Subject #C111

Traces of a smell I can’t name linger in my nose, accompanied by a sense of warmth and a melody with words I can’t understand.

I try to hold on to this comforting feeling, but I can’t ignore reality.

The scent quickly fades and the singing dies as the warmth is ripped away from me, replaced by a blanket of cool air.

The feeling of the thin mattress beneath me and the smell of intense cleaning chemicals comes back to me as I wake up, and I realize what roused me from my slumber.

I force my body up and into a sitting position, biting back a groan of protest as my muscles fight against me. Throwing my legs over the side of my bed, I lean towards my cell door, straining to hear more.

This cell has been my home for the past few years now. I tried to keep track of the seasons, but after a five or six years they began to blur together and I simply lost count. All I know is that it’s been over a decade since I’ve been stuck in this building with these horrible creatures. My cell consists of a raised metal slab with a flimsy mattress on it that I call my bed. It’s not much, but it’s a lot better than sleeping on the hard, rusting metal. This luxury was given to me “for good behavior”, but really it’s just another thing that they can take away from me if they please—another piece of leverage on me.

In the far corner is a toilet and a sink that only runs cold water. The cell door allows me a view of the wall on the other side of the hallway and not much else. I know that there are more cells on either side of me, and there used to be others in their cells, but now… I think it’s just me.

Forcing myself to my feet, I take the two steps to the door, but I’m not able to see far to either side of me. The bars are laced with silver, discouraging me from holding onto them and trying to look outside my cell. They’ve seen my strength before, and they’re scared of me. I can see it by how they take any and all precautions to keep me in line.

After a few moments, I hear the sound that woke me again. From far away, possibly a couple corridors away, there’s faint screams and an occasional loud bang that makes me involuntarily flinch.

I perk up when I hear footsteps echoing down the hall, heading towards me. My heart begins to beat faster. I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t like that.

The footsteps get closer, and I discern that it’s a medium-sized person. Their scent doesn’t reach me until they’re only a few feet from my cell, the harsh chemicals acting like a blanket over all other smells. When they get close enough, though, I recognize the scent as the doctor. Doctor Schmidt. His usual scent of blood and alcohol tends to make me feel sick and sends waves of chills and disgust through my body. In my time here, I’ve learned that he is not a man to underestimate. I notice another smell on top of his usual scent… sweat. Fear.

He stops right outside my cell, quickly pulling out his keys.

Dr. Schmidt is an older man, though I’m not very good at gauging age. His face is covered in wrinkles, though he has the facial structure of someone who would’ve been considered attractive maybe fifty years ago. His pale skin matches his nearly white hair. His dark eyes hide behind his glasses.

He’s much taller than me. His scent and my uncertainty make me want to back away, but I’ve spent years ignoring my instincts.

I notice a splotch of blood forming on his white lab coat, on the right of his lower torso. It continues to grow.

Something is definitely wrong.

Dr. Schmidt fumbles with his keys, almost opening my cell before grabbing the silver-laced handcuffs.

“Turn around!” he orders, his voice strained.

I do as told, turning around with my hands behind my back. He quickly opens my cell door and locks the cuffs around my wrists. I tighten my jaw as the silver burns my skin, but the built up scar tissue and increase in pain tolerance has helped me over the years. He grabs my upper arm, so tight that he will definitely leave bruises, and yanks me into the hallway, causing me to almost fall over.

“Come on,” he grumbles.

Continuing to hold me in a death grip, he pulls me through the halls, almost running. My weak body can barely keep up with him, but I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t, so I continue to push. He keeps looking behind us, causing my heart to race even more, unsure of what’s happening. He pulls me down halls that I don’t recognize before pushing open a door, and I stop in my tracks.

Warm air touches my skin for the first time in years, and I squint my eyes as a bright light meets my eyes. I would almost say it’s like I’m in The Chair again, but it feels completely different—liberating, almost. I can smell… fresh air. For the first time in so, so long, I’m outside!

I don’t have time to revel in this, though, as Dr. Schmidt continues pulling me along, which is now harder as my eyes try to adjust to the suns light. The rough ground hurts my bare feet, and then my face suddenly meets the ground as I’m pushed over. With my hands bound behind my back, I have no way to even try to stop the fall. Biting back a groan, I move to lay on my side and then sit up.

Forcing my eyes open, I see that I’m in the shade of the building now. A few feet away from me is Dr. Schmidt, with his back on the ground as he screams and begs for mercy. It almost makes me smile, but then I notice the large, dark figure on top of him. I realize too late that it’s a wolf when it rips the mans throat out.

My jaw tightens.

I wanted to do that, I realize.

No, I wanted him to suffer first. He didn’t deserve such a merciful death.

The brown wolf steps off of the now limp body, licking the blood off of his muzzle as the red liquid begins to pool around the dead mans throat. Even though I didn’t get to kill and torture him myself, I find a sick pleasure from seeing his lifeless eyes. Now, I turn my head to look at the wolf, who turns to look at me in return.

I feel an odd sense of recognition as our eyes meet. We’re both werewolves.

By size and scent, I assume that this is a male of average rank, most likely a warrior. His wolf form is large, but not the biggest I’ve seen. He begins walking towards me, approaching slowly in a non-threatening manner. He looms over me, having to lower his head to sniff me. I tense up, but I don’t move. What else can I do?

His snout moves to the cuffs behind my back, and he suddenly pulls away. I assume he accidentally came into contact with the silver.

Being dosed up on wolfsbane for years, I have no contact with my wolf, thus I’m basically human. Well, Dr. Schmidt and the other scientists had still found this interesting, as I still had the weaknesses of wolfsbane and silver along with faster healing and non-human strength. If it weren’t for the supernatural healing of my kind, I would be dead. Even though I was stronger than a regular human, even in my human form, I was no match for the wolf before me. He was clearly well fed, well built, and well trained. I feel a surge of envy coarse through my veins. Give me food and training and I could be unstoppable…

I see his eyes glaze over, causing me to flinch and pull away. His eyes go back to normal and he tilts his head to the side, as if asking me “What was that for?”

Only a few moments later, I hear footsteps approaching from another direction, causing me to turn abruptly to identify the source. I see a woman quickly approaching, carrying some sort of white case. She stops only a few feet away and kneels next to me and the wolf. Her scent blows towards me in the light breeze and I realize that she’s a werewolf as well.

“Hey there,” she greets me in a soft voice. She talks slowly, making sure to anunciate all her words. Her eyes look big as she makes eye contact with me. “My name is Violet. I am a doctor. I am here to help you.”

I don’t respond, my body still tense as I look her up and down. I’m very unsure of what to do in this situation. She bites her lip as she looks over my skin, my sports bra and shorts not covering much.

“I’m going to grab my gloves from my kit so I can take those handcuffs off of you, okay?”

My head nods slightly in reaction to her words, to which she sets her ‘kit’ on the ground before unlatching it.

She opens it, and adrenline runs through my veins again as I see the same looking tools that the scientists have used on me for years, and I try to move away.

My efforts are futile, though, as the wolf is quickly on top of me, pinning me down with a single paw.

“We’re going to have to sedate her,” the woman says.

I open my mouth to yell, but no sound comes out of me.

There’s a slight pinch in my neck before my muscles begin to relax and darkness surrounds me.