Markus Brilen grinned as he gestured to the wolfman. The hulking beast nodded tightly, its fur rustling with the motion. He turned, its claws clicking on the hard floor. Its paw reached out and gripped the iron handle hard enough to make the metal groan. Markus made a low noise in the back of his throat.
The wolfman released his grip slightly, but still ripped open the door, letting it fly backwards. It stomped into the darkened room, its face impassive. Markus waited, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.
Seconds later, a slightly bemused Subject 47 was dragged out, the wolfman's paw wrapped around his arm. He was swaying slightly, a growing black spot on the side of his head. The wolfman was smiling slightly, and his open paw was still curled in a fist.
Markus shut the door, but quickly froze.
A long, drawl out howl echoed through the building. It was filled with anger and pain, low and fierce.
Subject 45 didn't like a missing pack.
Markus whipped back around and stared deeply at Subject 47. It had perked up, its head raised and swiveling. He was even weakly pulling against the wolfman, though it did nothing.
He nodded carefully to the wolfman, who started to tug Subject 47 along.
Markus strode quickly through the halls, his eyes fixed ahead as he counted the steps it took him. It was the only way to make the right turn.
Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.
The turn came sharply upon him and he whisked around it, his eyes glowing. The ID patch hummed slightly with a soft light, the small square directly to the right of the door. He flicked his badge that hung around his neck across the panel, his eyes fixed forward.
The door hissed open, the steel door gliding into the wall. Soon the Injection room was open to him, and he stepped through, the sudden drop of temperature bringing goosebumps to his skin.
Markus drew his white coat closer around his body, the thin fabric doing little. It was much colder than he remembered, colder than it had ever been. He frowned, before shoving it to the corner of his mind. He would think about it later. He let his eyes travel over the room, not noting anything amiss.
Subject 47 yelped suddenly, and Markus spun around. The wolfman snarled, the sound low, and gripped its arm tighter. Small bruises seemed to sprout from Subjects 47's arm, but kept on pulling, his body desperate. The wolfman yanked harder on the escaping subject , its eyes dark. It suddenly stopped pulling, but didn't let go.
Subject 47 yelped and fell forward, all of its forward motion his enemy. The wolfman scooped it backwards with practiced ease. Subjects tried to escape all the time.
But Subject 47 wasn't trying to just get away. Its eyes - those green green eyes - were fixed directly down the passage they had come from.
Right toward Subject 45.
That just cemented his decision. If they were that close, they would work better as a true, real team. Unbeatable.
He savoured the word.
The wolfman yanked harshly and Subject 47, following Newton's law, shot into the room, pulling past the wolfman. It was pulled up onto the table, and the loud crack of knee against metal echoed through the room. The thick straps were quickly laced around its ankles and wrists, and then the head and chest.
Markus smiled. He gestured toward the wolfman, and it stepped obediently back, pressing its furry back against the only blank wall.
Quickly Markus strode toward the syringes, plucking one off the high shelf with a shorter needle, bringing it down to his level carefully.
He carefully walked over to the freezer, cursing his decision to go to the syringes first. Thinking quickly, he set it down on one of the counters and moved unhindered to the freezer.
Pulling it open with a touch too fast speed, he froze as he waited for the slightly quaking vials to still. His eyes scanned and quickly found the row 11-20 and picked out the one directly to the right of the empty slot. He reached his hand in and twisted the container to see the words written on it.
DNA containment 16. Canis Lupus Arctos. Arctic Wolf. Reserved by Markus Brilen.
He grinned at the last sentence, pulling it out of the snug container. He had known Subject 45 would make him well-known. The vial fit perfectly in his hand, but the surface was extremely cold. His fingers tightened around it.
He would not drop it.
He walked back a few steps and picked up the syringe, popping open the thin glass cylinder and sliding the vial in.
He slowly closed it, his eyes fixed on the needle. The thin metal lid clicked shut.
With an unnatural, short pause, the clear liquid drained into the needle. He flicked it for the bubbles to escape, his mind racing.
It had never paused before.
He turned back around, his fingers gripping the syringe tighter than normal. His fingers flexed uncomfortably on the metal. Subject 47 had somehow managed to twist its head toward the closed exit, its green eyes pleading.
He reached out to tilt its neck away from his body, but paused. Markus looked toward the door, and saw through it for a second, saw the straining form of Subject 45, its hand reached through the bars, crying out for its pack.
Then Markus noticed the small, crooning noises Subject 47 made. They were small, almost impossible to hear, and they spoke of fear.
He felt terrible.
He was forever ruining this young human's life, just so he could have another good word put in with his uppers.
It would never be able to live again.
But he thought of his niece.
Her father deranged after his wife was lost in a Chemistry explosion, his daughter forced to stay by him, though she was only five.
He would protect his little Moon.
He jerked Subject's head away, ignoring the startled cry.
Then he raised the syringe and plunged the needle into its exposed neck.
His eyes shined with tears.
He ran.
His feet pounded on the floor, his lungs burned.
The smooth silver walls shot together, forming a dead end.
He screamed in frustration. Turning around, he started to run, run, run.
Howls echoed throughout the maze.
Subject 45 cried out in anger once more, the wolfish tones escaping easily from her throat. They were high, almost screaming, but they had the unnaturalness that hung on the air.
Her pack was missing.
She shredded the air fruitlessly, her inch long claws stirring air currents. She bared her sharpened teeth to the air.
He was young. Not a pup, but not old enough to be her age. She had been here too long to remember what age numbers there were, or what age she was, but she could judge.
She was older than her pack, but younger than the human who brought her to the runs, the fights, the pain.
She was middle? Was that the word?
The human had stolen her pack. The wolf-not-pack man had come in, he had opened the cage and grabbed pack, but the human's smell was all over it, like a blanket.
Pack was gone.
She howled again, her teeth scraping against her tongue. She grimaced but continued, the sound unending.
Then suddenly the door opened and wolf-not-pack man and the human came in, and between them was pack.
She barked mightily, before the barest hint of her human brain came forward.
And words, the scratchiest and roughest, but human words nonetheless.
"Pack," she said, her voice deep and rumbling. "Give back pack."
The human looked surprised, his eyebrows flying up. He waved his hands at the not-pack wolf and then stood back, watching.
Not-pack wolf opened the cage and threw sleeping pack into it, before closing it quickly.
Pack was not moving, like he was dead. For a second, she was filled with all the anger, the fear, the horror in the world.
Then his chest moved weakly, and he began to draw in breaths.
She whined, before reaching out through the bars and holding her hand in the air. But pack didn't stir.
Suddenly, she frowned. Closing her eyes and pulling her hand back, she sniffed deeply, checking the air with her enhanced sense of smell.
There was not-pack wolf, but he just smelled bored. Then there was human, who was filled with curiosity and a deep, horrible sadness.
And then there was pack.
He smelled different.
He smelled like a wolf.
She darted her head towards him, and saw, after a few moments, the huge, inflamed spot on his neck.
The same that had been on hers.
She licked her lips, her tongue much rougher after contact with her fangs. The human waved his hands at not-pack wolf, who moved his head up and down and opened the door, before stepping out.
The human knelt, coming close to her eye level. He had dark grey eyes that seemed to glow and burn at the same time, like a star.
He opened his mouth and talked. "Subject 45."
She frowned at him. Was that his name?
"Subject 45." She said back to him, with a decent amount of effort. She bared her teeth humorously at his surprise.
He didn't think she was stupid, did he?
He frowned, and pointed at her. "Subject 45." He repeated.
She pointed at him with a dagger like nail. "Subject 45."
Pointing at herself, she said "Diane."
He looked surprised, before pointing at his own chest. "Markus." He stood up quickly, just as she began to growl, the sound reverberating around the room. He slid out the door, the white ends of his coat flapping behind his fleeing form.
She crooned at pack, her eyes fixed on his still form. His chest rose, but weakly.
She watched.
He ran harder, his feet crying out in time with his breaths. He forced in another gulp of air, his lungs burning.
A bar appeared in front of him. He ducked, his forehead skimmed the hard metal surface.
A panting sound not his own reached his ears. He cried out in frustration and pushed, pushed his legs harder.
He ran on.
Markus Brilen smiled triumphantly as he left his Storage room, the door sliding smoothly back into place behind him.
Subject 45 could talk. Maybe not perfectly, or in the best of grammar, but obviously the five years of captivity had not completely stolen its voice.
His eyes glowed with pride as he stalked over to his office, the door just yards from his Storage room. He slid his ID over the sensor, waiting for the low beep.
It came quickly, and he watched as the door hissed open, its smooth silver surface flickering.
He slipped through the still opening door and strode immediately toward the blank wall. It was devoid of charts or papers, like the rest of his walls were. While the computer as nice, paper versions were even better, in his opinion. He stopped by one side and reached for the thin silver button pad on the wall to the side. Pressing the button, he watched as the wall flared with a bright light before fading down to a clear view to his Storage room. A slow hum spread across the room.
The darkness that was still perfectly bright enough to see, but shadows creeped up the sterile white walls. He focused on the center, where his prize laid. He stared into the first cage.
Subject 45 was openly staring at Subject 47, its 'pack'. He would have to research more on that. Nothing could go wrong with his perfect subject. He turned his attention to his newly-injected subject, eyes searching.
Subject 47 was lying motionlessly in its cage, uncomfortably on its side with an arm trapped underneath its thin body. Too thin.
He frowned, before striding to the other side of his office, leaving the wall on. He walked quickly around his large desk and accidently knocked several papers onto the ground. He groaned slowly.
Bending down, he scooped them together and opened a drawer, before hurriedly tossing them inside.
He'd organize them later.
He slid easily into his cushioned chair, and pulled his keyboard closer.
The screen for Subject 47 was the first thing opened. He read the first sentence.
Subject 47. Age - Five years and three months. Injector - Markus Brilen.
He scrolled down to get to the bottom, when he saw the next section. Injection. He paused.
With a proud smile, he quickly typed Injection successful into the blank space. He clicked enter and watched as it added itself to the page.
He scrolled down and found the Nutrition section. It was the normal food he provided, processed meat and calcium-induced milk to sustain their high exercise life here. That was another reason he was different. Other Injectors gave their subjects gruel with almost no protein, with nothing else. They were given the barest to survive, only once or twice a day. One, Jeb he thought, even gave his dog food.
He had a much better system.
He glanced back at Subject 47's thin form. After five years, that normal meal was much too little for him. He cursed himself for not noticing sooner. He pressed edit and paused one more second before flicking his fingers and staring to type.
High protein, extra calories. Give meals three times a day with instructions to watch it eat.
He sent the newly revised to the Keeper of the wolfman who fed his subjects. Keepers were the scientists that, while they weren't high enough up on the Itex ladder to be an injector, they would train and keep the wolfmen, or Canine hybrids. Slowly, he opened the drawer still partially open. He groaned, but started to pull papers out and read the tops. He opened more drawers and started to slide papers into folders. After a while, he finished.
He watched his subjects for a while more.
They still didn't move.
The walls seemed to scream at him. His feet slammed painfully into the ground.
The scratch of claws was right behind him.
He cried out as a sharp pain ripped through his ankle. He toppled, falling painfully on his side. A hungry growl sounded above him.
A pained scream echoed through the building.
Jeb dropped his head, unable to stare at the broken mass of feathers and blood on the Injection table. It quivered slightly, before slumping completely down.
The needle that had once held the image of his victory was empty and clenched in a vice-like grip.
His snapped his neck up and stared at the dog monster in the room. Its furry snout and clawed hands were one of his greatest achievements.
His own son had been the apple of his eye, a perfect, strong example of a hybrid. So he grabbed his sister, with the vial of avian DNA. She would have been his ticket to the highest ticket in all of Itex.
But then it had gone wrong. The DNA wasn't accepted, thrown out of the body in a violent manner. The girl had died.
And with her, his rights as an Injector.
Too many of his subjects had died. They made for it a little bit, starting to grow wings or claws. They were the attention of all Itex.
Until they died.
And then Markus Brilen had come in. A new Injector, wet behind the ears, had gotten his first subject and created a Bull Shark Hybrid, one that had survived long enough to be sent on a mission. It had killed and destroyed an entire search mission of the navy before it was shot down, its body never found.
Of course he was higher up.
But then Brilen had gotten two more subjects, and managed to turn one into a Wolf hybrid with an accelerated healing rate, one that could eventually create the cure for almost any illness in the world.
It wasn't fair.
He growled out, deep in his throat. It was full of the anger and pain he felt.
He tightened his grip until the syringe groaned, the thin metal bending. He looked down at it in surprise, before pushing up to his full height and striding toward the dump bin for used needles.
And to Jeb's surprise, there was another needle in there. Switching his syringe to his left hand, he looked closer. He dropped to his knees and reached inside, closing his fingers along the thin glass of the syringe, and pulled it out.
DNA containment 16. Canis Lupus Arctos. Reserved by Markus Brilen.
Jeb's eyes darkened.
And then they began to glow with a bright, deranged light.