Page 11 of Sergi
The first two weeks became a ritual pattern. The blood-spattered lab was always empty of staff, and we worked amicably and quietly. He’d yet to say one word to me other than his commands or to answer questions about the assigned task. There was no idle chatter.
Then, last week, after we’d cleaned the lab, we were told to wait because it would need to be cleaned again before the end of the day. No one wanted to waste time taking us back and forth from our cells. I wasn’t comfortable being forced to stay and had no idea what to expect. All I’d seen was the aftermath of blood, guts, and bits of bones.
S-272 had given me a quick glance, worry in his gaze, and maybe a bit of fear. Not for himself, but for me. He knew what was coming. When I thought back to the first time I’d entered the blood-soaked lab, S-272 had been sitting on the floor in a corner, just like we were now.
He must have seen what happened. Knew what the screams were from. That morning’s porridge made a gurgling sound, and I had no doubt I’d be picking up its partially regurgitated remains before too long.
When the double doors opened, a thin female her long hair piled haphazardly on her head and wearing a white lab coat, entered. Behind the wire-rimmed glasses her eyes were sunken, the whites touched with a light shade of pink. Her cheeks were sallow. She hadn’t slept well for some time. The increased workload seemed to be taking a toll. I wasn’t naive enough to believe it had anything to do with the loss of shifters.
Where were they getting them all?
I stifled a weary laugh. Well, I certainly knew where they found me. And the thought sickened me when I thought of the others sent before me and those that came after.
Two steps behind her had been a scrawny dude, probably her assistant. He was what I’d call a geek. He wasn’t as thin as the female, and though his skin was pasty, it appeared to be his natural coloring. His walk was more of a bounce. He was energetic, his eyes sharp with excitement.
Great.
Behind him were four males walking two abreast, the sleeves and pants of their uniform reflecting thick arm and thigh muscles. Most shifters would cross the street to avoid them.
In the middle of the four men was a young shifter male, maybe in his mid-twenties, dressed like the other males I’d seen—a brown pullover V-neck shirt and simple pants made of the same rough fabric as my shift and tied with a drawstring. His eyes were huge bright-blue orbs, and he stumbled every few steps. His wrists and ankles were manacled, and I smelled his anguish.
I took another look at his restraints. They weren’t just metal, they were silver. Of course. That would dampen his ability toget out of the cuffs. And though rage simmered somewhere deep within him, fear was taking control.
Did some survive the experiment? If they did, it was most likely a small percentage, considering how often we cleaned. And the female administrator had let it slip one day that another two-shifter team cleaned other labs.
To ensure the shifter had little room to struggle or attempt a shift, a silver collar an inch wide and half an inch thick was placed around his neck. Two long metal poles were attached to his collar, and a guard at each end of the pole held him in place while the other two guards cut the shirt and pants from him, snipping along the seams so another shifter could sew them back together. Waste not, want not.
Once he was naked, they removed his restraints and pushed him onto a platform and against a stiff metal back wall. His arms were pulled away from his body and clamped into manacles. Additional manacles were placed around his ankles; his legs spread a foot apart. They removed the poles and collar before stepping back as a cage door closed the shifter inside the structure.
The geek assistant picked up a string of black-coated wires that had been gathered over a machine. That was the first time I paid attention to the line of machines on either side of the cage. Each wire ended with a suction cup, and reaching through the square openings in the cage door, the assistant placed them on various parts of the shifter’s body.
I remembered the countless times I’d cleaned similar cords, laying them in a basin of bleach water until the blood dissipated.
After the cords had been applied, the assistant walked by each machine and turned it on. Within seconds, lights flashed, and while I couldn’t read the displays from where I huddled, various bits of information popped up on the screens.
The female, who I finally pegged as one of the scientists, stood at a counter. Several items were spread out over the steel countertop—bottles with various colored liquids, small vials of what looked like blood, and other items I couldn’t see from my position on the floor. I’d been so focused on the shifter, I hadn’t paid attention to where the items had come from. I assumed some came from cabinets where glass doors reflected similar bottles and some from a commercial-sized refrigerator that was locked with a keypad.
She filled a syringe with a viscous dark-red substance then handed it to the assistant before picking up her tablet and moving behind a glass divider. She wouldn’t want to get her nice, white lab coat spattered.
The assistant walked around the cage, and with every few steps, the geek actually licked his lips, practically wetting himself with anticipation. There wasn’t anything I could do to stop him, but I promised to rip him limb from limb in my nightmares.
“Come along, Leonard. We have more after this one.”
I would remember his name, if nothing else.
He finally selected a spot near the shifter’s lower abdomen, somewhere near the kidneys. I didn’t know if that was the only possible injection sight, or whether Leonard’s preamble pacing had been an act to instill fear into the shifter. It wasn’t necessary. The shifter struggled against his restraints. The whites of his eyes were enormous, and his pupils appeared dilated. A faint red glow shimmered behind the irises. His wolf had to be terrified.
The injection was administered slowly, and the shifter screamed in agony, the sound echoing around the lab. Neither the female nor the guards seemed to hear the wailing as they stared at the shifter. The cries of rage and fear didn’t register with Leonard as he removed the needle, staring up at the shifter, his tongue taking another lick of his lips.
He and the guards then moved behind the glass shield.
“Make note.” The female spoke out loud as she typed into the tablet. “Twenty cc of TA54 was injected into specimen 303 at nine thirty am.” She glanced up to study her test subject.
Nothing happened. For five full minutes, nothing happened.
It started with sweat. A light sheen covered his face, then his entire body flushed. He struggled against the restraints, his head turning to the right and left in a rapid succession as he screamed. His hands fisted and released over and over until they remained in a tight ball. He began panting. His eyes glowed a bright red. If he shifted in his restraints, it would kill him.
Then, suddenly, the screams stopped, leaving the lab in an eerie silence except for the beep of the machines. The shifter relaxed, his head hanging low.
