CHAPTER 4 - DEATH, MEMORY, AND DAMAGED GOODS

SUMMARY:

Ari's an adult, he can take responsibility for his mistakes—and he knows he made a lot of them during this mission. That said, he's not entirely sure his punishment fits his crimes.

You are aware that every problem you encountered today was the result of your hubris, correct?

Ari groaned, dropping his head back against the metal wall of the van. Of course he was aware. Everything that had gone wrong was very obviously his fault. He'd been confidently digging his grave since 10 A.M.. The only thing he'd done "right" in hours was prematurely pop a pill. Still, that didn't mean he wanted to acknowledge his place in this mess, especially not now. He'd be forced to face the consequences shortly anyway—why couldn't he just have a few minutes, maybe half an hour, of satisfaction in a job completed?

Is a job really done if it's not done well? the Voice quipped.

Hands balling into fists in his soaking lap, Ari angrily thought back, I'm still bringing her in, aren't I? That's what they wanted me to do, and I'm doing it.

Damaged goods…The Voice had no inflection, yet its message was still somehow dripping with goading pessimism.

"I liked you better when you were gone," Ari snarled aloud, suddenly so frustrated that he couldn't lock it in. Still, he couldn't help but look down at Ivy's brittle body at his feet. She was in bad shape, and he was the source of most of her problems too. As he watched, her head lifted from the ground just a little before she slipped into a coughing fit, tiny aerated droplets of water spraying the space just above her before falling back onto her bruised face. Her eyes never opened, and she barely moved. Ari could hear her breathing from where he sat—it was raspy, shallow, and each breath came a little too slowly. All of the power he'd seen in her earlier, all of the intensity and drive that he'd admired, all of the fire had been doused. Literally. By him.

Looking at her now kind of made him queasy. Even though her cinnamon hair was plastered to her head and neck and her emerald eyes weren't shining, she was still beautiful, so it wasn't that she'd suddenly become gross. Ari just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd ruined her already. He'd only been near her for a couple of hours, and he'd already managed to completely obliterate her spirit. It felt…bad? He felt queasy because looking at her made him think about himself. He knew he should be better than this. Or he should at least commit to and embrace being worse. As it was, he kept destroying things that should have been good before he could really enjoy them, and today Ivy suffered the consequences of his recklessness. He felt…guilt?

You should feel guilty. And you ought to be worried. Yes, you're bringing her in as requested, but most of your plans for her were based on her long-term value. You believed they would want to keep and use her. What will you do if they see the hypothermic, battered mess you've made and decide that her value has been reduced beyond repair? That she isn't worth saving?

Ari hadn't thought about that in the slightest. Now his guilt and frustration with the Voice were augmented by a familiar sense of panic and anxious anger. He really had ruined another good thing. If he brought her back like this, would they even want her? Sure, the bruises and damaged wing would heal. But if she—wait, did you say 'hypothermic'?

Yes. She clearly has hypothermia. Ari ran a compulsive hand through his hair, trying not to blow a fuse as the blatant condescension in the Voice's nonexistent tone hit him. His hair was still wet but had mostly solidified in a sort of crunchy version of his normal unkempt style. It took him a second to realize that the crunchiness was probably ice. He wasn't cold, just cool enough to be mildly uncomfortable, but that was normal—his temperature ran much hotter than just about everyone's. He hadn't even considered that Ivy might be freezing, let alone suffering as a result of the temperature. Ari just thought she was getting over nearly drowning and the reasonable complications of that.

"How can you tell that she has hypothermia?" he asked, speaking out loud again because he couldn't think the words coherently enough to feel confident they'd get through.

Well, you knocked her into a frozen Great Lake, so it's hardly a leap. You just noticed the way she's breathing—or isn't breathing, to be specific. When you pulled her out of the lake, she could hardly speak, and when she did, she slurred or mumbled. She also didn't fight back or protest being taken at all, which should have been your first clue. She's lost consciousness, which doesn't bode well. Check her heart rate. Ari bit his lip and reached for her wrist. Check it from her carotid. Her extremities will have gone numb, and that might affect the pulse.

Redirecting his hand towards her throat, Ari took a slow breath to tame his own heart's irate beating. He pressed his index and middle finger against the side of her clammy neck until he felt the gentlest of repeating thumps, then lifted his left wrist up to see his watch. When the seconds hit zero, he started to count. After fifteen seconds, he'd felt only nine beats—if he multiplied that by four, he got thirty-six. Her heart rate was only 36 beats per minute. An average human heart rate was between 60 - 100 beats per minute. Ari's pulse generally put him on the high end of that scale, but mostly as a result of his inability to remain calm and some aspect of his medication. He had no idea what a normal heart rate would be for Ivy, but he felt sure that 36 beats per minute was low.

She's bradycardic, which means she's likely somewhere between moderate and severe hypothermia. Her heart rate is still regular, though, so you've got some time before she goes into cardiac arrest.

The Voice made cardiac arrest seem as inevitable as a birthday. Ari's heart sped up as his annoyance and panic ratcheted through the roof. Leaning away from Ivy's stiff body and pressing his palms over his eyes, he muttered, "What am I supposed to do?"

Learn a lesson about pushing people into frozen lakes.

I swear to God, if you don't start being useful when I want you to be, I'll blow my own head off, Ari thought vindictively. He hadn't died that way yet. He had no interest in ever dying again, of course. In fact, he was terrified by the prospect, but maybe it would be worth it if it meant getting rid of the Voice again.

Don't try to threaten me and don't be so dramatic. Conduction. Convection. Radiation. Evaporation. This whole thing was giving Ari a headache. How had he made such a mess of such a simple task? This day had been so promising. All he had to do was catch a mutant moonlighter and bring her home. At the end of the day, he would get a new toy and have another successful collection under his belt. So how did that toy end up a first-aid dummy?

"Conduction…" he muttered, trying hard to recall the meaning.

Conduction is the transfer of heat between two parts of a stationary system. Ari scowled, knowing full well that the Voice had given him a simplified definition. Is the floor of the van cold?

Ari reached down to touch it, even though the answer seemed obvious. Yes.

Then you need to get her off of it. Are there any warmer surfaces that you can put her on?

Shifting around awkwardly to consider the small space, Ari responded. No.

Then you should hold her. Your body heat will help. Normally, Ari would have been delighted to scoop Ivy up. Getting her on his lap was his prime directive. But right now, she looked so fragile…and he was still dripping from his dip in the lake. That doesn't matter. A heat source only has to be warmer than the hypothermic person to donate heat. But first, address everything you can do to improve the situation.

Okay, okay…Ari thought, distracted enough to not be indignant, and moving on to convection. He didn't know the definition of it, and he didn't particularly want to learn, but he thought he got the gist. Ivy's body needed to be sheltered. It already was by the windowless walls of the van, but the environment was still generally a cold, damp one. He needed it to be warmer.

"Hey, you," Ari called to his partner through the little barred window to the cab. Now was not the time to find out if he had a name. "Does the heat run back here in the containment portion?"

His partner's brown eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. "I don't think they usually worry about keeping the prisoners comfortable." Ari ground his teeth together. Of course. Generally, they sought the opposite.

"Then turn the heat on as high as it'll go and angle all of the vents at the divider window. She's got hypothermia."

"Poor little popsicle." The partner sounded amused, but he hit some buttons and flipped some switches, redirected the vents on the dashboard, and Ari felt a small change in the airflow. It was a start.

Radiation…Ivy would lose any heat that she had left if he didn't cover her up and keep her insulated. But Ari didn't have anything to cover her with. He had his own suit jacket, but it was soaked. He'd had the trashed winter coat stashed away, but Ivy had seemingly ditched it at the pier. There wasn't anything else of use in the van, just the standard tech equipment and an assortment of restraints. Okay, move on. Evaporation…Ari understood how evaporation worked but didn't know why it was a bad thing here. Wasn't it beneficial for the water dripping off of Ivy's body to evaporate, leaving her dry?

Because she's so damp, she will suffer from evaporative heat loss. So yes, she'll dry off some, but she'll also get colder. You need to try to towel her off as much as you can by hand and remove her wet clothing, said the swallowed hard. Remove her clothing, huh? Another one of the things he'd been excitedly awaiting. This wasn't how he'd imagined it, but if it could save her life… However, if you don't have any dry alternative clothing, it's best to leave her as she is.

Ari gnashed his teeth and grumbled, pulling his already extended hands back from the hem of Ivy's new sweatshirt. The Voice had backtracked like that just to rile him up—he was sure of it—and it had worked. Of course, Ari didn't have any dry clothing in the back of the van, but up in the cab, his partner was still fully dressed and had not gone swimming…

There isn't enough time to have him pull over and strip. It's more important for you to keep the girl from getting worse right now, and to get her medical attention as quickly as possible. Assuming anyone will care enough about her to put in the time.

Huffing and angrily accepting the fact that he was essentially useless, powerless, and could do nothing to repair the damage he'd dealt, Ari scooted up by the barred window to shout into the cab again. "How much longer until we get back?"

"Can't really tell because of all the traffic, but the GPS says less than half an hour," the partner responded.

That sounded like a lifetime. "Drive faster," Ari barked, hands clenching into fists again.

His partner chuckled. "Whatever you say, Batchelder." Ari settled back down on the bench and jerked his jacket off, disregarding the slight intensification of his discomfort. Then he examined Ivy's rigid body, ignoring the resultant self-reflective queasiness, and decided to pick her up just the way he had carried her before. If he held her like a baby, only her feet would have to touch the freezing metal of the bench seat. He could also prop her up against his shoulder and chest, leaving his arms somewhat available to serve other purposes.

Be careful when you pick her up. Moving her too much could induce cardiac arrest.

You are literally the worst, Ari thought hatefully as he leaned down and slipped one hand under Ivy's shoulders and one under her knees. He would normally just scoop her up like that, using momentum to lift. Instead, he handled her as delicately as an explosive and focused all of his energy on his biceps and forearms to practically curl her into his grip like a barbell before leaning back and carrying her along. Once he was seated stably, he lowered her ass into the valley of his thighs and shifted his arm behind her, hooking her to his chest as her head dropped limply on his shoulder. He let gravity straighten her legs—her booted feet slid further down the bench until finally coming to a stiff halt with her knees still slightly bent and turned out.

And her heart kept beating, it seemed. Ari could feel her sluggish, shallow breath against the side of his neck. It was so soft and so weak that it was nearly imperceptible, but still hearty enough to send shivers up Ari's spine. With his free hand, he reached for his soaked suit jacket and then clumsily draped it over the front of Ivy's body. She didn't acknowledge that she'd been picked up and repositioned in the slightest. She could have passed for dead, which seemed worrisome.

It is worrisome. If she continues to decline or remains unconscious for too long, there is a risk of brain damage, informed the Voice. Ari wasn't sure how much he believed that or cared about her getting brain-damaged, but he still decided to try and wake the fading creature in his arms. He reached up and then paused, watching. When he only looked at her face, he didn't feel quite as queasy—the bruises were there, of course, but so were the most endearingly excessive freckles he'd ever seen. The most decadent eyelashes. The most defined eyebrows. The most perfect looking mouth, open ever so slightly…

Ari bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and shook his head. Later. He extended his hand until it reached her cheek and then paused again, feeling like an idiot. Her cheek was so soft, and it fit perfectly into the cupped palm of his hand. For a second, he inhaled, forgetting his antagonism and anxiety. How nice it would be to just hold her like that and stare. Maybe she should stay unconscious for a little bit longer, just to soothe him…

But if he brought her back with brain damage on top of everything else, he'd probably get himself decapitated. So, somewhat reluctantly, Ari pulled his hand back and returned it with a jolting slap. Ivy remained motionless, except her head whipped against his shoulder. Ari tried shaking her from behind with the arm that propped her upright, but nothing happened. She didn't go into cardiac arrest though, so, silver linings.

Ari pulled back his hand again as panic started to bubble up into his throat, and slapped her across the cheek once more. He hit a little harder than he'd intended to that time and winced as her mouth fell further open and her head bounced against his shoulder reiteratively—but this time her eyes fluttered too, long dark lashes brushing against the damp fabric of his shirt.

"Hey," Ari spoke. "Hey, Ivy. Wake up." He didn't really know what to say to hold the attention of a hypothermic freak, but he liked saying her name out loud. She blinked slowly before the lids of her eyes settled somewhere halfway between open and closed. "Wake up. Ivy, you need to stay conscious." Ari jostled her from beneath again, and her face shifted a little—she scowled, which seemed like a good sign. Ari found himself grinning now, and he could feel that a little bit of his anxiety had dwindled. She wasn't as dead as she looked.

Then, after acknowledging his relief, Ari became irritated and his smile slipped away. He hated caring about things. It just made everything harder and more frustrating. He didn't like feeling concern for this miscellaneous girl—he just wanted to be able to play with her, use her until he got bored. Feeling guilty for demolishing her was already weighing on him, but if he genuinely felt better for seeing her improve, he was in too deep. So, he had to back down and take a second to remind himself to focus on what really mattered: self-preservation. You're only concerned because her healthy return means less punishment for you. This is just survivalism, Ari thought pointedly, shaking his head and shirking any interest in Ivy's actual well-being.

At that moment, Ivy turned her head to the side, deliberately burying it in Ari's shoulder, and a tiny squeak snuck out of her. Ari clenched his jaw shut furiously to avoid smiling again. Why did she have to do that? She needed to stop being cute like that. But her dark emerald eyes were closing, so Ari shook her once again. "Stay awake," he asserted. "You're going to get brain damage." She seemed unfazed by that potentiality and let her head roll back down his arm a little so that she was looking straight up at the side of his face. She was still kind of glaring, but her vision seemed unfocused—as though she wasn't really seeing anything—yet her gaze was undeniably piercing and brought uncomfortable heat to Ari's cheeks. She did appear to have strong feelings about whatever it was she saw.

As if on cue, and through a mind-boggling exertion of energy, Ivy lifted a hand from where it had been folded on her chest and extended it towards Ari's face. His suit jacket slipped off of her, and Ari froze completely. His instinct was to question this, and to perhaps anticipate malicious actions…but she'd been unconscious and appeared nearly dead not moments ago—what damage could she do? The backs of her cold fingers connected with his skin slowly and incoherently, shakily skimming across his left cheek. Ari remained utterly motionless, stunned and conflicted, as her knuckles grazed his cheekbone and then slid lower. Even though Ivy's motions were kind of jerky, like each centimeter of progress required a whole new burst of life, her touch was gentle, and Ari couldn't ignore how abnormal and fantastic it felt. Her fingers unfurled and her thumb brushed across his lower lip and Ari shut his eyes. It was such a small connection, but the combination of her icy hands caressing his flushed face and the steady puff of her still very weak breath against his bare neck sent electric tingles racing through Ari's body. He hadn't felt anything like this since…well, he didn't remember.

Ivy's fingers continued to extend and drift across his countenance until they'd reached as far as possible, and all of a sudden, she was cupping his cheek just the way he'd held hers minutes before. Ari lost it—a small, soft moan escaped him before he could lock it down.

God, you're pathetic, he thought, leaning desperately, hungrily into the soft, cool concave of her palm. You're a touch-starved piece of shit. Ivy's hand slid to his jaw, followed it for an inch or two, and stroked down to his neck. Ari kept his eyes pressed tightly closed and bit the inside of his cheek again to stifle a second moan. His imagination was rapidly escalating the situation and he could feel his heart racing. He was suddenly staggeringly aware of just how fantastic it felt to have her on his lap. He didn't know why Ivy was touching him like this voluntarily, but he wanted her to keep doing it for forever and all over. He wanted—

Ivy's hand pressed against Ari's windpipe just firmly enough to drag him back to reality with a cough. His eyes flew open. She was still glowering up at him, her chilling hand and extended arm trembling as it pushed at his throat. It certainly ruined the moment, but she didn't have the strength to actually hurt him, so Ari just scowled back at her and reached for her wrist. He caught it, his fingers encircling it completely, pulled her hand away, and pushed it firmly against her chest—it was hard not to snap the brittle joint in the process. Ivy never broke from her glare, but her arms remained folded when he released her wrist, and Ari heaved an irked sigh.

He looked away from her face again and stared at the opposite wall of the van, cursing his foolish lust and squelching his resentful desire to just toss her body back onto the floor. Of course she hadn't been caressing his face affectionately—she had been reaching for his throat and just missed! Of course she didn't want to touch him—she wanted him dead!

Well, this will make for an interesting relationship dynamic, said the Voice, apparently amused by Ari's ability to massively misconstrue a murder attempt. However, the Voice was right. It would add a totally new element. Ari assumed (usually correctly) that many people wanted him dead, but he'd never been in a position to thwart that desire before. He thought he might derive great pleasure in knowing that his existence would frustrate Ivy, even if it meant that she'd never reciprocate his affection.

After all, her affection didn't need to be voluntary.

Still, Ari couldn't shake the feeling of her gentle fingers on his face. He wasn't used to such tenderness—he was used to getting his nose broken and his face beaten in and his jaw dislocated and his lip split and his eye scratched and his throat punched and…well, this had felt so different that it was special, whether Ivy had intended it to be or not.

That said, if she'd been reaching for his throat all along and had just felt her way to it by touching his face, why didn't she take the opportunity to gouge out his eyes? It would have been easier than choking him. Was she just unaware of her current health issues and diminished strength? And did that then imply that she was normally strong enough to choke a full-grown man to death with one hand? Also, if she'd used his face as a roadmap to his throat, why hadn't she redirected right away? She should have immediately aimed down but had still brushed across his mouth and other cheek before course-correcting. Maybe she really had willingly touched him a bit extra.

Ari grinned wickedly, deciding to consider the encounter an overall success. He still didn't want to care about Ivy at all, but he longed to be idolized. Was it likely? No. But he could pretend.

You're a fool, chastised the Voice.

Fuck off, Ari thought instantly, satisfied with his snappy response. He was still fuming—at the Voice, at Ivy, at himself—but it was muted now. A slow burn.

The Voice remained silent for a second, as though waiting for Ari to continue on a tirade or realize he'd missed something. Finally, it gave up waiting and finished its point. You're a fool for looking away.

Breath hitching in his throat, Ari snapped his attention back to Ivy's face. Her eyes were fully closed yet again. "Shit!" he grunted, shaking her body rapidly for the third time. Ivy's head bounced and rolled back and forth across his arm and shoulder, but she didn't respond. Ari shook her again, a little more violently now—like a child with a stuffed animal. Still no response. Heart suddenly speeding again, Ari pressed his fingers to her carotid to recheck her pulse. It took too long to find it—it was so faint. After shifting her weight a smidge to see his watch, Ari counted. 33 beats per minute. She was getting worse.

"How much farther?" Ari bellowed in the direction of the cab as he adjusted Ivy's body in his arms and clutched her closer to him for greater warmth. Her soft mouth pressed sloppily against his collarbone, and he fought back a shiver.

His partner was quiet for a beat before responding. "About fifteen minutes."

Snarling viciously, Ari snapped, "I thought I told you to drive faster." The partner didn't respond, but Ari felt the van accelerate. Good.

If you shift, you can provide greater warmth, advised the Voice. However, it may be too late. Ari growled and felt his stomach turn at the thought. Not the thought of it being too late for Ivy, but at the prospect of having to shift just to keep her from dying. Or getting worse, whatever. He couldn't come up with words strong enough to express how much he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to take on the added responsibility of becoming a monster to fix a problem he'd created as a man. It made him cringe. It made him want to stop existing altogether. But he didn't know how to articulate that feeling in a way that made sense, so he defaulted to lying and tried to justify his disinterest in other ways.

I don't want her to see me like that yet, he shared. A partial lie, emphasis on "yet." He wanted to reveal his other side at a time when it would benefit him. He wanted to scare the shit out of Ivy, to make her as compliant as possible.

She's unconscious, the Voice responded, and it doesn't seem like that will change anytime soon.

Ari's throat started to get dry as he pulled another excuse out of his ass. I could move her too much in the process of shifting. You said moving her could induce cardiac arrest, remember?

You will not move her too much. Was that a command or a reassurance?

I like this shirt. It'll get trashed. That was true. He did like the cut of the dress shirt. It was loose enough to be comfortable but fitted enough to make him look menacing. However, his closet was currently full of the exact same shirt in a variety of different neutral colors. Shredding one every now and then was anticipated and budgeted for.

Ari, it's just a shirt. Is she really worth so little? the Voice chided. Ari grimaced, fully aware that he was being ridiculous at that point. But was she really worth such emotional and physical discomfort? He refused to care about her, but he fixated on her face and felt the same cringeworthy queasiness as before. How much would the queasiness intensify if she died? Would he feel worse if he accidentally killed her? Or would he just be disappointed that he'd killed her so soon, before taking advantage of her the way he'd hoped to? Either way, he didn't want to risk the emotional discomfort of extended self-reflection if Ivy died. Ari rattled her body around in his arms one more time for good measure and waited. When she remained unconscious and unresponsive, he bit his lip and accepted fate.

The shift only took a few seconds, but it felt like being blasted open, stuffed full of dense muscle, taut tendons, and extra bones, and stitched back together simultaneously all across the entire expanse of Ari's large body. His face elongated and ripped open to make room for 10 additional teeth and the rapid growth of the original 32, in addition to the shift of his nose into a muzzle with a sense of smell 100 times greater than an average human's. His fingernails lengthened and sharpened into claws, as did his toenails within his suddenly too-tight dress shoes. His body stretched and widened until he had to hunch over Ivy's frame to keep his head and now pointed ears from pressing against the roof of the van. His bones fractured and healed at new angles and lengths instantaneously. A thick mix of black, grey, and red-ish brown fur erupted across his skin, covering every inch of him. On top of all of that, the sensory overload was exhausting. The sounds of the cars on the highway around them suddenly became overwhelming and nearly drowned out the sounds inside the van, like Ivy's sluggish breathing, the drumming of his partner's fingers on the steering wheel, and the high-pitched whine of feedback from the tracking device on the dashboard. The smells became overpowering too—Ari could catch and identify the scent of the perfume of a lady two cars over, and Ivy reeked of the earthy musk of lake water. He could see more clearly in the dingy light of the windowless van as well—the purplish bruises on Ivy's face stood out much more in contrast to her stark pallor now. And, of course, Ari's shirt split at the seams, tearing open widest at his shoulders and around his ribs. His pants ripped this time too.

The whole process of shifting was dreadful and disorienting, albeit instantaneous…unlike the rest of the car ride back to the base. It was tedious, slow, and uneventful in a way that could only foreshadow further discomfort. Ari thought that the only thing missing was some generic elevator music.

Ivy never woke up again, which was likely a very bad sign for her health. Ari found himself anxious and angry still—both emotions intensified by his wolf-ish nature—but he was almost grateful that she was unconscious now. One less thing to worry about. Even so, he held her limp body as cautiously as he could and even checked her pulse again. It had dropped another beat or two.

The two men and the waterlogged girl arrived at the base just under fifteen minutes later. Thankfully, the partner was smart enough to pull the van right up next to the door rather than park it properly in the garage. However, as he unlocked and opened the containment portion to let Ari out, he laughed and said, "I'll get her feet, you get her arms? Y'know, like a spit roast?"

Ari would have chuckled at the likely intentional double entendre and might have indulged the idea if he weren't so anxious. Instead, he leaned forward, curving his huge, shaggy body around Ivy's unresponsive one, and started to scoot down the metal bench seat inch by inch toward the doors. "Just go get a stretcher," Ari ordered, finally reaching the end of the seat and extending a leg to slip down to the ground. "And a doctor." If he wasn't covered in fur, he would have gotten goosebumps. Willingly calling on a doctor was something he generally avoided, but now? In the face of inevitable punishment? Yikes. Ari briefly considered just tossing Ivy onto a stretcher and attempting to ding-dong-ditch her on the doorstep.

However, it was his doorstep, and he had nowhere else to go but in.

Besides, his partner had already dashed off to do Ari's bidding before Ari had a chance to reconsider, so he gulped in a lungful of soberingly cold evening air, adjusted Ivy's weight in his arms, and headed in.

The partner met him just past the atrium with a rolling cot and a full team of paramedics. Ari tried, genuinely tried to stay calm as one paramedic immediately probed, "What happened?"

"She's got hypothermia. Her heart's really slow," Ari growled back, setting her down on the stretcher as delicately as he could in the face of his pounding heart and awkward wolf limbs. The warring emotions that Ari'd been dealing with all day—panic and rage—started to wriggle around inside him, fighting for dominance in the face of this situation.

"What happened?" a different medic repeated as they strapped Ivy down to the cot and started back down the hall, further into the building.

Ari felt his heart speeding up with every step, but he kept pace with the medical team and continued to try to remain calm. The medic's tone was accusatorial, and Ari fought back the defensive urge to literally bite off the man's head. "Fell in the lake. Her wing broke too." Both true statements, but lacking some important Ari-centric details.

"Why didn't you call ahead?" another paramedic questioned. "We could have prepared to treat her more effectively in advance." Ari glared and shrugged, unable to come up with a valid excuse for being an idiot and now resisting the desire to shove his cell phone up this woman's—

"She needs to go through decontamination first," one of the doctors said to her team, ignoring Ari now that he'd proven useless. "Porter, check her vitals. Lowery, prep a room for hemodialysis. McCall, gather the materials for a saline IV and irrigation. Find an oxygen mask, HME, and humidifier too. Sharpless, get me as many blankets as you can."

Although he didn't understand 80% of that exchange, Ari still kept pace and angrily insinuated himself. "I should go through decon too. I can help you with—"

"No." The same doctor cut him off and looked at him with a condescending stare. "Use the other decontamination chamber. You've done enough." Ari stopped up short in confusion and resentment, but the team kept walking. He didn't dare argue—and he didn't honestly want to spend any more time with the doctors than necessary anyway—but after holding Ivy for what seemed like such a long time, Ari's heavy arms felt too light. He looked down at them, flexed his massive clawed mitts, and let them fall to his sides. He'd get used to feeling empty again soon.

Look on the bright side, Ari. The Voice spoke quietly, as though trying to prod him gently in the right emotional direction without actively interfering. Ari watched the paramedics roll Ivy farther down the hall before they hooked a right turn down an adjacent hallway that led to the larger decontamination chamber and medical wing. Nothing about this situation felt "bright." Just think deeper, for once. They still took her. She might be almost dead, but they took her to medical to rehabilitate her anyway. That means that she's still of value. They still want her.

Oh. Ari had gotten so caught up in the all-consuming internal battle of indignation and dread that he'd briefly forgotten part of what he was so anxious about—whether or not Ivy, in her current Ari-inflicted condition, was worth anything to Itex. It seemed she still was, so their plans for her must have been much more serious and developed than he'd realized. Though that didn't bode well for Ivy, and potentially meant that Ari's time with her might be more limited than anticipated, he couldn't help but close his eyes with a sigh of relief. If they were working to fix her and didn't just discard her, it meant that Ari hadn't completely bungled his assignment. That meant that his punishment wouldn't be nearly as severe. It also meant that all of his schemes weren't entirely ruined.

Exhaling once more, Ari rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. It took him a minute or so to gain control again, but when he finally forced his heart rate back to nearly normal, he made the return shift to human. The whole process from before played in reverse. Fangs retracted into his shortening jaw bone. Fur shrank back into his skin like water poured into sand. Bones broke and yet again healed into the proper shape. The supplementary strength and muscle he'd gained were ripped from his body, replaced by fresh aches and near debilitating exhaustion. Ari's senses died down in comparison, and he heaved another relieved sigh—the fluorescent lights weren't quite as blinding now, the antiseptic smell wasn't quite as potent.

Shifting back to human was often harder. It took more control, required stability. It also hurt less in the moment but more in the long run—all of Ari's regular aches, overused muscles, tense neck and back, and stiff left knee returned in force, compounded once more by a fresh headache. Ari felt grossly hungover, like he'd downed an entire bottle of undiluted Everclear before being rolled down seven flights of stairs. Hungover to the point of "would it be better to be dead now?" He would recover, and that sensation would fade very quickly, but shifting forced his body to burn through his pain meds faster than normal and that didn't help. He needed another dose, and then everything would be more manageable.

Groaning, Ari remembered that he'd left his pill bottle in the console of the van. He'd have to go back outside, assuming his partner hadn't already taken the vehicle all the way back to the parking garage. Where was he anyway? Ari wrapped one arm across his midsection to hold himself together, but his hand slipped through and got stuck in one of the rips in the side of his shirt. As he angrily jerked it back out and stumbled a little, a voice spoke from just behind him.

"Three. Million. Dollars." The voice paused between each word to add uncomfortable emphasis. Ari jumped, startled, and barely managed to stay upright as he recognized the grating voice and realized just how close its owner was. He shuffled around slowly to face the speaker, sobering up at a disturbing rate as a result of his alarm. In a doorway, just a few feet away, lounged a middle-aged man in a long white lab coat. Ari stifled a groan. He didn't know this man's name and he'd never needed to, but their interactions were frequent and visceral enough that it almost seemed like he should. At least then Ari would be able to better assign his dread. "Three million dollars in bribes—and counting—to cover up the mess you've made today," the man continued, stepping away from the doorframe, into the hall, and towards Ari's frozen form. The man didn't necessarily sound mad, just unimpressed. Ari cringed, averting his eyes from the doctor's and focusing on a miscellaneous linoleum tile to hide his discomfort. The control he'd gotten over his heart rate only a minute ago was gone, but now he couldn't tell if his heart was pounding like a drum or if it'd frozen too—the familiar beating was drowned out by a rushing sound in his head.

Voice? Voice, now would be a great time for some useful advice, Ari thought, hating himself for seeking help. His palms started to sweat. The Voice remained silent. Ari decided to try something new. Instead of being combative, he would attempt an apology.

"I'm…sorry," he muttered. The words felt foreign and unnatural on his tongue, and he still refused to meet the doctor's eye. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to…? To fly at a visible altitude and risk exposing your abilities to an entire city? To recklessly land in front of a crowd of commuters and leave your wings open long enough for plenty of them to get nice, candid photos of you, making you traceable? Or to display and nearly destroy a valuable asset just to stroke your ego?" the doctor said in a chiding tone.

Ego!? Ari winced. "Look, I didn't think—"

"Clearly," interrupted the man, cutting Ari off and instantly derailing his train of thought. "It seems you've given up thinking altogether, Batchelder. Your father would be disappointed." Ari's stomach twisted, and he was suddenly aware of the internal war between fury and dread yet again. He absolutely dreaded what was coming next, but being heckled and shamed tilted his scale just a bit too far towards fury. Bringing his dad into it was the last straw.

Jolting upright, Ari snapped his attention to the whitecoat's eyes. "Shut up, you piece of shit," Ari snarled, flinging his trembling arm forward to clip the man's shoulder, knocking him back a step. "How about you go fuck yourself instead of wasting time on me? Piece of fucking shit." Ari's whole body was shaking with adrenaline, the way it sometimes does when you suddenly let yourself shout what you've been thinking for ages. He lurched forward towards the now retreating doctor, ready to attack again. "You're the most pathetic—"

Ari's whole body seized up. He felt two tiny pinches on his back, and every muscle spasmed outward from those origin points, rippling across his frame in a rapid wave. It wasn't as painful as shifting into his inhuman form, but it was just startling enough in the moment that Ari crumpled. His already wobbly knees gave, and he dropped to the cold linoleum like a string-severed puppet.

He was getting really tired of being interrupted.

Seconds later, his body relaxed and his head spun. He clutched at it, trying to get over his annoyance at being tased and the subsequent disorientation. "Fuck you," he mumbled defeatedly as the doctor's shoes came into view again.

"Batchelder, don't you ever learn? After all these years?"

"No," Ari growled back belligerently, but he didn't make any other moves. He didn't feel like explaining himself to this man, but of course he learned. Ari knew exactly what the results of his various actions would be. He knew that he'd probably just made his punishment worse. It wasn't a matter of knowledge, just a matter of pattern. And now pattern dictated that he sit there until told to do otherwise.

The doctor shook his head, disappointed. "Such a waste of resources. Come along, boy. It's time for your treatment." He stepped around Ari and continued down the hall, away from the atrium. Ari started to stand up but his spine arched involuntarily, yanking him back as someone, presumably the person that had fired the taser, ripped out the two barbed probes at once.

Gnashing his teeth and ignoring the small trickle of hot blood that snaked down his back to the waistline of his pants, Ari climbed to his feet and turned to face his partner, who still held the spent taser cartridge in hand.

"Sorry, Batchelder. Just doing what I'm told," said the partner somewhat genuinely, shrugging.

Ari bit his lip and shook his head. It wasn't a surprise to see his supposed partner at the end of the gun. He knew not to trust or count on anyone, but for some reason, they seemed to reinforce that lesson regularly. Wordlessly, Ari pushed past the betrayer, glad he hadn't wasted any time learning the man's name, and followed after the doctor.

The doctor strode casually down the hall, angling towards the elevator that would carry them to one of the sub-levels. Ari followed like a wooden toy soldier, body stiff but compelled to continue. His dread faded into bitter acceptance with every step. It was just a normal day, really, with a normal outcome.

Ari lurched onto the nearly empty elevator and wedged himself into the corner of it. The doctor swiped his wrist, pressed a button, and they descended towards Sub-Level C, the lowest of the levels with the greatest amount of soundproofing. The whole floor was like a rumpus room for mad scientists. Ari sighed, aware that that meant they expected a lot of noise from him.

Just a normal day, he thought, closing his eyes.

After stepping off the elevator, he was guided into one of the main chambers—a large semi-elevated cube with transparent walls of borosilicate glass, reinforced with a layer of ballistic glass and an additional exterior layer of polycarbonate sheeting, and framed with carbon steel and Inconel—and ordered to strip. Silently, Ari ripped his shredded shirt off, not bothering to undo the buttons, and tossed it on the ground. He removed his watch delicately, but haphazardly kicked off his shoes, undid his belt, and dropped his pants into a neat pile with the shirt. Then he waited, testing.

The first time they forced him to strip, Ari had been confused. Clothing never really felt like a form of privacy from the doctors anyway, so he hadn't understood why they suddenly felt the need to eliminate it altogether. He wasn't hiding anything. Nudity didn't make him uncomfortable. The treatment that day hadn't relied on him being naked to be effective—it would have sucked just as much if he'd been in a snowsuit. None of the doctors seemed to derive any extra satisfaction from his nakedness, so why had it been necessary?

After many treatments and some deliberate pondering, Ari figured it out. His clothes were removed to dehumanize him. They were trying to strip him of his humanity—humanity he barely had a claim to anyway. Most of his human qualities only proved relevant in a breakdown of his recombinant DNA, not his personality.

So, it didn't feel like such a loss, but Ari let them believe that it did.

"All of it. Off." The doctor gestured sharply at Ari's lower half, so he peeled off his trunks and socks as well and tried to appear self-conscious in the process. "Sit." Ari dropped obediently onto a cold metal stool nearby, staring straight ahead. A different doctor approached him then—this one didn't look quite as authoritative. Maybe she was just a lab tech. Either way, she came bearing a rectangular tray loaded with wireless feedback sensors. Ari only had one treatment with those before, but he genuinely believed them to be less annoying than the standard sensors, which had long, impossibly tangled wires and connected to a clunky box. The wireless ones weren't as gross and sticky, either. They just attached like little electric suction cups and could be easily detached once turned off.

There were nearly fifty of them on the tray.

The new doctor seemed to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Ari, but she set to work sticking the sensors to his skin right away. She started on his back and he sat erect, ignoring the prodding and soft squishing sounds that accompanied her actions. She applied the cold little discs all along his spine and around the base of his folded wings. Then she switched to his front, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up roughly so she could better see his face. Ari flinched but recovered quickly and bared his teeth at her, glowering and willing her to be uncomfortable. She seemed unfazed and added a disk to each of his temples, one at the center of his forehead, and one on each side of his throat at the carotid artery.

As the doctor pressed that last spot, Ari thought about Ivy and her diminishing heart rate. Was she even still alive? How long would he have to wait to find out?

Continuing along his pulse points and adding additional sensors in between, the doctor worked quickly. She did the points at his elbows and wrists and then switched to sticking some across his chest. Ari remained as stiff as a board and tried to guess at what they'd be monitoring that day. His understanding of anatomy was fairly basic, but it seemed like they were paying extra attention to the functions of his heart and lungs. That can't be good, he noted darkly.

"Stand up," said the new doctor. Ari stood rigidly, and she bent down to add sensors to his groin. He knew there was an artery in there somewhere. He also knew that he shouldn't make things worse, but he couldn't resist an opportunity to try and startle this woman, since she was so stubbornly focused on her task. He just needed to exert a little power to make himself feel better.

Ari faked a loud, body jolting sneeze, and the woman lurched back, eyes widening. He snorted, satisfied by his childish spook, and promptly got back-handed across the face by the primary doctor. Few humans, this man included, could hit hard enough to actually hurt Ari, but it still stung and didn't help his headache. As he straightened back up and returned to staring blankly ahead, he couldn't help but remember Ivy's gentle touch earlier. Even her attempted stranglehold had been more pleasant.

The second doctor returned to her work, now looking frustrated, and continued down Ari's legs, applying sensor discs as she went. After sticking some onto the tops of his feet, she spoke again. "Turn." Ari rotated, now facing out of the transparent room and into the control center. A small crowd of whitecoats had gathered, and they seemed quite amused and intrigued by the sight of him.

It's just another day, he repeated to himself, feeling mildly frustrated. As the lab tech/ doctor worked her way back up, applying sensors to his calves and thighs, Ari pointedly scratched his nose with his extended middle finger and stared into the crowd with his best bored expression. However, his expression faltered a little as the doctor began sticking sensors all across the surface of his butt. It kind of tickled, and Ari couldn't for the life of him figure out what profound knowledge they hoped to gain from monitoring his ass.

After adding a few more sensors to his lower back, beneath his wings, the doctor spoke again. "I'm done." She walked over to where Ari had stripped, loaded his clothes and watch onto the tray, and left without another word.

Ari turned back around in time to see the main doctor pick up a different metal tray. This one had five dull silver rings on it. "Bend over," said the man, setting the tray down closer and lifting the largest ring. Ari bent at the waist, enjoying a flash of amusement as he realized that the doctor couldn't reach his neck when he stood upright. The man opened the ring—it had a small hinge halfway through—and closed it around Ari's neck. A second later, the collar beeped and made a small whirring sound as it locked. The doctor silently repeated the process on both of Ari's wrists and ankles, but he had a small smirk that never seemed to waver as he worked.

Now feeling a little like a naked mall mannequin with all of his bling, Ari waited. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what they planned to do to him, but sometimes it was better to be told rather than learn in the moment.

The doctor left, sealing the clear door behind him and leaving Ari standing alone in the center of the cube. A few moments passed, and then the doctor's voice rang over the speaker system as he seated himself in the control room and began to harangue.

"Now, Batchelder, your treatment today is an experiment in electromyography. Do you know what electromyography is?"

Ari scowled, eyes meeting the doctor's through the thick glass and plastic. Always with the damn experiments. They could never just torture him—they always had to get some data out of it. "No," he snarled through gritted teeth, confident that he could make an educated guess.

"Electromyography is the recording of the electrical activity of muscle tissue. However, we're going to shake it up a little today, and will be stimulating your muscular system to see how much electrical activity is required to trigger a shift."

Great, more electricity. Because the taser wasn't enough. Can't you fucks just go back to waterboarding me? Ari thought, anxiety and hatred building. It had taken him a lot of time and a ton of bullshit "treatments" to build up a tolerance, but he was getting quite good at being waterboarded.

"We all have different theories," the main doctor continued, gesturing at the other doctors in the control room around him, "and are excited to see which of us you prove to be correct. Do not try to remove the electrode sensors. Do not try to remove the collar and manacles. Attempting to remove anything we've attached will result in extended experimentation. Do not force a shift to end experimentation sooner than necessary. Data will reveal whether or not your shift was induced by stimulation or if you've forced it. Shifting prematurely will result in extended experimentation. Do you understand, Batchelder?"

Ari's hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides now, nails digging into palms, but he couldn't do anything to change the situation. He'd tried breaking out of these cubes before—hopeless. He'd gouged a patch of skin out from around an electrode before—it had been an effective removal method, but they'd starved him for three days after. This was just a normal day, and it would be over soon if he let it happen. "Yes," he angrily murmured, spreading his legs into a more prepared stance. If they were about to blast him with electricity, he at least wanted to be ready.

"Good. Now, we're trying to focus on electrical current today, rather than voltage, so we will maintain a manageable fifty thousand volts throughout the experiment and will slowly increase the amperage. It will feel comparable to the shock you experience from a taser gun, to start. Your collar and manacles create a closed circuit. Are you ready for your treatment?"

"Yes, fucking start already!" Ari snapped, body trembling in fear hidden behind fury. He didn't care that he might be antagonizing them further—he just wanted to get this over with.

Silence fell over the control room as the doctors conferred briefly. Ari could see them fairly clearly from where he stood—he wasn't sure, but it looked like they were placing bets, pooling money. Fucking fantastic. Another moment passed, and the original doctor leaned back to the microphone. "We will begin with one milliamp." He nodded, and a different doctor pressed a button on a small handheld remote. Ari jumped as the shock ran through him. It was short, and it didn't hurt at all. It was barely a tingle. "Five milliamps." The remote controller tapped another button. Ari jumped again, but he held his stance and was pleased that the addition of four milli-whatevers only yielded a slight increase in the tingling. "Ten milliamps."

At ten, the sensation changed. It didn't tingle anymore—it felt like a shock. It still didn't hurt much, though. It was just displeasing. Ari's eyes narrowed at the doctors behind the glass, and he sank deeper into his stance in anticipation. Fifteen passed with little change, and the controllers continued counting up in intervals of five. The sensation grew progressively more irritating, and with every increase in amps, it seemed that the doctors were letting the surge last longer and longer. Still, Ari felt pretty good about the whole thing. It wasn't fun, but it was better than a lot of past experiments.

The jump from 35 to 40 was a rude awakening as the shock changed from irritating to painful, and Ari finally felt his muscles respond to the stimulation. His left knee, perpetually a little fucked up, buckled, and he dropped heavily down onto it. He was surprised that such a small interval could make such a significant sensory difference. Then they bumped it up again, and Ari's whole body jolted. This was comparable to the taser from earlier. He could feel the shock ripple through him as he lost balance and fell clumsily to the side. Just as the pain passed and his muscles relaxed, they upped the amps yet again. At 50, Ari was vaguely aware of his right hand clutching his thigh for stability. His nails were clawing into his flesh, but when the current zipped through him, he couldn't let go. His vision started to get blurry, and the pain was so immense that he completely forgot his regular bodily aches in comparison.

It just continued to get worse from there. The increase in pain from 50 milliamps to 250 was negligible, but the duration of each surge continued to lengthen. At 255, Ari started to writhe, his large frame wriggling sideways across the cold, hard floor. At 350, he started to cry slow, quiet tears that leaked out of the corners of his eyes, skied the slopes of the bridge of his nose and cheekbone, and pooled beside his head as he spasmed. Ari wanted to scream every time they shocked him, but he also didn't want to give them that satisfaction. The fact that he was crying was bad enough.

At 500 milliamps, Ari's breathing changed and his vision started to go white. He couldn't get enough air. He was gasping, and his bare feet were pushing futilely against the ground, seeking purchase. Ari didn't have thoughts coherent enough anymore to know what he hoped to achieve, but he ended up just scooting around and coughing. At 700, his muscles contracted so aggressively that he felt like he'd snap. His body caved inwards, and he spasm-rolled until he was nearly face down.

He wasn't shifting. The telltale sensations of a shift were all missing, and something told Ari that the debilitating pain of having his insides progressively flash-fried wasn't going to draw them out. He was going to fail this experiment.

"Please," he croaked, still coughing and trying to breathe through the vice of his collapsing respiratory system. His chest hurt. His heart wasn't beating right. He was too tired to keep crying. "Please stop."

"Nine hundred milliamps."

Ari went blind and nearly deaf. For the dreadfully long few seconds that the current ran, he stopped breathing altogether and his heart skipped several beats. His body stiffened and clenched all over. The current stopped. Ari didn't shift.

"One amp," the doctor directed, voice foggy in Ari's ears.

At one amp, 1,000 milliamps, Ari's heart stopped completely. He was barely even conscious and fading fast, but he was still aware of his heart thudding to an abrupt and final halt. That electrical surge lasted too long, but he couldn't do or say anything to alert the doctors of his failing. He didn't know if the doctors were even still there anymore because he couldn't see or hear them. He started to die.

Time stretched on.

And then he felt another harsh but not as painful shock tear through his prone body. It restarted his heart and he gasped, desperate for air. That same pulse repeated twice more at lengthy intervals, then no more shocks came. He started to recover. The white overlay on his vision faded, his hearing came back. His breathing still hurt, but the air was getting to his lungs now. His heartbeat started to feel normal again. More time passed, then the doctor spoke.

"Good job, Batchelder. Your pain tolerance is only slightly suboptimal, and still significantly higher than a human's. Did you pass out before going into cardiac arrest?"

Ari's heart leaped with a brief burst of exhausting joy. He was conditioned to feel joy when congratulated for a job well done. He also thought that this implied a conclusion to the experiment. He could barely speak to respond, but managed to mumble "no" against the floor, which had tiny transducers woven into it—no sound was a secret here.

"Wonderful," responded the doctor. "Very impressive. Unfortunately, Batchelder, you didn't shift, so we're going to repeat the experiment at a higher voltage. Let's try 100,000 volts, shall we? We will begin with one milliamp."

Ari barely had time to process what was said before the first shock came. It was short and only stung, but he whimpered in surprise that they were diving right back in and taking it further. They must've missed the part where he started to die before he even got close to shifting. VoiceVoice, please, help me, Ari pleaded, tears returning as his dignity diminished. Please. I don't want to do this anymore.

The Voice remained mute. The experiment repeated as before, though more agonizing this time. At 250 milliamps, Ari couldn't stay quiet. A horror movie-worthy scream of torment wrenched itself from his throat. At 300 milliamps, Ari lost all muscle control and his body went completely limp between jolts, effectively silencing him. His wings unfolded weakly, shrouding his upper body in darkness and joining in on the electric fun, as the back muscles that held them closed turned to Jell-O. At 350, he started to drool, and his head bounced against the ground with every interval surge. At 400, his bones started to feel like they were rattling around inside of him as he spasmed, but he couldn't control the movement to steady them. His chest started to feel tight again, and his breathing faltered. At 500, his respiratory system started to fail, and this time he did begin to lose consciousness between shocks. He lost his sight and most of his hearing. At 700 milliamps, he went into cardiac arrest a second time.

He never shifted.

His revival repeated as it had before, but this time Ari passed out in the process, face pressing into a damp puddle of his own drool and salty tears. He didn't know how long he was out, but when Ari woke, he was face up. Someone had come into the cube and rolled him over onto his back. His wings were still extended beneath him, but his whole body hurt beyond belief, so the unnatural wing-bend was unremarkable. He spluttered and instinctively tried to sit up, but could barely move. Every muscle from his face to his toes felt like it had been beaten with a meat tenderizer and then thrown into a car crusher. He couldn't see straight—the room was weaving. He smelled something burning.

"I hope you enjoyed your nap, Batchelder," the doctor's grating voice rang in Ari's ears. "That was a thoroughly disappointing response. Your tolerance was surprisingly low, you fainted, and you still haven't shifted. Our next run of this experiment will be with a lower voltage, and hopefully, that will allow for a greater current."

Ari let gravity roll his head to the side as tears welled up in his eyes again. He briefly had a thought coherent enough to consider—am I strong enough to snap my own neck? He wasn't. They'd probably punish him for killing himself anyway.

"We will set the voltage at just 25,000 volts. We will begin with one milliamp."

The process repeated yet again. Ari didn't know if he was just numb or if the reduction in voltage made a significant difference because his pain didn't seem to change until about 300 milliamps. At that point, everything started to hurt more. Every muscle contracted, shuddered, and limpened with each shock. His jaw was so stiff that his teeth chattered together every time. Most of the same symptoms from before recurred, but only at significantly higher amperage. His body became a ragdoll at 1 amp, and he flopped like a dying fish from there on out. The drool returned at 2 amps. At 3 amps, he felt his lungs begin to fail again, but this time the sensation was accompanied by a faint yet familiar heat under his skin—a different heat from the sensation of being electrically fried. He was going to shift. At 3.5 amps, it finally happened. The pain of electrocution was replaced by the instantaneous agony of having his body ripped open, reshaped, and zipped closed again. Ari felt an overwhelming sense of relief and satisfaction that only lasted a second because the growth of his body had meant the constriction of the collar and manacles. The rings around his wrists and ankles had already fit securely, and now they dug deep into his flesh. The collar was too tight, and it presently strangled him. He gagged, but he couldn't move to roll over and cough, and he didn't have the energy to thrash the way his panicked brain wanted him to. By some miracle, he raised a clawed hand to his throat but remembered the warning about trying to remove the collar and faltered—his sharp claws fell heavily nonetheless, and he accidentally sliced open a shallow groove across his neck.

"Wonderful. Good work, Batchelder. You've just made Jameson a very happy man and provided invaluable data. Knowing that a low voltage shock at 3.5 amps can stimulate the muscular system enough to trigger a shift is very useful. In your next treatment, we will work on speeding up this process and documenting the full range of effective voltage at that amperage. After that, we'll try directly stimulating your nervous system instead, to see if that proves more effective." Because he was asphyxiating and his head felt like a balloon inflating within the confines of a small wooden box, Ari only registered about half of what was said. He was starting to pass out again. "Congratulations on the completion of your treatment." Someone unlocked the collar and manacles remotely—they all fell open with a click, soft hiss, and a thunk. Ari gasped and wheezed and stared at the ceiling through watery eyes. Only then did he notice that his body was still twitching intermittently, like the electricity had gotten stuck inside of him and was trying desperately to get out.

An indeterminate amount of time passed, but eventually, the see-through door to the cube chamber clunked open, and a gaggle of doctors sidled in and circled Ari's limp body. Most of them had notepads—they were already scribbling. Ari pressed his eyes shut, wondering if they'd leave him alone if they thought he was unconscious. Then again, he probably looked pretty awake, given that his whole body kept violently shaking every few seconds.

Another moment passed, and Ari felt the familiar sensation of a memory extractor being pressed to his face. It was like a blacked-out dive mask—fitted across the face above the nose—but where there should've been a head strap, there were instead two adjustable electrodes that punctured the skin at your temples. The mask suctioned on, and the electrodes dug into his exhausted face muscles just below the two sensors that remained in place.

"Open your eyes, Batchelder." It was the unmistakable voice of the doctor he loathed.

Ari didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want them looking at all of his memories from that day. They might find another reason to punish him, or they'd laugh their asses off at the way he'd misconstrued Ivy's touch. They'd find something new to use against him.

"Open them now, or we'll begin your next treatment immediately." Ari's eyes flew open, and the extractor flashed. It was sort of like a camera flash but extended and a little bit more blinding. A tiny surge pricked at his temples, and then it was over. Every memory he had formed in the timeframe they'd chosen to review was instantly copied. The doctor pulled off the mask, and the electrodes ripped out. Ari couldn't hold in a whimper and heard the crowd of whitecoats chuckle in response.

God, he wanted to tear them apart.

"Wise decision, boy. Now, repeat after me," the doctor began. Ari sealed his eyes shut again and let his head roll to the side. "Thank you for my treatment."

He could barely even breathe right, let alone speak, but Ari rasped along clumsily with the mantra. Maybe every other syllable was clear. "'Thank you for my treatment.'"

"I deserved this treatment."

"'I deserved this treatment.'"

"I am glad to provide Itex with valuable data and willingly offer my body to scientific pursuit."

Ari's body writhed and his mind felt dark. "'I am glad to…provide Itex with valuable data,'" he croaked, heaving a painful breath halfway through. "'And willingly offer my body…to scientific pursuit.'"

"Perfect. Good job, Batchelder." Ari's heart still leaped with that same, stupid conditioned response. Someone powered down the wireless sensors, and Ari felt the suction release across his fur-covered body. When he could move again, he'd be able to simply dust them off. Right now, he could barely lift his heavy, throbbing head. "No food until this time tomorrow. No hot water for a week. The door will be open—you may leave when you're ready. And Batchelder, next time you may want to remove your earrings. Most metals are conductive."

Ari winced at the same time that he spasmed. He'd completely forgotten about the two tiny hoops, though he doubted that the other man had. Soon after that, the horde of doctors jovially exchanged a few words, and then Ari heard them shuffle out of the room, leaving him naked and alone to twitch in silence.

He didn't know how long the treatment had taken, and he didn't know how long he lay there afterward, but he got progressively more and more lost in the dark parts of his mind as time stretched on. Every inch of his body hurt, so getting lost in his head actually seemed like a good coping mechanism, except that most of his thoughts circled back around to death and memories. He didn't have a lot of memories, and the strongest of them were of all of his previous deaths. In fact, beyond a year or so ago, he only remembered dying over and over and over again. He didn't remember anything leading up to or immediately following each death, but the sensations of each various demise? Burned into his mind, dating back to the first—a cervical fracture of the C4 vertebrae and resultantly fatal spinal cord injury. He remembered the sound of the break as his neck hit the pavement and how the crack had reverberated up his spine, could still feel the instant bodily paralysis and blinding pain, and would never forget the dirty, confused face of the girl who'd killed him, but everything else about the scenario was missing. And everything between that death and the next was gone too.

Nothing scared Ari more than dying, which seemed counterintuitive considering how many times he'd died before and how often he tended to wish he were dead now. The only thing that came close to terrifying him quite as much as death was not having any memories worth losing when he next bit it. He just had a sense that something was missing. He needed something to rattle around inside himself every now and then. He wanted memories that he could call upon when he needed a pick-me-up. He wanted memories for when he felt any miscellaneous emotion and needed specific stimulation. He wanted memories strong and visceral enough to drown out the memories of his most gruesome deaths.

He intended to create those memories, and he'd do his best to keep them for himself.

But he couldn't very well do that from the floor of a big glass box.

Ari pulled himself back to the present and instantly regretted it as agony washed over him again. He had managed to ignore the convulsions for a while, but they were still tearing through him—all of his muscles contracted and gave out time after time. He still couldn't control his limbs very well, so he waited for the spasms to slow. It was like listening to see if your popcorn was fully cooked—"if there are more than two full seconds in between pops, it's time to stop." He certainly felt microwaved. His insides were probably melted. Maybe his missing memories weren't actually missing—it was completely possible that he'd been unknowingly fried often enough that he'd suffered brain damage. It made as much sense as anything.

More time passed. Ari moaned and whined and suffered through the remaining paroxysms. When they slowed to about one convulsion every thirty seconds, he tried moving his arms. He could do it. From there on, he clumsily flipped onto his stomach, left wing crumpling uncomfortably as he rolled across it, and dragged himself up onto hands and knees. Ari paused for a second there, trying to catch his breath and slow his heart, and noticed an angry red ring circling each wrist where the metal manacles had been. His fur was scorched off, and the flesh was raw. Undoubtedly, that was the source of the burning smell he'd caught before. His neck and ankles probably matched.

After a minute or two, Ari could crouch, and a minute or so after that, he was standing upright. His legs trembled and his head spun, but it was progress. He started to hobble towards the open door and almost wiped out instantly—instead, he staggered sideways and bounced off of a cold metal table before righting himself.

The walk from the cube to the elevator wasn't far, but to Ari, it felt like hiking a small mountain with rough terrain while blindfolded, and only as a cool down to hiking Mount Everest. He nearly twisted his ankle and almost wiped out yet again on the step down from the cube. He could hardly see straight, and the anguish of movement was all-consuming. When he did reach the elevator, he hazily raised his right wrist to the security pad by the buttons. Nothing happened—probably because his hand wasn't where he perceived it to be—so he just repeatedly smacked his arm against the wall and dragged it up and down until the elevator dinged and opened.

Ari stumbled on, looked at the buttons, and groaned. He'd forgotten that this elevator had limited access for security purposes and would only take him back to the main floor or the other sub-levels. He'd have to get to a different elevator to be carried to the floor with his dorm room. Either way, he pressed the button he thought said "ground level" and swiped his wrist over the security reader beside it. Blessedly, it dinged again, and the door closed.

The sudden upward motion and fresh sensory overload made Ari want to vomit, but he held it in and limped out of the elevator as soon as the doors reopened. He made it about ten steps down the brightly lit main floor hallway before slumping against the wall and pressing a furry palm to his inhuman-shaped forehead.

"Batchelder, you look like shit," said a nearby voice. Ari frowned, recognizing the inflection.

"Fuck off," he snarled back, trying to sound horrifying and deadly, but his snarl came out with an exhausted, raspy squeak.

His partner-turned-betrayer walked around in front of him, forcing Ari to meet his brown eyes, which conveyed pity and maybe a dash of unavoidable amusement. "I brought you some pants. Thought you might want—"

"Fuck you. I don't want your fucking pants." Ari dragged himself along the wall until he'd passed the other man and then slumped again. The fluorescent lights were just so bright, and his wolf ears could pick up their high-pitched scream. The antiseptic smell was disgustingly strong, and it flooded his nostrils. His head was throbbing and ringing. He finally hurled, whole body convulsing again, and conveniently the other man stepped further away. The moment passed and Ari tried to breathe normally, but his lungs and throat burned.

"Brought you these too," said the other man. Ari was content to just ignore the traitor until he heard a familiar little rattle. His ears pricked up and he turned to face the man, who held out Ari's pill bottle. Ari scowled, looked to the man, looked back at the bottle, then back at the man. Then he reached out as quickly and coherently as he could, but his arm shot past and too far to the left of the bottle, missing it completely. When he tried again, his claws wrapped around the orange-tinted plastic tube, and the other man released it with an entertained smile.

Hazily, Ari yanked off the lid and shook out two or three of the clear capsules. He didn't know how many he actually took—more than he should have, probably—but he swallowed them dry and instantly started to feel the numbing, rejuvenative effects. Everything still hurt, but the pills took the edge off of all of his senses. "If you ever tase me again," Ari grumbled, dizzily locking eyes with the other man, "I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." Then, he turned away and tried to continue down the hall.

"Whatever you say, man," the partner replied, chuckling a little. "So, electrocution, huh? How was that?"

Had he felt better, Ari would have given the man the dirtiest look he could muster and punched him in the face. Instead, he just muttered "fucking sucked" and continued to hobble, sensor discs falling off like breadcrumbs as he continued. Then, a gloomy realization pushed its way into his fried mind and he stammered, "How'd you know about my t-treatment?" Ari already knew the answer, but he needed confirmation.

The other man was quiet for a second before finally fielding the question. "They streamed the whole thing live on one of the channels." Ari felt resentment and a rare sense of mortification bubble up in his throat. His stomach churned and he slumped against the wall again, closing his eyes this time to try and get some balance back. "It's still playing on a loop. There's an educational cut now, too."

Ari felt simultaneously like vomiting again, murdering everyone in the building, and crying under a blanket for the rest of his dumb life. "Educational cut?" he prodded, head rushing.

"Yeah. You know, to teach the rest of us a lesson."

"Great," Ari grumbled, thinking about all of the vulnerable bits of himself that had slipped out during the torture. It would make a fantastically disturbing educational exposé, and he expected the others would treat him differently as a result. Of course, they already treated him differently, but now he'd have to actively focus on reasserting his rank and dominance, and he just didn't have the energy or time for that. Pulling away from those stressful thoughts, Ari resolved not to watch any of the footage or educational cuts until he felt better and could appropriately vent his responsive anger. "Why didn't you get a treatment?"

The other man kind of smirked and shrugged. "When they assigned me to this mission, my only orders were to do whatever you wanted me to. I'm not the one they planned to make an example of today."

Ari's insides twisted. If that was true, it meant that his recklessness had been let loose by design. The doctors had counted on him messing things up. They knew he couldn't possibly handle the situation effectively without letting his ego—apparently—get the best of him. He'd been set up to fail.

Those thoughts circulated through Ari's head for the rest of his trek to his room, and he fumed the whole way. It took Ari a while to get to the other elevator, and the assigned partner zealously kept him company. The man seemed oddly determined to be jovial and informative, maybe to cheer Ari up, but his efforts had the opposite effect. He shared that they'd hacked in and found a hilarious report filed by the police officer on Lakeshore, then promptly deleted it. He noted the passage of time. Ari had been in treatment and recovery for four and a half hours. He talked about the whole coverup. Two separate news outlets had been purchased, and the silence and phone footage of close to seven hundred Chicago commuters and office workers had been bought in order to fully wipe Ari's and Ivy's winged forms out of the media. All of this information, while shared casually, weeviled its way into Ari's mind, making him both angrier and more mortified. Plus, the other man didn't know anything about Ivy's current condition and had laughed when Ari asked.

When Ari finally got to the main elevator, he was delighted to see that the traitor didn't intend to join him on the lift. "I still have to finish the return paperwork for the van and find a good way to explain the sudden acquisition of a wheel clamp," the man said, laughing. Ari had forgotten about the boot entirely. "Enjoy your cold shower, Batchelder. Try not to barf in bed. My name is Dax, by the way."

He gave a corny, phony salute and departed, leaving Ari utterly perplexed and very frustrated. On top of all of that information that he'd rather not have gained, Ari really hadn't wanted to know the man's name. It was sometimes easier to hate a stranger, and he didn't want connections. But, of course, the choice had been taken away from him—for a name as stupid as "Dax"! Why had that backstabbing asshole tried so hard to be helpful anyway? As Ari swiped his wrist and rode up to the 27th floor, he remembered a rumor he'd recently heard about a contingent of the agents with three-letter names. According to said rumor, they were following an example they incorrectly thought Ari had set. Although Ari longed to be idolized, the concept of that contingent made him uncomfortable, so he decided not to give it further thought.

If "Dax" tried to be friendly again, Ari would toss him down the elevator shaft.

In the span of the short walk from the elevator to his dorm on the 27th floor, Ari nearly vomited twice. His body was still quaking despite the forced numbness from his medication and his eyes kind of felt like they were crossing back and forth as he moved. Nevertheless, he made it to his door, lifted his wrist to unlock it, pushed through, and then nearly tumbled to the ground when the Voice abruptly returned and spoke.

You shouldn't have taken so many pills at once, Ari.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Ari rasped, steadying himself and launching off of various pieces of furniture as he stumbled and swayed in the direction of his bathroom. "Why didn't you help me?" He choked on a childish, embarrassing squeak that betrayed the twisted sense of abandonment he felt.

I've been busy.

"Oh, of course. You've been busy. Great." Ari hobbled down the little hall to the sizeable bathroom and came to a stop in front of the large mirror. It was always a bit jarring to look at himself when he was shifted, but observing his reflection made it easier to switch back. There was something about seeing what needed to be changed that gave you a greater sense of control. Nonetheless, it took him about five minutes of staring into his own yellow wolf eyes, and some seriously focused deep breathing before Ari reached a point of false relaxation and stability to transform. The shift back occurred as usual, but it was a bit more drawn out. His body was tapped, trying very hard to generate enough energy to reconfigure itself, and the process hurt more as a result. Once it was done, and Ari stared back at his tear-filled amber eyes, all of the pain the medication had numbed lashed out at him. He doubled, vomited bile into the sink, and coughed until he didn't need to anymore. Every cough made his body clench and tense in a way that was grossly reminiscent of electrocution, and it made his already pained muscles burn.

I have some information that you might be interested in, said the Voice.

Breathing shakily, Ari ignored the Voice and stood unbowed to look at his reflection again. There was a bright red and white ring of burned flesh around his neck, and blisters were forming towards the center of it—his wrists and ankles did match. His face had taken more damage on one side, probably where the liquid combination of his drool and tears had made the current more conductive. That patch looked like it had been rubbed raw with a piece of steel wool. His left ear around his piercings was blackened, dry, and unfeeling, though the little gold hoops were intact. His hair stood straight up, and the tips were singed. There were two tiny pinpricks of blood at his temples from the memory extractor, and one of the sensor discs still stuck to his jaw.

Ari scowled at his reflection and his insides twisted again. This time, though, it was because as he looked at his battered body, he couldn't mute a thought: I deserved this treatment. Maybe he really did. He'd been rash, and that had cost Itex a lot of money, and for what? The treatment wasn't so bad anyway, and he'd be completely healed in a day or two at most. Everything except the dark circles under his eyes and the fury buried within them would fade quickly.

You know better than that, Ari, the Voice interrupted. It sounded both exasperated and compassionate, for a toneless, disembodied asshole. Just because something can be fixed doesn't mean it should be broken.

"Why do you only show up when I want some goddamn quiet, but never when I actually need you?" Ari wheezed. "Get out of my head."

Ivy is alive, the Voice started, ignoring his retort. She's stable. They're going to sedate her and move her to a dorm to recover.

Ari watched blankly as a wicked grin touched his lips and pulled the corners of his mouth up. It didn't quite reach his eyes, and the expression looked a bit demented with his face the way it currently was, but Ari felt the malicious delight and satisfaction that accompanied it. It soothed his aching body, and suddenly his treatment felt like just a blip in a day with an ultimately satisfactory conclusion.

"Well then," he breathed, "I better get cleaned up. Lots of memories to make."