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Chapter 6

Staring awestruck at the scene before him, Myrnin fought to make himself do something, anything. He was standing in Oliver's kitchen where dried blood and broken glass were splayed across the floor, the table was upturned, and several chairs were broken. Slowly, his mind began to take in the fact that something had attacked Oliver, or at least attacked his house—or Oliver just suddenly had a gigantic fit. So after thoroughly checking each and every room, Myrnin decided to bring out the big guns.

He was calling Amelie.

She was there in less than ten minutes. "I don't understand. There are few out there—even of our kind—that even have the strength to overcome Oliver," she said thoughtfully.

"Ah, perhaps would be a good time to mention the new, uh, friend that Oliver and I have acquired," spluttered Myrnin.

Amelie's blue eyes flashed coldly. "What?"

"Yes, you see, the other night, Oliver came across a rather odd, little creature who turned out to be on the run from some—how shall I say?—suspicious characters."

"I see," she purred darkly. "And you believe that perhaps these suspicious characters are the ones who have apparently attacked Oliver?"

"It is a theory, yes."

Amelie frowned and looked back at the wreckage before them. She closed her eyes for a long while, making Myrnin fidget. "Do you smell that?" she asked.

Blinking, Myrnin sniffed at the air. A faint hint of something natural and dusty like grain rested throughout the kitchen. "It almost smells like there's been a wild animal in here," Myrnin remarked, leaning to smell deeper.

"What kind of scent did those creatures you met have?"

"Well, they all kind of matched up to the animal they turned into. Amyr had a light but fierce scent while Lutharathzmas stank of wet dog." A smile twitched in the corner of Amelie's mouth.

"Then whomever this stench belongs to is our attacker. What animal comes to mind?"

Myrnin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If he concentrated, he could pick out the smell of animal blood beneath the spilled blood Oliver had poured. The faint wreak of cat piss stung his nose, but it wasn't like a normal housecat's. He grimaced at the fact that he knew the difference between cat pisses. "I'd venture perhaps a large cat. One that tends to prefer living among grain-type grasses. I'm no expert on large felines, but if I had to guess, I'd say we're dealing with a—"

"Lion," finished a strange voice.

O.o.O

Feverish moans woke Oliver out of his trance. He'd been staring into the darkness for who knew how long. But the pained noises Christabelle was making brought his wandering mind back. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Purple geese…pecking me…stop it!" was her delirious reply. Frowning, Oliver scooted toward her and felt her forehead.

"Idiot! You're burning up! Why didn't you say anything?"

"The geese! They're hurting me!" she whined softly. He sighed as she feebly fought against the delusions attacking her. This was not good. He stood up and banged on the door, but he already knew nobody was coming.

After a while, he went to sit beside her. Watching her weak thrashes made something in him crack just a tiny bit. Gently, he scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his body. If he couldn't get her medical help, he could at least lend her a comforting presence.

O.o.O

Panic rose like bile in Amyr's throat before she even opened her eyes. The familiar smells told her exactly where she was. This place with its blinding lights, stench of antiseptics, and filtered air could only be a Facility laboratory.

Sure enough, she was restrained to a vertically inclined table that forced her to face a window behind which milled some half a dozen people in long, white coats. This was a very familiar situation, and the familiarity raised the hairs on her arms.

"Ah, good morning, Subject Six," greeted a rough, all-too-familiar voice over the intercom. She saw her old handler, Richard, sitting at the intercom mike behind the glass.

Somehow, she suddenly didn't feel like speaking. She didn't think she'd ever feel like saying another word again. They'd just squashed the last, tiny, infinitesimal bit of hope that she'd had. Now she just didn't care anymore. Resting her head back, Amyr closed her eyes and resigned herself not to fight anymore. What was the point?

"Oh, don't give me attitude, Six. You know we're just taking care of you. If you tried living on the outside, you'd be revered as a freak. You'd never be happy," Richard said, almost kindly. "But, as you know, you'll have to be punished for giving us so much trouble. The subjects we sent after you were even injured during extraction." Amyr's eyes flew open and she gaped at Richard. The despicable man, with his butch, brown beard and beady, black eyes, grinned triumphantly at having stirred a reaction from her. "Yeah. Although, maybe the higher-ups will lessen your punishment since you introduced us to some very interesting, new subjects."

Amyr's brow creased in a confused frown, but it didn't take long for realization to dawn on her. Oliver, Myrnin, Michael. They were all…different. They weren't humans. And now the Facility was going to make them their playthings.

Richard continued, "We've even got another batch coming in once One bags them."

Oh no, not him, Amyr cried silently. Not Lirgameth!

O.o.O

Meet at Oliver's. 256 Newark Circle.

Claire stared at Myrnin's scrawling handwriting on the little note in her hand then glanced up at the house before which she stood. It faintly resembled the Glass house with its white pillars and grandeur; it was a Founder House. Feeling a bit ill at ease at having been invited by a vampire to a vampire's home, she stepped hesitantly up the stairs. She trusted Myrnin—mostly—and Oliver…well, she just knew that neither would cross Amelie.

Approaching the door, she realized that she didn't know whether to knock or ring the doorbell. It was odd to think of ringing a vampire's doorbell. It was like announcing, "Hello! Pizza delivery!"

But she didn't have to time to make up her mind; a loud crashing sound came from inside. Grabbing the handle, she yanked the front door open and tried rushing in, but this being a Founder House and a vampire's home, she, a human, was not allowed in unless permitted entry by the inhabitants. That didn't keep her from seeing inside, however.

Across the foyer, an archway opened into the kitchen, and in the kitchen she spotted two familiar silhouettes and a third stranger. The trio was struggling together. Claire stopped herself from calling their names in case she distracted them, but it was frustrating not being able to help. As she watched, she realized something. Where is Oliver?

The tussle inside soon diverted her attention, however, as Myrnin let out a tremendous roar and flung the third party out of the kitchen, into the foyer, and closer to the front door and Claire. She could make out some features of the man now—thick, chocolate-brown hair, smooth, tan skin, finely-toned muscles—but then he began to change. As she looked in on this strange scene, she saw the man before her transform. His arms and legs morphed into thickly corded limbs, his hands became thick and claws sprouted from them, a tail grew from his tailbone, and coarse hair emerged from his neck and shoulders. A lion. The giant beast shook his shaggy, black mane, shed his now-torn and useless clothes, and poised to attack. He was just about to leap at Myrnin when Amelie appeared out of another archway and ringed her arms around his throat. With the speed of a snake, she body-slammed him to the ground and crushed his throat between her arms. The lion slashed great gashes down her arms, but she held on until he finally fell unconscious.

O.o.O

Blistering heat licked at Michael's back, but he would have continued running even without the incentive. These people in lab coats had easily found out that he was highly susceptible to fire, and they were using it as a threat to get him to do what they wanted. He'd been running for hours with a flamethrower activated behind him, and he probably could for several more before he'd need blood, but he worried about what would happen then. These people didn't seem the accommodating type. Once he'd learned that Shane and Eve were all fine, he'd relaxed a bit and complied with their orders. He hoped he would get them to let their guard down so he could take a stab at the chink in their armor. So far, he'd been unlucky.

With the wires connected to his bare chest and the people behind the glass sitting at computers and recording data—though what data would come from his not-living body, he did not know—Michael wondered if he could put his plan into action. After the first hour or so, he'd started debating whether or not to try breaking through the glass and simply making a run for it. Now he was seriously considering it.

Before he could come to a final decision, though, the searing heat at his back disappeared and the treadmill at his feet began to slow. A thick, southern accent sounded over the intercom. "We've collected all the data we want from this trial for now, fifty-nine. Go on and step through that there door an' we'll start the next experiment in a jiff."

Somehow it was incredibly comical how polite his 'handlers' were. The southern man had cordially introduced himself over the intercom as Lionel right when Michael had awoken on that metal table. Of course, they had made it very clear that he was to follow their instruction completely or he would be punished, but they had done it with the best of manners.

Plucking the wires from his skin, Michael shuffled into the cramped space beyond the door they'd offered him. He'd determined that it was like their holding cell/transportation; it was a very small, confined elevator-like mechanism that they used to move him from place to place. After a few moments, he felt the box begin to move—delivering him to his next task that he was to perform for these crazies.

It didn't take long for the elevator to halt and the door to slide open.

Before him laid a bare, wood-paneled room in which the only object was the usual window through which the crazies in lab coats observed. He stepped into the room, frowning as he wondered what they wanted him to do.

Then he caught sight of a shadow lurking in the corner—which was amazing seeing as how the room was very brightly lit, and his eyesight was amazing. The shadow shoved away from the wall to look directly at Michael.

Michael felt his jaw drop as he gasped, "You?"

Mwahahaha! I love cliffhangers. *Does evil little hand rub as eyes glint maliciously* ;)