“Run, run! Don’t look back!” Raven screamed.
An eight-year-old Ryker began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. Why couldn’t he look back? He wanted to see if his parents were right behind him. “Mom!” he cried out into the darkness as he still ran. And then he looked back to see his mother ravaged by a werebear.
His screams filled the night. Why wasn’t he shifting? He wanted to save his mother. Please shift! Please! he cried to himself. He felt something warm splatter on his chest, and he was surprised to see blood. When he looked up, he saw his mother in the bear’s jaws.
Blood began to fill his mouth. In that moment, he realized he had killed his own mother.
Ryker bolted awake. The dreams had gotten worse as of late. Then he realized it too late. He was surrounded by men with rifles pointed at him as he sat on his bed. Those bullets could pierce through armor and would certainly injure him in the worst possible way -- or worse.
“What’s this about?” he asked quietly.
“Someone just saw you save a little girl that they were supposed to give us. And you nearly killed those men without even breaking a single bone.”
He could only think of two things. One was that those men actually had backup somewhere and were too afraid to approach (shouldn’t he have noticed?) as there were closed circuit cameras anyway; and two, little Alyssa had actually framed him instead…
“Is this him?” a gruff voice asked.
He was surrounded by more than twenty men, their high-powered rifles close to his brains. He could smell their sweat and some of their fear, fear that he was going to turn into a werebeing.
Ryker heard footsteps. Familiar footsteps. He knew who it was before he even came into the light.
“Yeah, that’s the kid,” Mr. Toretti said, not looking at him directly.
Ryker felt rage course through him, but he said nothing. So, Toretti was the traitor, and not him, as everyone had assumed he would betray the mafia soon for another boss. He was far from shifting, as years of practice gave him control, but he was undeniably angry. Never trust a man like Toretti; in fact, never trust humans at all.
Someone dragged him up, and Ryker was torn between shifting and maintaining his human form. A knot formed in his stomach, and an intense headache began. His fists clenched, and so did his jaw -- and then he felt the sting of an injection on his shoulder.
The world began to turn dark, a darkness he couldn’t see with his perfect vision anymore. He stumbled and fell to the floor, and before he completely blacked out, he heard Toretti murmur, “That’s business, kid.”
*
That’s business, kid, Toretti’s voice echoed even after he had woken up. He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them again. He took a sharp inhale of air, coming to his senses. This was some facility, some government facility -- all this white made it seem like it was one. That sedative had knocked him out good. It was fit for bears, and he nearly wanted to guffaw at the thought of his human self being injected with bear-appropriate tranquilizer. Steadying himself with one hand, he slowly sat up. He was on a thin mattress, with a steel frame underneath it.
He was alone. The room was spartan, with fluorescent lights hanging overhead. There was no other furniture, and unsurprisingly, the bed was bolted down on all corners. He heard voices talking outside; they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were.
“Has he shifted yet?” a man’s voice asked.
“Negative, doctor,” another replied.
“Well, find a way to break him, so we can have that damned presentation the president wants already. Time is ticking. Tut tut!” he said angrily in a hushed tone.
There was the crackle of a radio as the man called for reinforcements. He shook his head. After all those years of running away from his past, running away from the regime… it had come to this. He was inside some facility, and no doubt he was headed for the WereGames. He cursed silently, knowing there was no escape inside this room. The walls were too smooth, and if he shifted, his weight would be another problem. He could ram himself onto metal doors, however. He was about to shift when he heard something hiss inside the room.
Wildly, Ryker looked around. He saw something come out from the small ventilation cracks on all four corners of the room. He gasped, and then realized it was probably poison. Damn it, not again, Ryker thought.
Seconds after he passed out, the room’s special ventilation system drew back all the noxious fumes, and the men in uniform, along with one man in white, calmly entered the room.
“Do be careful with him,” the young-looking doctor meekly told the military personnel. They didn’t listen to him, and they carelessly flung his body onto a stretcher with some grunts, quickly strapping him down.
“This kid is heavy,” one commented as the gurney rolled down the hall.
“This kid is tall,” another said.
Walking beside the other military escorts were four other men with guns ready to fire at him anytime.
The young doctor named Bartholomew sighed and quietly shook his head. Despite the fact that these so-called werebeings healed faster than normal humans, it didn’t mean that they could be manhandled unconscious. His seniors had been telling him to toughen up, that they were all test subjects in the end and that the majority of them died anyway, on an operation table or in the WereGames. But they were still human, their DNA said so, and it was incredible to look under the microscope to see that their cells mutated to accommodate the changes in their bodies. Their DNA shifted to an actual fusion between whichever werebeing they were supposed to be and that of a human’s.
He wondered why the seniors still kept A129, when they already knew that their mutation was part of some recessive gene from an unknown ancestor. A129 didn’t shift into something else. She remained human, but her blood had extraordinary powers. It gave the werebeings the supremacy to heal faster than ever, which was perfect for military exercises. It also meant they could regrow body parts with her blood, which had never happened before. It was slow progress, but it was progress.
A129 suffered immensely for it, though, and even if no one mentioned it, he found that Dr. Delaney had a soft spot for the only test subject left. There had been others, someone had told him. They had all died before they’d reached adolescence. A129 was the resilient one; she was the one who didn’t want to die, or she was the last one to die. Whatever it was, with a new participant for the WereGames, A129 would be pulled out of her resting period again. He had last seen her three days ago, tested side by side with a proposed super soldier, another WereGame potential that had inexplicably failed. The werebeings had different reactions with A129, and it was something that their facility was trying to solve.
Whatever it was, they knew they needed A129 for as long as she could hold on. Bartholomew wanted to change a few things with regards to testing, but he knew his seniors wouldn’t have it. Even Dr. Delaney seemed to teeter on the edge for her seemingly “kinder” treatment of A129. She had a name, Alexia. She had no last name. It was best to call her A129, he figured.
Test subject X014 stirred as he lay on the gurney. One soldier cleared his throat, signaling alert. They moved faster down the hallway and into a bright testing room filled with stainless steel machines. On a table was an array of surgical instruments, along with sturdy stainless steel hub injections for those who were thicker skinned.
A129 was already in the room, and she looked drowsy as she lay on the table. Dr. Delaney greeted Bartholomew crisply.
“Has he given you any trouble?” she asked him as the soldier and other medical staff began to strap Ryker down onto a solidly built medical table.
There were reinforced straps on his head, arms, and legs. He was fully naked and still unconscious.
“No, doctor,” Bartholomew replied.
“Good. Any changes in his stats since he got here?”
“He hasn’t shifted yet,” he told her.
“Well, let’s get this moving. We have just days to go before the games,” Delaney sighed.
“Yes, doctor.”
Delaney tapped on a microphone to make sure it was working. “Test subject X014, alias Ryker. First exploratory trial will commence. Currently injecting radioactive dye and nanonites into test subject.”
Nano machines were a vital part of their research, and their radioactive dye had hundreds of these tiny probes that circulated any test subject’s body for a couple of hours. These reported any changes in the body. They had had run-ins before with rogue werebeings who were thought to be complacent but had actually turned out to be violent and oftentimes bloodthirsty.
Werebeings were known to eat humans as well, and recorded data showed that it did not slow them down when they did. The problem with these werebeings was that no one knew what kind of werebeings they were until they actually shifted. X014 was going to be tested for that in a few, to prepare him for that glorified bloody competition.
Ryker’s eyes slowly opened, exactly twenty minutes after being gassed in his own quarters.
“He’s up,” someone murmured.
“Ryker. Ryker, is it?” Dr. Delaney began, approaching him on the slab.
Ryker wildly looked around, disoriented and in shock. “Where in the hell-?” he murmured, blinking again and again.
“No need to be alarmed,” Dr. Delaney said in a soothing voice. “We’re just doing a couple of tests to make sure you’ll be well prepared for the WereGames.”
“I didn’t sign up for that,” Ryker said, closing his eyes, feeling his brain about to split from the discomfort. He was gritting his teeth by now.
“Are you shifting?” Delaney asked him, speaking closely to his ear.
“No,” he grunted. I’m not shifting in front of you; I’m not shifting in front of any of you…
He felt his blood boil and his knuckles burning. His body wanted to shift, and his eyes began to show it. He knew people were waiting for him to shift; they wanted to see him turn into the animal that he truly was. He was not giving them that pleasure.
He thrashed on the table, realizing that he was held down by reinforced straps. Those would never hold him when he shifted. His teeth gnashed, the pressure in his brain becoming too much.
“Get me out of this!” he said to no one in particular.
“We can’t do that,” another said. “It’s an honor to be a representative of the games, Ryker.”
“Get me out of here!” Ryker shouted louder this time, his eyeballs moving to the direction of the voice. He saw a congenial looking, rather thin man with silvery eyes, who had wisps of gray in his hair. He wore the quintessential eyeglasses and looked every inch a proper gentleman, despite wearing a pristine lab coat.
“Hello, Ryker,” the man said in a quiet voice. “I’m Dr. Wallace.”
“Hello, Dr. Wallace. I want out,” Ryker said, his eyes squeezing shut to stop them from changing color.
“Why don’t you show us who you truly are,” Dr. Wallace continued. “We won’t judge you for shifting, Ryker. We’re here to ensure you get the best available attention, to prepare you for the games.”
“I don’t want to be part of your damned games!” Ryker shouted, seeing that other scientists were moving in closer to him, carrying god knows what in their hands. Then he noticed that there was another operating table across from him, with someone strapped onto it. He saw her hair, saw her profile, and in that briefest moment, he saw her looking at him, with that unruffled look in her eyes.
“Any changes?” Dr. Wallace asked from behind him.
“Blood pressure elevated, 280/190, dilated pupils with minimal change in color-” one recited.
Dr. Wallace looked Ryker straight in the eye. “So, you’re trying to control the shifting, aren’t you, young man?”
“Stop it!” he gurgled through gritted teeth.
“But we must get you ready. You’re the 14th participant, the final one. If you please, kindly show the animal in you.” Dr. Wallace then smiled a tiny smile, one that was unnoticeable, but Ryker saw the animal in him; he saw the sadistic man behind those spectacles. He enjoyed his patient’s suffering.
Everyone waited in silence; the pressure in the air was mounting. How could Dr. Wallace and Dr. Delaney stay so calm, Bartholomew thought? Had they been so hardened with the goings on inside the facility that human cries meant nothing? He remained silent. In a few moments, this would all be over, and they would begin a different round of tests.
Ryker felt tears blurring his vision. They wanted this, and he wasn’t giving them the satisfaction. He looked at the young woman opposite him, and he saw she was drifting to sleep. Had they given her something, too?
Dr. Wallace followed Ryker’s eyes and saw he was looking at A129. This should make things easier then, he thought. “Bartholomew, I think A129 deserves some ECT now.”
“ECT?” Bartholomew repeated in a small voice.
“Yes, ECT,” Dr. Wallace said mildly.
“Dr. Wallace, A129 isn’t ready for something like this. This isn’t part of today’s routine-” Dr. Delaney was cut off with Dr. Wallace raising a hand.
“ECT, Bartholomew. How about 500 volts?” he ordered.
Electrodes were quickly attached to her head by machines, and Dr. Wallace saw the look of realization on subject X014’s eyes. He smiled.
“No!” Ryker shouted, flailing in vain.
He would never be able to escape if he didn’t shift, although escape was a far-off thought for now. The young woman across from him turned to face up, breathing in quickly.
Alexia took a deep breath, knowing full well how painful 500 volts was going to be, even if it was only for a few seconds. She closed her eyes, readying herself.
“Five, four-” Dr. Wallace began.
“Stop it! Don’t hurt her!” Ryker inexplicably cried out.
“Shift, Ryker. Three, two-!”
“No! She doesn’t deserve-”
“One,” Dr. Wallace finished with a smile.
Ryker stared in horror, his neck craning to see what was happening to the young woman. Why was she even here? Who the hell was she?
“Stop it,” he whispered in defeat.
He heard the tiniest thud from her body against the table and saw her convulsing, and then she spasmed, thrashing about, and no one tried to stop it. It was over in seconds, but to Ryker, it felt like hours. Whoever she was, she was innocent. And still, he did not shift.
He saw she was unconscious, heard her vitals read aloud by the other scientists. She was alive, and he felt relief flood through him.
“No changes,” Dr. Wallace murmured. “We’re going to have to crack you, one way or another. The games are in less than two weeks, and we have to present you to the public.” He turned to face A129. “Once she wakes up, we continue the tests with X014.”
Dr. Delaney took a breath. “With all due respect, Dr. Wallace, that convulsive shock means she’ll be useless for the rest of the day. You gave her 500 volts, and it went beyond-“
“Edith, don’t make it seem like you care for a test subject, lest you want them to investigate you. I’d hate to lose a brilliant scientist.”
Dr. Delaney bit her lower lip and shook her head. “She needs rest.”
“Are the nanonites still inside her, Bartholomew?” Dr. Wallace asked the younger doctor.
“Still functional, sir,” Bartholomew replied, clearing his throat in the process.
Dr. Wallace sighed. “Alright, then. Let’s give this a couple of hours. We resume at 1300 hours.”
Dr. Delaney hid her sigh of relief. “You heard Dr. Wallace; we resume at 1300 hours.” She looked at the monitors displaying Alexia’s vital signs. Alexia would most likely forget the recent events again, poor girl. “Get her a good dose of vitamins later,” she told another female doctor.
Dr. Wallace left the room with a few lieutenants in tow. Dr. Delaney approached Ryker, who was still held down.
“If you have any decency left in you as a human, please shift once we commence.”
Ryker ignored her as he continued to look straight at the ceiling. I’m not going to shift.
The girl’s face never left his mind.