Silence.

"No!" I shouted. Shiloh leaned back, looking as if I'd slapped her in the face. Her expression hardened; the glee that had suffused her persona vanished. Instead, cold determination replaced it. She beckoned at squad of Erasers.

Shiloh's voice was cold. "Take him to #48-0."

"No, no, no," I whispered. "Please, God, if you're out there, not #48-0. Please no."

"Actually, no," Shiloh smiled, grinning nastily. "Take the Asian girl."

"No!"

"I knew you'd see it my way. You have three days to think," Shiloh stated, laughing humourlessly. "If not, a fate unimaginable awaits your darling girl."

Dread knotted in my stomach. I shut my eyes tightly as they bore me away.

Kichiro snarled. He struggled to get free of the Erasers holding him, but to no avail. Their grip felt like steel manacles, and they easily outweighed him by over one hundred and fifty pounds. The Eraser on his left kicked down the door leading to their containment room. They were, surprisingly, no longer housed in Kanine Kampers. Instead, they were faced with the luxuries of solid metal cages with a solid base, solid top, and solid bars on all sides. The only part left free was the door, and that was secured with a good old fashioned lock, albeit the most complicated one known to the majority of mankind.

The Eraser to Kichiro's right smashed his hairy mitt into Kichiro's face. He cried out and staggered into the other Eraser. The man-beast growled and pushed him roughly to the floor, kicking him with a steel capped boot. Kichiro sucked in a breath. The pain was intense. A sudden blow to the back of his head sent off a flash of white. A claw descended, and Kichiro rolled out of the way. The vicious fingers of bone sliced open three parallel lines across his cheek. Kichiro pushed off the floor and lashed out with a low leg sweep.

The Eraser retaliated and picked him up by the back of his hospital gown. With a swift movement, the wolf man hurled Kichiro into the opposite wall.

"Kichiro!" Eila shouted. "Nine 'o-clock!"

He blindly lashed out, hitting flesh as he tried to wipe the blood from his eyes. Something picked him up by the front of his gown.

Stinking Eraser breath clouded into his face. The Eraser smirked and chuckled.

"Never stood a chance against us, birdie," he chuckled. Kichiro snarled, and his vision washed red. It felt as if a volcano of fury and rage erupted inside, and he tensed. He vaguely registered Mist's widened eyes, her gasp of horror; Bobby's expression of terror. Eila stiffened and stared, open mouthed. Rhaksha shut her eyes and curled into the furthest corner of her cage.

Kichiro sprang, swiping at the Eraser's eyes with his claws. Fur bristled along his arms, and Kichiro leapt at the wolf-mutant's throat. He ended it with a bite to the throat, crushing the other mutant's windpipe. The warm blood flooded his mouth, salty and hot and smelling like life. It felt good.

With his first kill still losing its warmth under his feet, Kichiro howled for more.

Kichiro snarled and sprung from his crouch, taking down one of the other Erasers. It went quickly after that. There was the spring, and the clawing, the fight, the kill. The feel of blood against his skin, down his throat. The animalistic abandon, the primeval hunger, reigned.

The animal taking over his mind lashed out with all the insanity of a starving survivalist. When the corpses stopped piling up, Kichiro hurled himself against the bars, reaching for Mist's throat. Mist screamed and kicked out with both of her feet. Kichiro howled and recoiled, but crashed against the bars again, eyes wild with hunger. His canines protruded over his bottom lip, coated in a sheen of fresh blood. Sweat matted his hair and he was almost entirely covered in blue-black fur.

"Kichiro!" Eila shouted. "No! Kichiro, listen to me!"

Kichiro froze, cocking his head like an animal that did not fully understand the command it had been given.

"This is not you, Kichiro," Eila continued. "Snap out of it! You are a person, not an animal."

He snarled and sprang at Eila. She screamed, protecting her face with her arms. Kichiro froze as he saw the terror filling her eyes. He stared at the blood on his hands, and the blood on the floor. It came trickling back, little by little. The animal gave way, and the boy realised with horror what he had done.

The horror of what he had become dawned upon him.

His hands were still outstretched through the bars, reaching for Eila. The fur and the canines were gone, but the blood remained. He had wanted to taste her, to feel her life and her fear.

A stinging pain in the back of his neck. Then, nothing.

A hand reached into the cage and shook me awake. Sleep dulled my reactions. I groggily sat up, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. A pair of bright eyes sparkled faintly in the darkness. The figure to whom they belonged was swathed in black from head to toe. They held a ring of keys, and a few packs were on the floor behind them. I could tell. The surgery they'd given me just after Whisper... passed, seven months ago. The surgery enhanced my night vision.

The ring of keys clinked and finally, the figure selected one and unlocked my cage with it. I opened my mouth, but the figure quickly placed a gloved finger on my lips, gesturing for silence. They handed me a key and pointed at Eila's cage. They headed over to Mist's cage and unlocked the cage, gently shaking Mist's shoulder to wake her. I opened Eila's cage and shook her awake.

Eila came to instantly, and I gestured for her to go and wake Kichiro and Rhaksha up. Mist woke Bobby and hauled him to his feet. Eial shook Kichiro from his fitful sleep. He bolted upright, eyes wide. The figure in black opened the door and stole down the left corridor, beckoning to us. I hesitated, but Mist looked at me seriously. I frowned slightly, but she gave me a hard look, all full of steel and determination. I relented.

We followed the figure down the corridor, up and down, over, under, sideways, through a vent for goodness' sake. We finally hit a door, which the figure muscled open. It lead outside. The night sky sparkled, the stars standing out clearly with no light pollution to dim their brightness. The figure gestured for us to leave. The flock had no second thoughts.

We were out.

Seven months ago...

Every shaky breath felt like he was swallowing fire. There was pain everywhere, stabbing into his senses like blades. Every heartbeat felt like a stab from a knife with backward serrations, and the light from above was bright, burningly, blindingly so. Low voices conversed nearby, and cold metal secured both his wrists to the bed. A monitor beeped steadily in the background, and pens licked.

"Vitals are good."

"So are- wait, is this...?"

"Neural activity is increasing. The subject is coming out of its coma?"

He sucked in a lungful of sterilised air stinking of antiseptics. With horror, he slowly recollected the last events in his mind. No. No, it couldn't be. Faint impressions of white flashed through his mind. His breathing grew fast and shallow; the beeping of the monitor crescendoed and accelerated. He thrashed, kicking and straining and screaming with pain. The voices rose to shouts of panic.

Fresh blood spilled over his torso as stitches split and pink lines of scar tissue re-opened. Pain, panic, terror.

Whisper's eyes flew open.