3. Experimentation
Two nightmare bird-masked faces stared down at Pidge. They strapped her to a table and drugged her, and the world swam in a wash of purple, black, and yellow-slit eyes. She slipped in and out of consciousness, aware that they probed her, but she was unable to resist.
One of the creatures put its hand out, and a dark energy gathered there. Finding herself again, Pidge tried feebly to squirm away. The thing aimed its blast at her chest, and Pidge convulsed when it hit.
The next thing she saw was the blank darkness of her cell wall. She hated this place, but a rush of relief not to be on that cold operating table strapped down and unable to move filled her. Pidge curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her skin tingled, and her stomach felt sour. What...what had that thing done to her? After they drugged her, she could remember warped pieces of being in...where? A medical bay?
No, it was a science lab. Bitter bile coated the inside of Pidge's mouth. They hadn't given her a checkup—they'd experimented on her.
To think she'd used to like labs...she'd always felt safe in her dad's lab. Of course, she hadn't been the experiment before.
"Pidge...Pidge…"
How long Shiro said her name, she didn't know, but his whisper finally cut through her drowsy mind. Pidge sat up, sweat beading on her forehead. She felt weak like when she had the flu, but that didn't stop her from crawling to the air vent. The light breeze cooled her, and Pidge let out a relieved sigh. The air buffeted her bangs, and she slouched against the wall. The less she had to do in this condition the better.
"I didn't know if they brought you back," Pidge whispered, her mouth gummy and dry. A water and a food dish sat in the corner of the room. They fed her like they would a cat—with two automatic refilling bowls. The timed food system meant she didn't have to see any of her Galra guards, which was a relief. The trade-off was that she felt like an animal in a cage, but she had no hope of clawing her way out.
"At least a day ago," Shiro said, keeping his voice low. He sounded weary with exhaustion, too. "I can't keep track of time properly, though, but it's my best guess."
Voice shaking, Pidge said, "Shiro, they...they did something to me. They took me to a lab...I don't feel good. I feel sick."
Several heartbeats of silence passed before Shiro spoke. "They did the same thing to me. I heard your door open a while ago, but listen to me...have you noticed...any physical changes?"
Pidge blinked, and her heart continued to slam into her chest like a hammer. In the near dark, she ran a hand over her body. "No, I don't think so, but I feel really hot...and my stomach hurts...I feel feverish."
Shiro let out a resigned sigh. "That's how it started for me, but I woke with...with hair on my hands."
Frantically, Pidge rubbed her arms, but her skin was clammy but smooth. "No extra hair—but is that bad? That sounds...fairly tame as far as evil alien probings go."
"I'm not a very hairy guy," Shiro said, a teasing tone in his tired voice. "This is...it's different. I think I'm growing more, too, but I can't be sure. I feel flushed and hot, too. Like you said...sick."
Pidge's stomach somersaulted, and if she hadn't already been laying on the ground, she would've toppled over. She moaned, clutching at her guts. Her eyes widened, and tentatively, she put a hand underneath her shirt to feel her stomach. Sure enough, a thin, fuzzy layer of hair covered her stomach. If she could've thrown up, Pidge would've. Thank god she hadn't eaten any of the food pellets since coming back.
"Shiro...it's my stomach," she whispered, unable to keep the panic from her voice. "The hair...it's on my stomach!"
"Shhh, stay calm and quiet," Shiro said, coaxing her away from the looming ledge of panic. "I wonder what they gave us? I remember...not much, really...but maybe a hormone? Steroids? That could explain hair growth."
"Oh my god, what would an alien steroid do?" Pidge squeaked.
"Shhh," Shiro said. "It'll probably do what steroids on Earth do...just more unpleasant."
An image of the creature raising its hand and the terrible, black light aimed at her chest filled. Pidge asked, "Do you remember those creatures—the ones with the yellow-slit eyes? One of them blasted me with...with some dark energy. It was...it was like magic. That feels so silly to say—"
"But we're in a space prison, and it happened to me, too," Shiro said. Relief coursed through Pidge. She pressed her head to the wall, trying to use the metal to cool herself. Yes, she'd definitely started to run a low-grade fever, but she wasn't crazy. The bird-thing had used some type of energy beam on her. It couldn't really be magic, could it? She closed her mind off to it. They were in an alien prison surrounded by alien tech out of her deepest fantasies, but these aliens using magic…
Why would they need it with all their technology? Pidge wondered. Yet, she couldn't explain what else that alien could've done to her. It hadn't had anything else in its hand when it blasted her. The dark light had puddled in its hand like a slick, oozing cloud. A shudder traveled through Pidge's body.
"Do you think the...the magic...activated something?" Pidge asked. If she had to use the word 'magic', she would. Her theories on what it was could wait until she escaped this place.
"It seems like it," Shiro said. "Just lay down and stay calm. We know the food and water aren't poisoned."
The thought of water reminded Pidge how sandpaper dry her mouth had become. She summoned her strength and went over to the bowl. Pushing away the thought that she was drinking like an animal, Pidge dipped her head down and slurped up water into her parched mouth. She splashed her face, which temporarily cooled her.
"What...what are we going to do?" Pidge asked after she'd nibbled on some food. She couldn't eat too much. With her insides rollicking, she might throw it back up almost instantly, but if she didn't eat, she'd continue to be weak and shaky.
"Sit tight," Shiro whispered. "This cell doesn't leave many other options. If we get an opportunity to escape, we need to be prepared to take it. That means we need to conserve our strength."
"When might that happen?" Pidge asked, remembering the way the four-eyed creature had easily stunned her when she'd tried to flee the guards.
Shiro sighed wearily. "I don't know."
Laying in his bunk with his eyes closed, Shiro forced himself to recall his training—specifically the brief yet traumatic period where he'd learned how to deal with imprisonment and interrogation. There were several tactics his captors could employ, and leaving them to sit and go stir crazy in their cells was one he'd been taught. They'd locked him in a prison for three days during training. Of course, he'd already been in here much longer, and the deprivation environment was meant to crack his mind. He'd done his best to meditate and remain sane, and he had the added benefit that the aliens didn't know he could communicate with Pidge.
He'd hummed softly to himself, and on occasion, he'd talk to Pidge. If they spoke too much, the guards might hear. When the girl moaned, he'd risked words of encouragement. Whatever the aliens had done, it made both of them ill, but he suspected she was in more pain than he was. Maybe he handled it better. He had military training, and even though Pidge was tough, she hadn't endured the forced brutality he had. They'd tried to prepare him for prisoner of war situations.
Too bad they hadn't anticipated he'd have to survive space prison, he thought, snorting mirthlessly.
He ached down to his bones, which didn't feel like a coincidence. Even in this disorienting place, he could definitely tell his frame had grown. His uniform fit tightly around his neck, chest, and biceps. He'd started to notice a tightness in his thighs and butt, too, yet he refused to undress for comfort. Whatever they did to him, he'd still be a pilot—he'd still be a man.
They were doing their best to turn him into some type of animal, though. The steroid theory didn't feel far off, although Shiro didn't know what to make of the concept of magic any more than Pidge had. Still, he couldn't deny the changes that twisted his body from human into...something else. The hair growth he'd noticed had accelerated, and a thickened layer of dark hair covered his entire body. His skin itched against his tightening clothing. Her voice shaking, Pidge reported she had gotten hairier, too. Shiro hadn't the heart to tell his nervous friend that he suspected they were growing a pelt of fur. How far the changes would go...what they would eventually become…
They can't take away what's in your head and your heart, he told himself.
The words felt hollow as he shuddered under the dull yet persistent aching that felt like a toothache over his entire body. At least no one had to see him weak like this.
When Pidge moaned upstairs, Shiro's insides tensed. It should've been Matt up there, not her. Neither of them deserved to suffer, but Matt Holt had been trained like he had. At least Matt would've been prepared for this torture, yet part of him felt selfishly glad that Matt wasn't here. He cared for Matt, and for Shiro, it would've been harder to hear strong Matt cry out. At least with Pidge, he could act the role of the big brother protector and calm her down. If it were Matt...he would've struggled to keep a clear head.
Matt's safe and back on Earth, Shiro reassured himself as he yanked at the seams of his uniform to try and aid in its fit. Several ripped open, and Shiro let out a long sigh. Whatever the aliens had done to him, his body was losing the battle to fight it.
Footfalls outside the door made Shiro sit up.
The door slid open, and Shiro squinted into the violet hallway light, which was blinding compared to the dimness of his cell. Four guards stood there, but none of them were the terrifying multi-eyed creatures. Thank god they were all normal Galra. He might have a chance at fighting those ones off.
"This one lived," one guard with several prominent spikes on his chin said with a lopsided grin. "I guess I'll make my money back after all."
One of the other guards scowled. "They looked weak," he muttered. "Can't blame me for betting against them."
Shiro's face contorted in loathing. They'd bet on their survival—and the odds hadn't been good.
"We're to take this one down to the arena now?" another guard said, his voice neutral. They all wore masks, so it was impossible for Shiro to completely read his Galra's captors expressions, but he got the impression this one took less pleasure in his near death. A small comfort, Shiro thought wryly.
The spike-chinned guard motioned Shiro forward. "If this thing lived, it gets to fight."
Shiro snarled, the animal sound surprising him. Two of the guards laughed, and Shiro launched out of bed. He grabbed the spike-chinned guard's weapon and slashed at him. The neutral guard gripped Shiro's wrist, turning his strike and keeping him from killing the other guard. Another guttural snarl came from Shiro's mouth, and fear tightened his guts. He knew they had changed him, but he'd hadn't noticed the lack of little human details until he'd fought the guards. He moved different—more fluid and quick in his motions, even though he ached to his core. And that growl...a human throat couldn't make that sound.
The neutral guard stripped his stolen sword away. Shiro glared at him as the other three cowards rushed in to help their braver companion. With a defiant glare, Shiro said, "I've got all the time I need—I'll get out of this place. You can't hold me forever."
The spike-chinned guard grunted and picked up his weapon. He kneed Shiro in the gut, causing him to double over. "That's where you're wrong," the guard hissed into Shiro's ear. "You're one of our hybrids now—you'll stay here until you die—and you're too weak to survive long. Come on, boys, it's time to take this one into the arena."
The guards shoved him along and roughly shepherded Shiro into a small room. They boxed him in, but red light streamed through the other side of the door. A buzz of voices reached Shiro's ears, and his entire body tensed. A crowd waited for him, and Shiro wanted to shrink into the wall. They'd made him a monster for their entertainment. His training hadn't prepared him for this. His gaze darted around, searching for escape, but the guards held him fast.
The door clicked upwards, and the guards marched him into a rectangular box. The yellow-eyed gazes of thousands of aliens focused on him. Some cheered, some clapped with mild interest, and others ignored him entirely. The sounds in that cone room swirled around and focused on him like a tornado of apathetic bloodlust.
His guards released him, and he sprawled forward on his knees. They stood watch at the door he'd entered through, and Shiro turned, attempting to leave that way. One of the guards pulled a gun on him. The crowd erupted in hollers and cheers—they'd loved that move.
Shiro raised his hands and backed away from the guard. He wouldn't be getting out that way.
Another door clicked upwards, and Shiro turned to face another set of guards. There were eight of them, and they escorted in a creature with saliva dripping from its jaws. It had thick, matted blue fur and the tattered remnants of cloths hung from its waist. An existential shiver passed through Shiro. Had that thing been human, too? Would he end up like that beast if he stayed here?
He pushed down his nauseating thoughts that rolled his stomach and faced the creature. There was no intelligence in its eyes, only hunger. One of the eight guards tossed a small, blunt sword through the air. It landed at Shiro's feet, and he picked it up. The crowd applauded again, and Shiro gritted his teeth together, wishing they'd shut up.
The guards backed away from the beast before unchaining it. The creature turned to bite a guard, but another guard shocked it. This drove it away. Whimpering, the creature backed away—and then turned its blood-shot eyes on Shiro.
Any hope of finding common ground with the beast died when Shiro met its rabid gaze. It didn't see him as a fellow prisoner—only as prey.
He dodged the creature's first and second charges. The third time, it changed its tactics and swiped his legs from underneath him with its tail. With a thud, Shiro landed on his back. The whooping of the crowd spurred him to roll away and dodge the claw swipe.
He wouldn't die here—not for the entertainment of these monsters.
Shiro swung the blade and stabbed it into the creature's paw. The beast yowled and leaped away, giving Shiro a chance to get to his feet.
The creature settled onto its haunches and stalked him around the arena, but it kept its distance now. It knew he could—and would—strike it. To win, he had to close distance and initiate the attack.
Shiro rushed forward, and when the creature pounced, he dropped to the ground. He used its momentum to impale its stomach on his sword before its full weight crushed him. The beast flailed and howled in misery while the crowd roared. Shiro tuned out all those sounds and the thick blood that covered him and focused on gutting this creature and saving his own life. When the beast stopped moving, Shiro let himself go limp under its weight.
The guards came back and drug the corpse off him, but he lay there, unable to move from exhaustion and shock. He was presented to the crowd, but he fixed his gaze on his feet. He didn't want to entertain these murders, but he spared a gaze for the poor beast he'd been forced to kill. Even if it hadn't been sane at the end, it had been a prisoner like him, but he knew only one of them would make it out of this place alive, and it had to be him.
While he settled into his role as a Galra guard, Keith continued his research on hairless humanoids. Ulla's files hadn't yielded much—he didn't know enough about what he was looking for to use the technical xenology terms. When Keith made the decision to give up his personal research and start gathering information on prisoners, an unexpected find came from it.
In the prisoner logs, he found the files of two hairless humanoids from Terra X26. The files included the intake images, which featured both humanoids bound and bent over. While he didn't know them personally, their descriptions and the insignia on their uniforms looked eerily familiar. Keith compared them to the brief—and admittedly somewhat poor—sketches he'd made and saved on the WormHole. When he held his picture up beside the official Galra image, one of the insignias seemed close to a match...if he squinted and used his imagination.
The hairless humanoids—listed as prisoner Terra X26 0001 and Terra X26 0002—had been claimed on Kerberos via a Galra patrol to unclaimed, outer territory. The Galra wanted to expand into that sector and had been on a scouting mission. These were the first Terran prisoners they'd ever taken.
Current location—Hybrid wing.
A pit formed in Keith's stomach, and he scowled and closed the files after checking the cell numbers. While the Blades allowed half-breeds into their ranks, he'd been told that the Galra empire considered them half-creatures, but still superior to non-Galra, and that's where Keith suspected the idea for the Hybrid wing had come from. The Hybrid wing of the prison...it made him feel sick. While doing his best to avoid the actual cell block, he'd made notes on it because the Blades had no prior intelligence on it.
All captured species underwent a hybridization process to see if their biology was compatible with the Galra's. How the Galra created the Hybrids, Keith hadn't deduced. Those records were sealed for all except the highest officers, and he doubted he understood enough of the empire's advanced science to make sense of them. The senior Blades might know what to do, so his job was to get copies of as many files as he could back to base. The failure rate for the hybridization was high—only thirty percent of species could even have partially successful hybridization. If his humanoids had undergone hybridization, he had a limited time to find them. If their biology wasn't compatible, they'd die.
It took Keith another sleep cycle to find time to get to the hybrid wing. He had swiped the codes from a careless guard and went in during a shift change. He pulled up the blueprints on his comm device to find one of the Terran's cells.
Making his footfalls light, he approached the door. He paused—voices.
"My body...it's tearing itself apart. I can't keep down water anymore."
A muffled reply.
"I know...okay…"
Another response Keith couldn't hear. Frowning, he glanced at the blueprints again. These should be sealed cells. They were designed for a single prisoner and to limit outside contact with other prisoners and guards. But the Terran was talking to somebody…
They shouldn't have comm devices, either. Outside communication should've been impossible. Clearly, the Galra prison designers had missed something.
A wretching noise from inside the cell—the Terran was clearly ill. Keith frowned. If the hybridization procedure killed the Terrans, he hadn't a hope of questioning them. Maybe there was some medicine that would help the hybridization take, but he knew little of xenobiology. Ulla would've known…
But he had her humanoid xenobiology data. He didn't know what might prove helpful, but Keith went to study it. Knowing that the humanoids were from Terra X26 gave him a reference, too, although it proved of little help. The Terrans were listed as primitive carbon life forms, so he looked up what Galra medicines similar creatures usually tolerated.
In the end, he felt the best choice was a SleepPac for a sedative and a muscle relaxer. He wasn't sure if the SleepPac would prove too powerful for Terran biology, but if the Terrans were sick, he had to treat them now.
Because he couldn't slip in between shifts, Keith had to pretend to patrol his way back to the Terran's cell block. Like in all of his dealings with other Galra inside the prison, he acted bored with a hint of aloof menace underneath. That seemed to be the right tone to get other soldiers to not natter him with questions. The stolen codes got him into the cell, where he promptly shut the door. The tiny Terran, its ragged uniform soaked with sweat, lay curled up on the floor. It glared at him, eyes bright yet sunken in its face.
"You're from Terra X26?" Keith asked.
"I'm from Earth," the creature said weakly.
From behind his helmet, Keith rolled his eyes. So it was going to be pedantic. "Your body is rejecting the Galra hybridization. If it continues to do so, you'll die."
"And why do you care?" it said, voice feeble yet full of hate. Keith was impressed with the dying creature's fight.
"I need to find a Terran," Keith said.
"There's a whole seven billion of us," the Terran said.
He couldn't negotiate with the Terran while it was in this delirious state. There weren't even that many prisoners in this ship! Keith sighed and produced the SleepPac. He held it up, and the Terran eyed it suspiciously. Keith said, "Let me put this on you. It might help you."
"What...what will it do?"
"Your body is rejecting the hybridization. It'll put you to sleep and relax your muscles," Keith said. He bent down and held it out. The Terran bit at its lip and eyed both him and the SleepPac. Finally, it crawled towards him, and Keith slid the SleepPac underneath the Terran's soaked shirt. The Terran tensed while he fixed it on its back—where he could feel a damp layer of fur.
So, the hybridization procedure hadn't completely failed. The Terran's biology wasn't incompatible...this one was just resisting it.
The Terran shuddered and pulled away from Keith. Immediately, its eyelids drooped shut. It mouthed something, but Keith couldn't understand. With a silent, deflating sigh, the creature went limp. He couldn't leave it to lay sprawled on the floor, so he picked the Terran up and moved it to the paltry metal slab that served as a bed. It was hardly better than the floor, but it was some small kindness. Hopefully, it would live, and he could check on it later.
Keith rested an ear against the door and listened for passing guards. When it was clear, he left the first Terran's cell. There was another one he had to go see, and he'd taken a second SleepPac for it. If the first Terran was any indication, the second one shouldn't be doing well, either. The Terrans' cells were stacked on top of each other, so Keith only needed to descend a floor, but he took some laps to patrol as to not raise suspicion.
When he entered the second Terran's cell, Keith started in surprise. Instead of being fatally ill and weak, the second Terran sat up on his meager bed, waiting for Keith to enter. It was like the Terran had been expecting him.
What was more surprising was that Keith recognized this Terran. He'd watched him fight in the gladiatorial arena several times. Keith detested the matches, but he forced himself to at least sit through the main attractions of the hybrid matches, which most of his fellow Galra found supremely entertaining. Compared to the elegant fighting styles he practiced with the Blades, Keith found the brutish nature of the gladiatorial matches a chore to watch. To blend in among the empire guards, he endured them with a secret disgust.
"I remember you from the arena. I didn't realize you were Terran," Keith said.
"I am—was—no thanks to your people," the Terran said. It scowled and barred a nascent pair of Galra fangs. Unlike with the other Terran, the hybridization procedure had been successful with this one. While it showed no signs of traditional Galra colorings, the Terran had taken on the most common Galra physical characteristics—fur tufts, elongated ears, nocturnal vision, fangs, and claws.
The Terran's unfriendly expression—and what this Terran hybrid could do physically—made Keith's hand creep to the hilt of his blade. He didn't want to hurt it, but he wouldn't hesitate to defend himself. Yet, he sensed that the Terran knew he wasn't here to explicitly harm it.
"I need to rescue a Terran," Keith said.
"There are seven billion of us," the Terran said, fixing Keith with an icy glare.
Keith blinked—was this a Terran joke? The other Terran had said the same thing. Was it a code? Or was it—
"You overheard us," Keith said. He glanced up, and in the dim cell, several small air vent slits lined the ceiling like gills on a metal fish. So this was who the first Terran had been talking to—the vents went between their cells.
"What do you want? You gave Pidge some medicine, so I'm assuming you want her alive for some reason," the Terran said. His gaze remained sharp and hard, and his yellow eyes glowed like lanterns in the night amidst his dark fur. "It's the only reason I haven't attacked you, you know. You helped her."
Keith's mouth drew down into a frown. He hadn't much information to convince this Terran of his goodwill—he couldn't very well go about spouting off the history of the Blades in a Galra prison. With uncharacteristic hesitation, Keith said, "I think...I think I've received a message that I'm supposed to get a Terran out of prison."
The more he pondered over his dream, the more that's what it felt like—a message. Had he sent it to himself? Hairless Keith to Galra Keith? He couldn't say, but it was in his head, which was the only reason he trusted it completely. He had no reason to lie to himself.
The Terran arched an eyebrow. "A message from who?"
"Can't say."
The Terran regarded him with a new, guarded curiosity instead of outright hostility. "Is it from the Galaxy Garrison? They'd be looking for us."
"Can't say," Keith repeated, his words clipped.
"There were three of us captured—myself, Pidge, and Dr. Holt," the Terran said. "If you want one of us, you'll have to take all three of us."
Keith frowned and shook his head. "There are only two Terran prisoners on this ship. If there is a third, they're not here."
The Terran stroked at its face while thinking. Keith leaned against the door, listening to distant yet approaching footfalls. He said, "I think some guards are coming—probably to take you to another gladiatorial match. I'll come for you when the other Terran is well."
"Watch out for her," the Terran said, its tone softening. "She's...she's very sick. If she...if she dies…"
"I'll watch her," Keith said, slipping out of the cell. He turned a corner and acted as if he was on patrol, avoiding the group of guards that came for the Terran. He couldn't help him out of the arena, but he could keep both Terrans alive long enough to get them out of this prison.
When Pidge woke, her body felt like frozen cement, and her clothes were still damp. For the first time since the Galra experimented on her, she didn't ache all over like she had the flu. Pidged curled in on herself, and she placed a hand on her back, finding the smooth, silicon packaging on the square of her back that the Galra soldier had given her.
A Galra soldier? Had that been right? In her delirious state, she wondered if she'd imagined him. Her fingers smoothed over the cool, gelatinous patch. That was real enough, so the soldier had to have been real, too.
Why would a Galran soldier want to help her? The Galra had captured and imprisoned them. They'd separated her from her dad and made Shiro fight for their entertainment!
It could be another trick to gain her trust, but subtleness wasn't the Galra way. The Galra made others do what they wanted—they didn't waste time trying to gain a prisoner's trust.
Pidged ran her hand over the rest of her back. Her hair had thickened into—she swallowed a lump, unable to deny the queasy truth—what could properly be called fur. The soldier had said his medicine would help her body accept the hybridization. That meant she was part Galra herself...fur, claws, and all. A wave of purely mental nausea passed through Pidge. She'd survived, but she wasn't human any more. Taking a deep, steady breath, she pressed her hands to her face. She was a scientist—she needed to stay calm and discover what they'd done to her—even if it terrified her.
The same fur on her back covered her face and head, and her ears had become more prominent, ending in tufts. In the dim light, she studied her thicker, darker nails. They weren't proper claws, but they might grow into them still. Pidge reached down to pull off cramped boots—both her feet and hands had grown into some type of padded proto-paw.
Bending down was then she discovered the two unwelcomed appendages she'd grown.
The first was half-trapped in her uniform, and Pidge reached her hand down and wriggled a wiry, cat-like tail over the seat of her trousers, stifling a miserable moan. If Matt saw this—that she had a tail—he'd never stop making fun of her. She giggled and blinked back tears. She'd be lucky to ever see her brother again. Tail or no tail, she'd gladly put up with his teasing to be safe and back on Earth.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Pidge braced herself to face her second growth. She and Shiro had hypothesized the Galra had given them some type of growth hormone...some type of magical steroid. At least, Shiro said that it had made him grow larger. Pidge knew what steroids on Earth did, so she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised at what this alien drug had done to her. She'd grown a small penis, and it made her cringe just thinking about it.
Maybe that's why her body had resisted it—she wasn't a human male. Well...she was part male now. Pidge adjusted her uniform and found it uncomfortable and tight for her new, hybrid physique. Screwing up her courage, Pidge attempted to adjust herself, which led to awkward touching...that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Shamefully, she touched herself, exploring what was between her legs.
After that ordeal, Pidge curled up on the metal bed. She wanted to talk to Shiro and tell him she was okay, but she needed a moment. She didn't want to tell him everything...didn't know how to even start.
Sucking in a breath, Pidge whispered, "Shiro?"
Relief surged through her. Her voice really hadn't changed. Her throat was scratchy and dry, but that was the most noticeable difference.
"Shiro?"
No answer. They could've taken him to the arena again. Pidge stretched her stiff limbs and went to the water and food bowl. With her new, catlike tongue, she lapped up the water in fluid strokes and found it less awkward to drink. The food pellets were still dry and tasteless, but she ate small bites. With a bit of water, they didn't stick to her mouth, and she started to fill her empty, hollow stomach.
The door slid open, and Pidge jerked around. An involuntary hiss escaped her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hands over her face. That sound—it had really come from her!
A Galra guard stood in the doorway, and although she couldn't see his face, Pidge was certain it was the same one as before. He glanced down the hallway, and his mouth creased down into a frown. From his belt, he pulled a small knife and handed it to her.
"Hide this—they're going to make you fight. I didn't think they would, but I guess they've figured out you're not ill anymore," the Galra said.
"What—in the arena?" Pidge said. Her heart pounded, and she shook her head. She could barely stand, let along defend herself against an attacker.
The Galra nodded. "Keep the knife, and I'll see what I can do."
He motioned for her to stand, and Pidge stumbled to her feet. She tripped, and he caught her. On instinct, she pushed away, but she stopped struggling when he refused to let her fall back down. With his aid, she gained her balance, and the world spun less when she was on both feet again.
"Thanks," Pidge muttered grudgingly. "Why are you—"
"Later," the Galra soldier whispered. "You've got to survive, got it?"
Pidge swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. The Galra shackled her wrists and pulled her from her cell. Pidge blinked in the light, and her stomach twisted in on itself. She was going to the arena—and she was sure she was going to die.