Chapter 2

He began to pace, measuring out his cell with his steps. Twenty paces long, half that wide, and twice as tall as he was, if he guessed right. Glass walls rose on all sides, a huge rectangle, with the floor and ceiling of the same material. The whole cell seemed to be suspended a few feet off the ground, with a second smaller section linked by double airlocks at one end as the only entry. He could see nothing outside except his own doubled reflection.

"Why are the lights down?"

"Crap, you really don't remember anything. That's for your comfort. You're nyctophilic." His comfort or because with one side in darkness and the other lit he could not see out. If they thought that, they didn't know he had heat vision.

"Yeah, that's why I'm the only thing lit up." There was a moment when one soldier tried to stop the one that stood up.

"Ok." He could hear the soldier's shrug, footsteps, and the flick of a switch. The lights were too bright, and he flung up a hand, lowering his head to let the hood shadow his eyes as they adapted. Raising his head slightly, no sense letting them know how fast he actually adjusted, he took his first conventional look at the room outside.

Unpainted concrete bunker walls, forty feet high, with strip lighting in the ceiling. The door at the side was where he'd expected, narrower than he thought. The sentries were standing well clear. Cables were clipped to the walls and floor, running to the console that was the only feature he could see, and the banks of computers behind it.

With the lights up he could see uniforms, details, two distinctly different sets of uniforms. The ones in green seemed to be on edge but the one in black moving back to the console, wasn't. Not an officer, he'd saluted, so a Specialist or another unit. 'His unit' – that thought just felt wrong. He wasn't a team player. Before he could ask, the door opened.

"Turn the lights down. Keep it calm." Another figure entered, black uniform, streak of grey in the hair. Without breaking stride the man hit the lightswitch, plunging the room outside back into reds and oranges, and strode across to the console. Had that bastard just called him 'it'?

"If you wanted to keep me fucking calm, you'd let me out of this goddamn cell!" he snapped, and was ignored. Now closer to the intercom, he recognised the voice as the one who had left, the one giving orders. The other silhouettes stood, saluting. Screw that. "Command says tell him nothing. Let his memories return on their own."

"What!?" He was back at the front of the glass in an instant, glaring at the officer.

"Captain, that's-" the soldier obviously agreed, but was cut off.

"Those are our orders, Private." The man wasn't even addressing him.

"Sir, yes, sir."

"That's bullshit," he said, furious. "They're my memories. I have a right to them."

"There are concerns that if we start forcing recall, the memories will be damaged." He kicked half-heartedly at the wall, knowing the sense of it, and still wanting to kill something.

"So where's my quarters?"

"Maintain total containment until memories return," the officer answered, still not to him.

"Right here." The Private sounded apologetic.

"Oh, fuck that." There was no reply. He began to pace, dragging his claws along the glass, enjoying the reaction from the people outside to the high-pitched grating noise. Odd. There was a roughness to the surface, like embedded wires, and sparks. He didn't know but something nudged him that sparks weren't usual on glass. There was something strange about the material.

"You were hit by the I.E.D. Until we know about long term effects, keeping you under observation is safest." The voice rushed to placate him, and he stopped the noise.

"For you or me?" He was surprised at his own voice, the darker tone that made it a threat.

"Both." So he was being kept in a glass cell under armed guard for his own benefit? Why didn't he believe that?

"Then aren't you going to put a blanket or something in here?" The answer left him blinking.

"You don't sleep."

"I don't sleep?" The stunned incredulousness wasn't feigned. He tried to think back. He could remember snuggling up with his girlfriend/husband/wife/lover/parents/children...He reeled, pressing his hands to his head and the flash of memory was gone before he could grasp it. There was a significant pause beyond the glass as the people moved uneasily before the figure leaned forward to the mic.

"You don't have a bathroom either." The voice was mocking. "Guess why?"

"Fuck off."

"If you do that, the lab boys would love to watch." He was being baited, he knew and the growl rose anyway. He didn't care. "Your sense of humour get blown up as well?"

"Food? Water?"

"Water's not an issue. Or food. You just ate enough for half a platoon."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." He slumped down, back against the glass. He really wanted to kill someone.

###

"The lab boys are getting twitchy. They want to get down to the tests."

"Mission first. Once that is complete and we're certain it is stable, then they get the go-ahead. If they push, remind them how much easier a co-operative subject makes things - for the initial stages. After that it won't matter."

"Why wasn't it put in heavy containment when it was retrieved?"

"We didn't think it would survive the experience. It was certainly unexpected that it would regenerate so completely. For now it is quiescent, contained, and obedient. Let's not escalate until we have to."