”

Bentley grinned, excited to share his news though he wasn’t really expecting C to understand or react. His grin faded a little with puzzlement. The trial was resting a hand on the glass and leaning in, eyes scanning; it looked like he was trying to read the lease. But he wasn’t...He couldn’t... Could he?

In surprise, Bentley let the paper slip from between his fingers and the glass and it fluttered to the ground. Flushing at his own clumsiness, he bent quickly to retrieve the paper.

The trial’s brows furrowed and he gave Bentley an unimpressed look.

Absolutely dumbfounded, Bentley folded the paper and tucked it back in his pocket, fingers fumbling and strangely numb. Had the trial actually been able to read? Bentley hesitated and asked out loud, not expecting an answer, “Can you read that?”

139C tossed his head with a jerk, pushed from the window and went back to swimming around the tank.

Wondering what the hell had just happened, Bentley when back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

330 Bay Street. East Pickford. Lee Hill Apartments. Unit 3E. 330 Bay Street. East Pickford. Lee Hill Apartments. Unit 3E. 330 Bay Street. East Pickford. Lee Hill Apartments. Unit 3E.

He glided through the water, carefully storing away the information.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ November ~

In late November, Bentley walked into the observation to find it wasn’t empty. A scientist was stooped over one of the lab benches, papers spread all around him, garbage from a takeout dinner pushed off to one side, several cans of Redbull lying empty on the other corner of the bench.

Bentley was actually glad that someone was there. 139C had been acting weird all week, irritable one moment and almost unresponsive the next. Bentley hoped the man was here to fix whatever the problem was.

As he entered, Bentley gave a little nod of greeting, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to distract the man.

Apparently, however, the man wanted a distraction, because put his pencil down when Bentley came in and stood from his stool to stretch. “Hello.”

“Hi. Sorry to disturb you.” Bentley gave another polite smile. “I’ll be out of your way in a few minutes.”

“No problem, I could use the break. My eyes were starting to blur staring at those numbers.” The middle aged name stretched again. His lab coat pulled tight over his rounded belly, Bentley was surprised the buttons didn’t pop. “I’m Doctor Williams, by the way.”

“Bentley Torres.” He started sweeping as he introduced himself, giving the scientist a wide berth. Something about him struck Bentley as off. Maybe he was picking up some sentiment from the trial. “So, you’re working with C?”

“C?”

Bentley pointed his broom in the tank’s direction. “139C.”

“Oh, I get it. Cute.” The man’s tone bordered on patronizing. “I’m trying to study its ability to communicate using human thought processes.”

“Like what?” Knowing the companies strict nondisclosure agreements, Bentley added uneasily, “I mean, if you can share.”

“Sure. It’s pretty straight forward. I run a series of experiments testing trials’ responses to species-specific vocal communication. So far we’ve seen no conclusive proof this specimen is capable of even basic human language recognition.”

“That can’t be right.” Bentley blurted out without thinking.

Dr. William’s bushy eyebrows rose, his pasty facial features pinching, “Excuse me?”

Bentley felt his cheeks heat up. “I mean, I’ve never heard him talk, of course, but I’ve seen him communicate with looks and gestures through the glass, and when I talk to him he seems to understand.”

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken. Although my work has shown that many trials do retain the capacity to communicate like a full human – the fact is 139C is not one of them. I have been trying all week to communicate with it and have seen nothing but low level, instinctive responses. I can see how you might make that mistake. Trials share so many human physical characteristics; it can be easy to fool yourself into projecting other human attributes onto them. But the evidence shows, this trial’s neural pathways have been so altered by the C. carcharias genetic material, its human conceptual representation, and ultimately its ability to master human language, may have devolved.”

Bentley frowned, looking into the tank. C could understand him. He was sure of it. But at that moment, it didn’t appear to be the case. 139C was swimming in slow circles around the tank, ignoring their presences. He didn’t even glance at Bentley, even when he lightly rapped on the window. Strange.

Bentley wasn’t sure why the trial was hiding his abilities (if indeed that was actually what he was doing), but it felt like a betrayal to say anything to this scientist about it. “Yeah, you’re probably right; it might have been a coincidence that he seemed to respond when I talked.”

He thought he saw 139C shot him a quick look of warning. Or at least he hoped so; otherwise he really was going crazy and was just inventing the trial’s human characteristics.

“I mean,” the scientist continued, “If it could communicate with me, it would.”

“What’s makes you so certain?” Bentley asked absently.

“Well, for a week now, I have controlled its food supply.” The man walked closer to the window, removing a panel in the wall beside the glass. There were several buttons and gauges there, he pointed to two of them. “It’s how I motivate my test subjects. When a trial successful shows signs of a response or some comprehension of vocal structure it is rewarded with food. When it doesn’t, a piercing whistle goes through the tank.”

Bentley’s stomach tightened, it almost felt like he was going to be sick. “That’s barbaric. You’re starving him?!”

“It’s not starving, the baseline amount of food needed to keep it healthy is given to it every day. If anything, the shark’s just hungry.”

Bentley adjusted his glasses, using the movement to give himself time to rein his anger in so he didn’t do or say anything he would regret. “That’s still seems inhumane.”

The man scoffed. “Hardly, besides the experiment is almost over. The data is inconclusive. Trial 139C will go back on its regular feeding schedule next week.”

Bentley gave the scientist a furious glare, fists balled. Dr. William didn’t notice. He stretched one more time. “I guess I’ll go see if there’s coffee in the cafeteria. Nice to meet you, Benji.”

Bentley said nothing as he left.

Once they were alone, Bentley felt the familiar weight of 139C’s eyes on him. He looked into the tank. The trial was still swimming around lazily, but his eyes were aware, he was watching Bentley.

Bentley walked over to the panel. The scientist had left it open.

Intently, Bentley looked over the controls. Both buttons looked the same. He weighed the consequences and then took his chances, pressing the left button. He heard a buzzing, at a pinch almost too high to hear. Inside the tank, he saw 139C flinch, eyes squeezing closed. Bentley immediately took his finger off the button.

“Sorry!” He placed an apologetic hand on the glass. The trial gave him an irritated look.

Well... in for a penny, in for a pound...Bentley pushed the second button down. A small hatch in the far side of the tank opened and a chunk of fish fell into the water.

139C swooped through the water and snatched it up, jaws opening wide and snapping shut, barely chewing before swallowing – skin, scales, bones and all.

Bentley cursed when presented with the proof of the trial’s hunger. He muttered angrily to himself, “That bastard. Where does he get off withholding food?” He pressed the button a few more times, each time releasing a big piece of fish into the water.

Generally easygoing, Bentley was rarely as upset as he was now. As he watched 139C gobble up the food, clearly ravenous, he vowed that if he ever saw that scientist again, he would smash his face in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He clenched his teeth tightly as his human came in. The man in the white coat had stayed too late. He didn’t want his human anywhere near that man.

The blubbery man in the white coat was sadistic and depraved. The man’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction when he used the piercing sound to introduce pain to the tank. Sometimes, when there was no one else around, the man would press and hold the button until he was writhing in agony on the rocks at the bottom of the tank. Through bleary eyes, pain splitting his head, he would be able to see the man watching, forehead dotted with perspiration, small, disgusting bulge pressing into his lab coat.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched them interact. He wouldn’t give the man in the white coat the satisfaction of a human response. He knew it was what the man wanted. He relaxed a little when the white coat left and no longer posed a direct threat to his human.

He watched his human approach the tank, inspect the open panel, and figure out how to introduce food to the tank. His human was a good, clever thing. So different from the others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~