- All right, if we get two more samples of its "blood" then we should have enough to finish those arrays. -
The sounds of thinking jolted Zane out of his own thoughts, and he pressed himself against the back of his dog crate. Why wasn't this over yet? Why hadn't he been rescued? Weren't the others coming for him?
Footsteps approached the crate Zane was huddled in, and moments later, the door to the dog crate opened. An old-looking man in a white lab coat crouched over and looked in at Zane. Zane covered his face with his hands and stifled a whimper.
The whitecoat snuck a hand into the crate and pulled Zane's left hand, the one with a shunt in it, away from his face, but then the whitecoat stared at Zane's face for a second before scowling and letting Zane's hand go. The man straightened and turned back to the other two whitecoats who had followed him, snapping, "Which one of you idiots did this?"
"It bit Reilly," one of the other whitecoats offered nervously. "So he smacked it."
Zane wanted to shrink, wanted to disappear, wanted to be anywhere but here. His whole face hurt, and his left cheek especially burned. He didn't regret it though. He hated the whitecoats so much he couldn't contain it.
- Reilly! What an awful excuse for a scientist. He's not fit to work at the School. If he messes with my specimen again… -
"What's wrong with him?" The whitecoat stated, crouching again to peer in at Zane once more. "And to do that to Subject Binary of all our subjects. It's unique, something we may never make again. And we'd lost it for so long, and now we finally have it back. Paul, tell Reilly not to damage the merchandise."
"Yes, sir," the second of the two other whitecoats piped up.
The old whitecoat snaked a hand back into the dog crate, going for Zane's own hand.
Zane didn't know what to do. He wanted to fight back. But he ached so much. His face hurt, his hand with the shunt hurt, and his stomach hurt. He'd barely eaten or even drank all day, and they'd been working him so hard, making him do all sorts of exercises. Then they had tried to take his blood, but he'd gotten fed up and bit that Reilly guy and gotten hit and gotten a shunt put in his hand. Now they'd drawn his blood at least three times, and he was getting dizzy even sitting all curled up in the dog crate.
Zane wanted to cry, but he forced back the tears. He would be brave, wouldn't let the whitecoats see any weakness. He would cooperate, gain their trust. Then he would... What would Jay say? Oh, yes. He would blow this Popsicle stand.
Gingerly, Zane uncurled and scooted closer to the front of the crate, allowing the whitecoat to take his hand.
"There you go," the whitecoat soothed. "Good job. There won't be any pain. It'll be okay."
Still stifling tears, Zane turned away from the whitecoat as best he could while still allowing the man access to the shunt.
The man had told the truth. There wasn't any pain from this blood draw. Perhaps this whitecoat was nice, like Jeb Garmadon had been.
And perhaps normal humans could fly, Zane thought scathingly, shaking his head. No. He couldn't let his guard down. He would pretend to trust the whitecoats so he could better prepare for escape, but he couldn't let his guard down. He needed to escape.