Hello, again, my lovlies. Fortunately, my major exams are now done for the term, so hopefully updates will start picking up again.

Chapter 24 – The Room

Fang hated being locked up. There was just something about being treated like an animal that grated his nerves, for some strange reason.

It wasn't particularly a step-up to be locked in a white room with a two-way mirror, but it was better treatment than what he was used to – and it left Fang confused.

From what he could determine, he was in an observational room, one usually aimed at interns wanting to watch procedures without disturbing any of the surgeons.

'Surgeons', of course, was a subjective term in this case. Fang preferred the term 'sadists' or 'whitecoats' or sometimes 'the sadistic bastards'. Sometime the names he could hurl at him was his only creative outlet.

At least he was actually sitting on a seat for once. They were plastic fold-up chairs, but they had been specifically designed to make a human comfortable. It was the best accommodations he had in a while, so he embraced sitting down like a human being fully, looking out the window.

In the room below, the scientists seemed to be preparing for a particularly brutal surgery, judging by their vast amount of needles and scalpels. He wondered if it was going to be him going under the knife again today; or maybe the whitecoats were just trying to unhinge him.

There were several people milling around in the room below, which contrasted starkly with the way Fang was currently being treated in his room – there wasn't a soul in sight, but there were suspicious glossy dark pieces of plastic on the ceiling, most likely concealing a camera lens.

Fang looked down at the operating room again. If it was him, he was probably going to be in a lot of pain very soon. He wasn't surprised to feel that he didn't really care all that much; pain had lost its edge a while ago, his body barely registered it anymore. He couldn't really care about anything apart from an hour-to-hour basis.

Thinking about the future was something that Fang seldom did; trying to do so in this hellhole seemed useless. He usually just focused on his breathing or pounding heart. It was the only way he could measure time, and as long as those two things were happening, he was alive.

He couldn't look back, he didn't dare look forward. Both hurt too much to look at.

Some of the other experiments called this place The School, but Fang personally didn't like the title much. People learned things at schools, the worst form of torture there was petty pranks and bullying. And even though Fang had been a victim of bullying when he was younger, he knew that this was a far worse fate than getting his head flushed down a toilet.

He shook himself back to where he was. No use in looking back.

A new movement sparked Fang's interest in the operating room below. The door flew open and a balding man strode into the room. "It's being brought in and is getting disinfected as we speak," the man said, his voice filtering through to Fang via speaker. His eagerness bleeding into his voice was impossible to miss.

Fang's interest piqued slightly. So it wasn't going to be him; which could be a good or bad thing. The procedure would likely be horrendous if they were making him watch – the School was rather fond of psychological warfare with its experiments, just in case being in a top secret facility and having the life slowly drained out of you wasn't enough to satisfy.

Fang sighed. He was still breathing, his heart beating. That what's important.

He closed his eyes for a second, trying to give himself a brief escape from where he was – but he could still feel the cold of the room, slowly seeping through his flimsy paper gown.

In another lifetime, Fang might've been embarrassed about wearing such a stupid thing. It was white, easily stained, and definitely not macho. It was dress that barely rose above his knees, after all. Even though everything at the back was covered, he did often get unpleasant drafts, thanks to everything 'hanging wild and free'. But he wasn't ashamed of it. He didn't give a damn about what he looked like or what he was forced to wear.

Another whitecoat walked into the operating theatre, trying to hide his glee under his mask. Several others walked into the room, smacking on latex and rubbing their plastic hands together. Several interns milled about, making minor preparations. Lining up needles, laying out silver trays.

It was going to be quite the procedure.

A woman rolled in with a cage covered in a cloth, looking as hopeful as the other scientists. The entire room responded, all turning their heads to look at the cage covered in the sheet. Two interns lifted the cloth quickly.

For a moment, time stood still. Fang could sense the anticipation of the whitecoats running high – this was probably a high-profile experiment like himself being handled.

The sheet came off the cage, and there was –

Oh, fuck.

Nononono.

This can't be happening.

Fang froze, his heart skipping a beat and his lungs frozen. His mind went into hyperdrive, trying to put the pieces together and they refused to fit.

She glared fiercely at all the people surrounding her, looking for a moment at the two-way mirror. Obviously she didn't see him; her eyes were fixed on a point about two feet away from him – probably her own reflection.

Fang was stunned. The coincidence was too enormous to be that. His entire life had been carefully orchestrated around this place, so being raised near to other experiments probably was just part of the plan.

Max.

Fang frowned, trying to hide his anger. He finally understood the reason for him being in the room – they wanted a reaction from him. Fang was a bit of a stubborn bastard when it came to being an experiment. He liked to not play by the rules, something that pissed of his observers to no end. Now they finally found a way to get him.

Of course, the internal Fang was a lot a more emotional about his reunion with Max. Inside, he was kicking and screaming and yelling at the fucking bastards, but he managed to remain impassive with a Herculean effort – but it was something that Fang had been doing for most of his lifetime; keeping his features smooth.

He watched in horror as they pulled Max out of a cage. She'd been recently captured – her hair wasn't shaved off yet and her skin glowed healthily, like someone who had been in the sun recently.

Why did they wait to capture her? Why not just kill two birds with one stone when they were kidnapping Fang?

To her credit, she fought. She bit one of the whitecoats and snarled at them, looking more like a warrior than a lost girl. She was wearing the same type of white flimsy gown as Fang. Just like him, she was quickly losing her individuality in this place.

An individuality that Fang loved.

He pushed the thoughts away from himself abruptly. He needed to stay calm. He could curse and cry all he pleased when he was alone in the dark, now was the not the time – he could still feel the corners of his eyes prickling, though.

One of the monsters pushed her onto the cold operating gown, another one ripping off the gown in a smooth movement – coldly and precisely. In a second, Max had lost her dignity too.

"Fuck," Fang muttered to himself, trying to keep the anger on his face in check. This was all wrong – he should not be seeing Max naked like this. Sure, he wanted to her naked, but this was just completely wrong. He shouldn't be seeing the slope of her hip or curve of her breast while whitecoats pushed syringes into her arms.

This was wrong.

He focused on one of the corners of the room – he didn't want to give whoever was sitting behind the camera the satisfaction of a physical reaction. He could barely see Max out of the corner of his eye, but just enough to see her go limp. He didn't dare focus on the raised goosebumps of her skin. Just that patch of wall with the brown spot. He put all his concentration in memorising the exact shape of it, the shades and cracks.

He wanted to die.

When I woke up, I was in a cage.

Huh. You know when you read that sentence, you knew nothing good can possibly come out of it.

I was in different clothes, barefoot and wearing a paper nightie. I felt completely naked in it, with the cold bars pressing against my spine and the the freezing metal underneath. It hardly did anything to keep me warm.

I panicked. I knew that I shouldn't, really – I'd been told ahead of time that this was probably where I was going to end up. My mother had warned me specifically about this, but I didn't listen.

It wasn't like she had any control or not. If I'd came to California by myself or been kidnapped, I'd still be in this exact same situation – I don't know if that should've made me feel better or worse.

But I was still scared. The fighter in me wanted to tell me that all hope wasn't lost, but I knew it was lie. The game was up.

What would they do to me in here? I knew there would be experiments conducted, but would it kill me? Would death be the better option?

I wanted to curl up and cry for a good while. I wanted to lie on the floor and sob and just let the hopelessness take over me. What was the point in hoping for something, anyway? Hope was something uglier when wrenched away than never having it all.

And this was definitely a place where no-one had hope.

My cart started moving forward, and I swore silently. This couldn't be good. I'd almost liked the closed space that the cloth had offered – no, not the closed space. It was the privacy. As long as I was in here, I was hidden and unseen. I was safe.

…What a stupid way of thinking. I stopped being safe when an Eraser tackled Fang. I wouldn't be safe until I left this place.

If I left this place, that is. Right now, my chances weren't looking too good. Experiments could easily fail. I could die on the operating table, for all I knew.

I drew my legs up so that I had something to put my arms around, rocking myself forward and backwards slowly. It was a habit I'd dropped when I turned seven, but for now it was strangely comforting.

The cart stopped rolling for a moment, and I heard a room door open. There was a whoosh of air and a sudden chatter of voices. My cart rolled again and came to a stand-still.

"This is it," a woman said. "Five-oh-eight."

There'd been five hundred others before me. Where were they now? How many survived?

Bright light burst into my vision, blinding me for a second. My vision adapted quickly and I looked around the room. My eyes settled on a mirror in the top of the room, and I saw a pathetic little girl squashed in a cage looking up.

The mirror was probably a two-way, I realised. There were probably some more bastards behind that watching my every move, taking down notes.

Fury bubbled inside of me. The moment the cage door swung open, I leaped out – I didn't want any help. I lost my balance for a second, my legs suddenly getting pins and needles. I stayed upright and snarled, biting someone's hand as they put it on my shoulder.

If they were going to treat me like an animal, I might as well act like one.

Another scientist pulled me by my wrist, aided by a second. They pushed me down onto the table and I hissed at the cold. Another hand ripped away my gown, leaving me completely naked.

I was cold, but not ashamed. These weren't people looking at me – they just saw an experiment. It made all the difference of a pet or robot seeing my body – it didn't matter. These people weren't human.

The operating table, however, was freezing. I arched my back to avoid the cold, but another just pushed me down as a needle went into my arm, making my body immobile.

"Damn, she's got balls," one of the scientists said. I would've flipped them off if I could will my arm to move. Every cell in my body seemed strapped down the table, every muscle useless.

"We'll teach her the correct methods," another said as I felt something cover my nose and mouth.

Anesthesia, of course. The injection was to make me less of a problem, but they still probably wanted me uncon–