FENN DRAX
Wilhelm wedges a pencil into the gap between his fang and premolar, and absentmindedly rolls it around while staring at the TV screen.
Some sensationalized TV special is playing on the screen, apparently about mysterious events in a snowbound town in Alaska, where people allegedly saw a giant wolf and a polar bear. I can’t really keep my attention on the story, though, because my head keeps drifting off-center.
The room smells like Wilhelm’s filthy lab coat, permanently soaked in cigarette smoke, and I’m constantly nauseated.
A nose clip is clamped over his nostrils, forcing him to breathe through his mouth.
It actually looks kind of funny, a big orange piece of plastic sticking out from his potato nose.
Everybody has to wear one around me. Otherwise, things tend to end badly for them.
Or well, good, depending on how you look at it.
"By the way," Wilhelm finally tears himself away from his mindless TV-watching and mumbles, stretching out every syllable the way he always does. "I've got some news for you. They're moving you to Section AA. Lomax figured maybe spending some time looking at them will get you worked up."
Motionless, I'm lying flat on the bunk with an IV in my arm. They’ve taken so much blood that I feel like I might black out. I've been staring at the ceiling, but now I turn my eyes toward him.
Ugly bastard. He wears scrubs, but he's just an orderly. A pisshead and a sadist on top of that. I don't feel like talking to him. He genuinely enjoys watching me suffer.
Sometimes I curse the day I accepted Welrun's offer. Actually, scratch that, I do it every day. Still, once I survive this torture, I'll be a free man. The only problem is, the days crawl by way too slowly. Pain is my constant companion, and to keep myself sane, I build things in my head.
Beautiful things. Wooden furniture, gazebos, log cabins tucked away in the scenic mountains.
I build them from the ground up, piece by piece.
I pick the perfect board, one without knots.
I can already see the cut line before the saw ever touches it.
Measure, mark, slice, sand. Shapes emerge beneath my hands.
Planers, chisels, drills all working with me to create something magnificent.
Before my life went to hell, that's what I did. I built houses. Made furniture for them. Finished every detail myself.
Then everything fell apart, and now I'm just a caged monster. A freak. A criminal.
But that’s not surprising, to be fair. That's how it goes for mutants. When we need a way out, we end up selling blood and pieces of ourselves, and right now I'm doing exactly that.
"What do you mean, watching?" I mumble, only half paying attention.
Wilhelm shoots me a quick sidelong glance.
"The cafeteria’s got a one-way mirror. They built you a little room behind it. You’ll be able to watch our beloved program participants during meals and all the other little gatherings. Dr. Lomax’s idea."
Wilhelm leans over my shoulder, and the heavy, sweat-soaked stench coming off him is killing me softly. My sense of smell is far better than that of an ordinary alpha, so other people’s lack of hygiene is pure torture.
The disgusting orderly brutally rips out the IV, and a sharp stab of pain tears through me.
Fucking asshole. He’s being rough on purpose. An ugly, acidic bruise blooms across my skin.
The pain throbs.
I look away from the butchered wound. He doesn’t even bother to disinfect it.
The constant pain…
Fuck, I hate it. It keeps dragging old memories to the surface, violating me with horrifying visions. A bloodbath. My parents sprawled in red pools on the floor. My brothers… No!
Sometimes the flashbacks are worse than the physical side of this whole nightmare I’m living in now.
But I've only got three months left. I can do three months, right?
I have to. When I walk out of here, there'll be two million dollars sitting in my account.
I'll get a fresh start. Maybe find work somewhere isolated.
Perhaps open my own company building custom log homes.
Though I'd probably need somebody to handle clients for me, because the second most humans get a look at my face, they'll run for the hills.
Humans.
Am I even one? Nobody's treated me like one for a very long time. Not since my parents.
I squeeze my eyes shut. The weakness and exhaustion bring what they always do.
Another memory slams into me.
My brothers and I are running through the forest.
Ragged breath, heavy feet.
Gunshots crack behind us. Hunting dogs howl in pursuit. These are people from a village near the place where we were born. They found out about us. Now it’s a pursuit, us or them.
"There they are! Faster!"
The voices chase us through the trees like hounds themselves.
Freaks. Monsters. Mutants.
"Burn them! Kill them!"
Then a gunshot.
Skaar hits the ground first. The bullet grazes his tail and lodges in his back. Blood spreads across his shirt near his shoulder blade and—
I try to stop. I can't leave him there. But Thorn is pulling at my arm, trying to drag me forward. I fight his grip, turn back, reaching for Skaar anyway.
His silvery-gray hand grabs mine, his completely black eyes locked on my face. He was always the most sensitive of us. He needs me now. I have to help him…
"Save me!" His voice resounds in my mind. It’s his telepathy.
But then… another shot.
The bullet tears through my thigh. I scream and crash to the ground next to Skaar.
Thorn lets go of me, pure horror on his pale blue face. He keeps running for another few seconds before the last shot catches him too.
All three of us are down.
Finished.
They finally got us, bastards.
I close my eyes and fight the memory. Push it down, mute it down.
Enough, enough!
A low, involuntary groan slips out of my chest.
"Shut the hell up. I'm trying to watch it," Wilhelm growls, even though he doesn't care about the TV show. He just needs everyone to remember who's in charge.
I turn my head toward the window. This part of the medical wing is above ground, and beyond the thin rectangle of glass, I can see the green of trees surrounding the facility. The forest keeps pulling at me. I need to get back out there.
"When's my next pass?" I ask, my voice rough from disuse. Sometimes I don't even know what day it is. Time comes in broken pieces here, separated by pain and sleep.
"Ask Reed or check your schedule yourself. I'm not your fucking secretary."
Again, I fix my eyes on the narrow strip of green outside, like a sliver of hope. I need out.
Just for a little while.
Just long enough to feel the quiet of the woods, let it wash over me, and forget.
Forget myself. Forget who I am.
Just be.