Chapter Two
She heard them before she saw them. Four men. Two clinical, two not.
One of the nots spoke briefly into a walkie before the glass panel slid up and away, allowing them inside.
“Nice and easy,” the bigger grunt cooed at her, his voice gruff.
She expected them to come. She couldn’t tell how far into the moon’s cycle they were, given she was deprived of moonlight. Based on their last attempt though, she’d estimated it to be around now.
Laura sized them as they approached. Both guards hung back by the entrance. They each seemed relaxed, focused on their thoughts, but they held taser sticks and she didn’t want to explore their tolerance for her. Fighting her way out would prove fruitless and deadly anyway, so she did the obedient trick and rolled over.
The other clinical guy came around with the syringe and jabbed harder than necessary into her arm, earning a growl in his direction.
“That’s a good girl.” His breath was way too close to her ear. Instant drowsiness slammed her from the top down, like a bag of bricks placed lightly on her head. The last thing she saw as she fell over sideways, onto the cot, was the panic of the one who had jabbed her as he fell on his ass.
She must have kicked him.
She smiled.
Then it was sleepy time.
Laura woke slowly. She was upright but registered the cold metal beneath her. Her limbs were locked in place. Blinking away the sedative, she tested her muscles, finding them heavy and hard to work with under the straps. Her liver was quick on the detox though, because as the seconds ticked she was near body normalcy.
“She’s up.” As soon as the voice spoke, she was violently released to fall to the floor.
Laura recognized the room. As pristine as her cell, except for the bed and toilet replaced by a single, standing, torture table. A two-way mirror ran the length of the wall, though its purpose did little to hinder her, as she could see each figure on the other side.
And there were three.
Blonde Bitch, Brown Bitch and Motor Mouth were all present.
She felt her lip curl on a snarl.
The three ‘doctors’ Laura had the displeasure of being in the care of.
Blondie seemed to always be the one in charge–relatively. Laura boringly designated them by hair color–except Motor Mouth. His name came from all the shit he kept in his mouth. If it wasn’t words, it was stupid little items.
Her focus shifted back to her immediate surroundings: the room.
She was definitely closer to the surface here. The ceiling of the room held a large skylight window, allowing the moon to penetrate. It was closed now, behind a painted slate of steel, but the itch was already worse and the cramps were bad enough to want to double over.
“Let’s give it another go, Four Six Seven.” The plump brunette doctor sounded giddy as she spoke into a microphone.
Four hundred and sixty-seven. Her given number here.
It was at least better than the names her former pack would use to refer to her. She could at least retain a twisted sense of equality among the majority here.
Equality...
She’d worked so hard to prove to herself she deserved it. Laura built herself from the ground up, taking opportunities wherever they may land her. Cleaning tables here, and answering calls there, until she gained skills as an Assistant Social Justice Curator, and finally was able to put herself through college to earn her degrees. The real challenge was enrolling in college. She wasn’t about to walk back to her pack for transcripts. She had them forged.
Five countries and four sites later, she was thriving in Anthropology. Her work: published and praised. She was up for her second award with her current work.
Now that future she had just begun to fully carve looked bleak.
Screech.
Metal on metal sounded as the ceiling slowly separated to reveal the night sky. The full moon’s light crept as fast as the sliding panes allowed to settle over everything in view. Laura pushed herself against the wall, adjacent to the ones eagerly watching her, focused on her breathing before she turned away, letting her hair shade her face. She knew she could outlast the moon, but it would toll on her ability to hide her features.
The sliding frame along the ceiling came to a halt, and the moonlight shining through completely bathed everything in the room.
Cramps formed deeper within her muscles. She felt the phantom twists of her body as she fought the contortion to her wolf form. Her chest vibrated with a deeper octave as she clamped her jaw on the involuntary growl.
She focused on her breathing... In.. Out.
After a few torturous moments, the feeling was more bearable.
If she didn’t move.
“Is she broken? Maybe we should pick up another and try again.” The doctors were speaking to each other on the other side of the glass. Laura could hear them clearly without the mic.
“I don’t know, maybe the moonlight needs to be more direct,” Blondie sighed responding to Motor Mouth.
“Maybe, but we’d need to replan and get it approved to test that. We should just try the shock collar.” Laura hated the sound of him chewing the end of his pen.
“Be my guest, if you can even get a guard to go in there and do it with her awake.” Blondie chuffed at the idea.
“We should just gas this one and move on. We can’t afford to keep wasting resources on this one wolf. We can get another,” Brown chimed in, the dull drumming of her fingers sounding like a roar to Laura.
Her gums itched, like hell. She fought the feeling, resisting the urge to lick her tongue over her canines.
Motor Mouth clicked his tongue, “You said that last time–and look! We’re dealing with the same issue!”
So some poor soul before her may have truly lacked a wolf and been subjected to this hellscape of torture.
“Fine, we’ll see how she continues to progress in the short term.”
Blondie clicked the intercom, “How are you feeling?” She spoke slowly and purposefully, enunciating each word like Laura was a child.
“Go. To. Hell.” Laura tried to temper her anger. It would only force her to work harder to resist the burning under her skin.
Motor Mouth laughed, while Brown Bitch ceased her finger drumming. Blondie gave a muffled ‘hm’ in response.
The night ran long as minutes turned to hours. She was sweating, and finding it harder to hide the tremors as each cramp and twist reached new highs. Laura focused inward on herself, the large room becoming more constricting, more suffocating. She breathed through it, bearing it, and finally–finally–the path of the moon no longer shone directly overhead, taking much of its weight with it.
She was in a seated position behind the raised table, facing away from the glass when the door opened.
“Get the fuck up, bitch.”
She was jerked to her feet by a guard, who was immediately accompanied by a clinician, and she was predictably injected. The hazy feeling took hold as she slumped forward, the guard cursing as he nearly buckled under her dead weight.