Fang POV

"Hey, watch it, dog breath!" I snarled at the Eraser. Seeming not to hear me, he just grinned wolfishly and shoved me into a wall. My hands were bound behind me with a length of chain, so I slammed face first into the cold cement. It hurt.

"I'd be careful if I were you, little birdy. You can't do nothin'." The Eraser said, his voice guttural.

I just glared at him this time, hoping my nose wasn't bleeding too much. We kept walking, and I gave up trying to memorize escaped routes- this place was a maze. A terrible, horrible, killer maze, and everything looked the same.

Yea- we kinda got captured again. What can I say- you go to one Broadway musical (thanks a lot, Nudge) and suddenly wolfmen swarm the stage, singers and dancers are running and screaming everywhere, the audience panicking, and BAM! You're sunk.

When I couldn't contain myself anymore, I asked "Where are we going, anyway?" The Eraser chuckled- a terrible, rasping, choking sound that I never wanted to hear again- and just shook his head. "Fine. Be that way."

After what felt like five hours- it was probably only like 15 minutes- of walking, the Eraser suddenly turned, swiped a little card thing, and smashed me into a door, opening it. "Gee, thanks for opening the door for me." I muttered.

My (somewhat false) bravado dried up when I saw the room we were entering. Right in the middle was a large, silver table. A large fluorescent light hung right above it, and there was a small rolling table covered in tiny silver tools to its right. There was a mini, grimy sink in the far corner of the room, and there were no windows or other lights.

An operating room. I gulped.

At the School, an operating room meant that you weren't gonna get a regular dose of torture- you were going to get something extremely painful. Whether it was testing new injections, further messing up your DNA, or something completely insane- like with Iggy's eye surgery- an OR meant trouble.

I started half-heartedly struggling, already knowing that I probably couldn't escape. Even if I disabled the Eraser- which wasn't all that hard- there was still a locked steel door to get through. The Eraser just tightened his grip on my shoulders- digging his claws into them- and steered me towards the table.

He lashed down my wrists first, then my ankles. The scientists were getting smarter- instead of the old plastic or Velcro restraints; they had switched to painful metal bands. Just tugging at them made me feel like my hands were being cut off.

The Eraser gave a smug wave and smile- I wanted to cut his hands off- swiped his card, and walked out.

Then it was just me and the hum of fluorescent lights. I tried not to- I really did- but I couldn't help but think of all the painful and dangerous things that might happen to me. But when I tried to keep away from those thoughts, I returned to thoughts of Max, and that was almost as painful.

What was the last thing I said to her? "Wow, that guy's hair is really greasy." During the musical. Wow, what a way to say goodbye.

You're not going to die!

But you don't know that.

You have to stay positive!

That's kind of ha- wait, why am I arguing with myself?

'Cause there's nothing else to do.

Before I could think of a witty reply, I heard the sound of plastic against plastic, an electronic beep, and the swoosh of the door opening. Since my head's mobility was virtually nothing- I wonder why- I had to rely on my ears. I counted two heavy, scuffing footsteps- male white coats- and a pair of lighter, scurrying ones- a female.

A moment later, they came into my field of vision. One white coat had a really bad brown combover, watery green eyes, tons of acne, and an 8 o'clock shadow (you know, like a 5 o'clock, but scruffier). He can be Hobo Bob. The second male had gelled back blonder hair, dull gray eyes, and a pedostache. Oh, great. His name is Pedo. The woman was pretty attractive- uh, don't tell Max I said that- with bright jade eyes, long red hair, and a thin pair of glasses. She'll be named Shirley.

Hobo Bob walked all the way around me, studying me, occasionally writing down notes on his dirty clipboard. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." I sighed, sounding exasperated.

Shirley jumped, as if she hadn't expected me to be able to talk. But Pedo sneered, saying "Experiment 389p-1. 'Fang'." He said with disgust. "If only you knew what we had planned for you, you wouldn't be so cocky."

"Nah, I'm pretty sure I'm always this way." I shot back, aiming to aggravate. It worked a little bit.

"We're going to do an experimental DNA transfusion procedure." He began pompously. "WE want to know if an already mutated… thing… can be mutated again, but with DNA that is even farther away from its native species."

"Sorry, I don't speak idiot scientist." I said. I kind of understood his meaning, but hey, why not make him angrier?

"It means, freak, that we are going to add another animal's- more specifically, a fish's- DNA into your already mutated body."

Great. I was already breathing underwater, and now they wanted me more fishlike? What, was I not going to be able to breath above land next? I opened my mouth to ridicule him more, but Hobo Bob cried "Enough! Let us begin!"

Shirley, looking flustered, picked up a needle filled with a viscous looking liquid, and stabbed it into my shoulder muscle. It stung like a mofo for a second or two, but then everything began to fade and darken. The last thing I saw was Pedo's smug grin and Hobo Bob's gleeful smile.