"Fuck, fuck! Fucking fucker, fuck, fucking fuckery fuckers fuck!" The doctor pounded the desk with their fists. Their hands turned red from the blows, but they wouldn't stop. It went on for a minute, until they stopped, breathless and exhausted. They looked through the glass, down at the testing area, which was built like an anatomical theater. The subject was dead.
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Dr. Vesper Ives was a behavioral scientist with a wall of accolades behind their name. Fascinating for a 40-year-old, whose peers had half of Ives' awards at best. When the project "Betty" was in its early days, the funding company's CEO, Arthur Lark, already knew he wanted to hire Dr. Ives.
As a child, Vesper observed boars, hogs, and pigs. Establishing movement patterns, then building habit patterns upon them, and, finally, feeling out the true characters of those animals; that was their favorite pursuit. The thread of this interest became a guide for the future doctor. Having understood pigs, they plunged into the study of people. Decades of risky tests, articles, disputes, and, inevitably, awards. The breakthroughs were stellar, leading to the emergence of fundamentally new drugs for treating PTSD and schizophrenia. Big Pharma was ecstatic and military agencies tried to recruit the doctor, but they never agreed. Dr. Ives became a superstar without taking murky funds from private companies or the military. Nobody knew exactly how it happened, some even called it "the Dr. Ives case", implying it was survivorship bias. Still, the private company led by Arthur Lark managed to hire Dr. Ives.
"Betty" was about piercing the veil of misunderstanding between humans and animals. "What if we stop trying to translate animals' behavior into natural human languages? We can go the other way: teach animals to understand us!" That was how Lark pitched the idea in a room full of sharp minds who agreed to listen. Dr. Ives was there, but wasn't sold on the idea. They thought it was yet another moronic bullshit from yet another rich tech guy, nothing more. Little did they know that the test subject was supposed to be a pig.
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"We're gonna teach an animal to love poetry," Lark said right after Dr. Ives arrived at headquarters on their first day. "And you will help us do so, doctor." The doctor stared him in the eye for a while. "This must be a joke," they thought. "I don't quite understand," they said out loud.
The CEO answered with an inviting sweep of his hand. Dr. Ives sighed and followed the businessman into a long white corridor. Brightly lit, with no windows and no doors, it felt infinite, much like a deep sadness the doctor seemed to have abandoned in a past life. A sadness closer to a permanent grievance, spilling over each thought, every intention, every moment. A chasm of pain the doctor had promised to get rid of, because the suffering was unbearable. This started in their teens, when one of the pigs was accidentally run over by a sewage truck. The poor creature died instantly, so it seemed, though the picture of mashed flesh etched itself in Vesper's mind. With that death, the young mind declared its devotion to science. Over time, the pain gave way entirely to work. The pain ceased to exist. Then the infinite corridor returned it.
Dr. Vesper Ives knew about the nature of the Betty project--or, more precisely, that there would be only one test animal, and it would be a pig--but they felt nothing when Lark told them the brief details. Dr. Ives felt scientifically curious, yes, but nothing else. The closer they got to the gates at the end of the infinite corridor, the more pain showed itself from its mind grave. "That will be tough," the doctor thought. Lark approached the gates, which were heavier than life and bigger than a mammoth. The CEO said out loud, "Ku ramna smekh," and the gates began to open.
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Inside the Lark Laboratory, or simply LL, there were no windows either. The staff lived there, as the whole operation was under an NDA, so living there felt like rewatching sci-fi classics about space expeditions: false windows, half the plants artificial, even some food similar to what real astronauts ate. While some specialists felt uneasy within this complex, Dr. Ives tried to keep their cool. That, however, did not stop them from resenting their employer.
They opted out of collaborating with engineers directly. "Reports will be enough, meetings will waste my time." Instead, they worked directly with the test subject, Betty, and a poetry reciter named Grotz. The former was a female pig, raised in a similar facility due to her altered genome; the latter was one of only 300 such reciters on the planet. A team made in heaven, one might say, since all three were unique in their own way.
When Dr. Ives was first introduced to the other two, it was on the second floor of the testing area. The floor was the "back office" with desks, printers, boards, books, and whatever Ives and Grotz might request. This room was built in a ring around the anatomical theater on the first floor, and its inner wall was a single continuous pane of glass so that Betty would always be in sight. The first floor was round, as white and faceless as most rooms in the facility, with only one distinction: a puddle of mud in its center. It was supposed to be Betty's home. Having no other option, Betty spent much of her time there when she was free of tests and feeding. Dr. Ives saw Betty sitting like a dog just outside the mud. A few feet away from her, Grotz sat on a little chair. She held a book in her hands and, supposedly, was reading it aloud. Dr. Ives asked Lark why they couldn't hear anything.
"It's by design," Lark explained. "If you want to listen to the session or whatever is happening down below, you have to activate sound monitoring."
"How?" asked the doctor.
"Via voice, of course! It's 2030 or what?" Lark laughed smugly.
"I prefer physical buttons, to be honest." Dr. Ives winced.
"Well, there are none, doctor. It won't be a problem for a bright mind like you..." He didn't finish before the doctor cut him off. "Make the on/off buttons, Lark. Across the perimeter of this observation room. I'll be back when you're done with it." The metal in their voice rang like a sword under a blacksmith's hammer. Lark almost choked on such gall, but managed to squeeze out, "Deal." Dr. Vesper Ives came back in 4 days to start their work.
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"Hello, I'm Doctor Vesper Ives, the assigned behavioral professional," Dr. Ives introduced themselves to Betty, then turned to Grotz, who was sitting nearby. "Hello, colleague, we will work together for the next 4 weeks."
"Fascinating," said Grotz without blinking, looking up at them.
"I don't recall your name. What was it?"
"I thought you'd keep calling me 'colleague.' Why such formalities for a big name like yours?" Grotz smirked. Dr. Ives frowned. "I see what you're doing here, I don't have time for this. Please introduce yourself, it will help establish professional bonds."
Grotz laughed a little. "All right, your majesty, I'm Sheila Grotz, the reciter. We've been through Mr. Morrison's lines before you barged in and spoiled the show." The doctor glanced at Betty, and it seemed to them that the pig was looking at them reproachfully. It was a little frightening. Then they turned back to the reciter. "I see, thank you for explaining. Do you have any reports on your sessions so far? I'd like to get through them first."
Grotz laughed again. This time, even Betty snorted with laughter. Dr. Ives felt blood fill their face with a tingling sensation of embarrassment and irritation. They skewered the duo with a look and, saying nothing, turned and left the room. Upstairs, Dr. Ives sat at a random desk to prepare for work. "It's gonna be even tougher, I suppose," they said out loud. The sound of their voice dissipated in the room so quickly that they suddenly felt a deep loneliness. They leaned over the desk to reach the speaker. While trying to press the ON button, the doctor realized it didn't physically press -- it was touch-sensitive. Their jaw tightened. After turning on sound monitoring, the doctor heard Grotz's voice reciting “The Crystal Ship” by The Doors.
For a moment, the doctor felt as if they had dived deep into their imagination, where they saw the silhouette of a person sitting next to a cave entrance. Before that image became clearer, Dr. Ives shook off the vision, murmuring a quiet "oh, beauty..." Grotz immediately stopped reciting, lifted her head, and found the doctor through the glass. "Your majesty, you did it again, for fuck's sake! Stop messing with our session, okay?" Her tone was sharper now. "It's a two-way communication system they installed here. No way you didn't know that. Did you?"
Tingling came back to the doctor's face. They clenched their jaw and turned off the monitoring. In an open notebook on the desk, Dr. Ives wrote:
Day 01. Emotional response of unusual intensity in me. Also, a surge of imagination led to mild hallucinations. Need to check my blood pressure. A hint of emotion noticed in Betty, the test subject.
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Day 02. Met the feeding team. They didn't say a word of value. Tried to share rumors with me, I pushed back. Peasants.
Day 04. The medical team showed up in the room. Tried to talk with them after. They ignored me. Luckily, they left a copy of each report on the wall next to the entrance. Blood pressure normal, hepatic panel within target range.
Day 05. Lark asked me to include liver data in my reports too. I refused because it would duplicate the Med team's data. Then I got reminded about who pays whom.
Day 07. Albumin levels improved. Grotz read for forty minutes; Betty did not move from the chair-facing side of the pen. I listened to them twice, staying silent, which was hard given what imagery I witnessed. The reciter's skills might not be entirely esoteric, as many like to assume.
Day 09. No inflammatory spike after recitation. Betty looked as giddy as a kid on the first day of summer break. With no humans in the rooms, she ran in circles making sounds I classified as "happy." Mark the day, corresponding brain readings attached.
Day 10. Ordered to build a hut for Betty to hide from our prying eyes. Lark's reaction was predictably negative. I insisted. Lunch with Grotz at the cantina.
Day 11. Post-recitation enzyme profile described by the Med team as "promising." I objected to the word. Nobody paid attention.
Day 13. ALT down 3%. Bilirubin stable. Not much happened, so I wandered outside the testing area. I found a door my "maximum" access wouldn't open. So much for trust. The sign on the door read "Procedure Room."
Day 15. Grotz came at the usual time, but didn't start reciting. She knelt near Betty's hut, her lips moving. I didn't eavesdrop. After 7 minutes, the recitation commenced as usual.
Day 16. The Med team was loud during their checkup routine. I listened to them to determine the nature of the excitement. The word "progress" came up numerous times, along with one restrained cry of "success." I need to look after Betty more closely, just in case.
Day 19. Grotz recited Sylvia Plath's "Lady Lazarus." Betty's pulse was uneven during the recitation, cortisol slightly elevated. I had a mirage of my childhood. When Grotz left, I went down to Betty to look her in the eye. I didn't notice when I started talking to her, but her cortisol returned to normal afterward.
Day 20. Grotz is about to leave. She said it's time, yet I wonder what Betty would say. It feels like separation from a relative. Fascinating attachment in mere weeks. Is it her skill affecting me or was I always like this?
Day 21. First day without Grotz. Betty stands for long stretches at the door, her snout pressed to it. The feeding crew failed to do their job because Betty roared at them the moment they came in. I ordered the lights dimmed in the testing area to give her some peace.
Day 22. Cortisol elevated. Hepatic markers drifting out of range. I tried to feed her myself; she let me in, but never touched the food I left.
Day 24. Albumin falling. No appetite for the fourth day. Betty remained near Grotz's empty chair.
Day 25. Grotz's chair is next to the hut. Betty must've moved it at night. Vitals looked concerning; the Med team hadn't been enthusiastic. They used the word "compatibility" twice and stopped talking when I entered the testing area.
Day 26. Tried to talk with Betty, who had been hiding in the hut for days. Eventually, she crept closer to the hut's entrance. Didn't open her eyes. Breath was shallow, her pulse at 70% of the usual value range.
Day 27. "Liver viability downgraded," stated the last Med team report. Tried to dig through their team's documentation, but to no avail due to the lack of access. I noticed nondescript containers stacked at the "Procedure Room."
Day 28. Supposedly my last day on the project. Lark didn't answer my calls and couldn't be found either. Betty's been moaning for the last 24 hours. Vitals are the lowest so far.
Day 29. Lark ordered another test panel before allowing sedation. I demanded an explanation; he refused. I asked about getting Grotz back and why she was hired in the first place. He looked through me. I noticed, for the first time, how much thinner he had gotten since I started.
Day 30. Nobody could be found in the facility. I decided to write the final report. I was so focused that I didn't notice at first that Betty was silent. No fresh traces at the hut. Vitals ar tfr4jmnulo9.de3!__
Nik Pushkarski
Ottawa, June 8, 2026