by Jade White
She had gotten a plant from Dr. Delaney, too, a small evergreen that had to be taken out every few days for some sunshine. The ceiling in her room was thirty feet high, and close to the ceiling were slits that served as the nearest thing that could be called windows. Sometimes, light came from them, reflecting a glow that she marveled at again and again -- and when there was a storm, she could hear the rain and mud splatter against the glass-paneled slits. Sometimes, she heard thunder. The first time she had heard it as a child, it had scared her, and she had cowered under her blankets until she had slept through most of it. Now, whenever she heard thunder, she welcomed it. It was a welcome sound to what she had been so used to. Sometimes, in the shower, she pretended it was rain.
Alexia wondered what time it was. Suddenly, the lights shut down. That would be around eight in the evening, she thought. She had no control over her room’s lights, and the only lights left were the ones close to the floor. She imagined that that was probably how an airport runway would look…
Exhaustion had begun to take over her body, and she found herself drifting into a thankfully dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
The capital was in a festive mood. The WereGames were set to begin in a few weeks’ time, and it was a source of celebration and illegal betting all across the country. Mr. Toretti was going to make a killing out of the stakes, soon.
Ryker didn’t really care about it, no matter how infectious it seemed. People were suddenly nicer, all riled up by the fact that a legal blood sport was to commence. Stay inconspicuous, he kept telling himself. The WereGames always gave him jitters, no matter how he tried to deny it. There was something saddening about youths his age, or those even younger than him, being sent to a controlled environment where they battled it out until death, all for a chance at normalcy and wealth -- something always denied to their kind.
“I’m still human,” he would tell himself, “I’m still human no matter how many times I change…”
He had successfully retrieved the loan shark and dumped the man’s half-paralyzed body in front of Mr. Toretti, guaranteeing him a two-day vacation with crisp thousand dollar bills in his pocket. He disliked doing nothing; it reminded him of the past. Tonight was such a night. The March air was cool, and snow flurries danced across the city streets, with twilight approaching. It reminded him of that night in their small town, that night where fate had decided to play a game, where fate had saved him but had his parents killed.
Ryker shook his head as he continued to walk the city streets he knew quite well. The prostitutes were still asleep, which meant he could walk around in peace without being catcalled by them. He knew they were teasing, but he was afraid he would lose his patience with their feminine wiles and shift into a werebear just so they’d leave him alone. People walked past him, oblivious to having a werebeing in their midst. He kept his hoodie up for added anonymity.
There was no need to work out to keep fit; somehow, he was just naturally muscular. It raised red flags for anyone who would be keeping tabs on him, so he slumped when he walked to make himself look smaller and pathetic. He disliked it, but he had grown used to it. Far away, he saw the city lights flicker on, one by one, as if on cue. It was really a magnificent thing to look at, a testament to their country’s ingenuity and fondness for comfort.
Ryker found himself hating it. It was everything that everyone wanted -- glittery, with a sense of safety, hiding the ugliness of the regime away. He knew there were hundreds of werebeings, but not once had he met a werebear in the capital. He would have known right away. There had been rumors that certain werebeings had been enhanced as early as childhood, despite the recessive genes. Mr. Toretti’s men had talked about it last year, as the previous year’s WereGames had been one of the most brutal yet. They were hoping for a good show this year, pooling in money for a potential candidate, enough to make a participant live off comfortably for a couple of years.
That was what it was about for the common population -- it was about eliminating favorites, and it was about making money. Some winners had become celebrities in their own right, controlled by the regime. Some winners were never seen again. The majority of the winners, however, were said to have been sterilized in an effort to control the mutation. Weretigers and werewolves, even werefoxes, had good numbers, but werebears were rare. There had only been one werebear to join the games since they had started, and he had actually won the WereGames. Ryker hadn’t seen the competition, but his parents had talked about it. It was all the more reason why Philip and Raven had wanted him homeschooled. Kids had to experience what it was like being a kid, not try to outsmart other kids in a battle to the death.
The part of the city where he resided in was older looking, with a few decaying buildings, decorated with neon lights and advertisements, and security cameras in inconspicuous places. The government liked to keep tabs on everyone if it was possible, but he found out where most of these cameras were, avoiding them like the plague. He had lived in New York for a little over two years now, never staying more than six months in the same area, and Mr. Toretti always made sure his apartment was in a sleazy-looking building so no one would bother his favorite muscle, and he could easily remain anonymous.
He was walking down a tenement, old, but serviceable, when he heard muffled voices coming from a dark alley. They were poachers, he recognized immediately -- men who made a living out of kidnapping werebeings and turning them over to the government. His senses prickled, knowing the men were surrounding a child. A little girl of no more than eight years old…
He wanted to avoid it, he wanted to turn his back on the situation, but he stayed glued, watching the scene unfold. Every muscle in his body wanted to stop these poachers from assaulting the child. He saw the kid cowering, and it was obvious the girl was trying hard not to shift.
“Stop!” she cried out, shielding herself from their taunts. “Stop it, please!”
The magic word went ignored, and they began to kick her as she lay on the ground, her arms covering her head and face in vain.
“Please,” she sobbed.
Ryker found himself taking a step forward, purposefully stepping on an empty can of soda. It did its purpose, and the poachers, three of them, quickly spun around to see who it was.
“Who in the hell are you?” one with a thick beard hissed, looking at the man with a hoodie over his head.
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Ryker told them, eyeing the kid on the ground.
“And you think you’ve got the right size, punk?” the bearded man spat on the ground. “You ain’t got business here; now run along before we break a few bones.”
Their bones were the only bones that were breaking on this fine night, Ryker thought as he took another step forward. “What makes you even think that she’s one of them?”
The bearded man stood tall, at his fullest, and he was now as tall as Ryker. He patted the baseball bat tip in one palm as he stared at the younger newcomer.
“You really want to get into our business, kid?” he snarled. “Well, you’d better have health insurance.”
Ryker flexed his palms and shoulders. He didn’t have work this week, so he might as well do something pro bono for a fellow werebeing. It all happened so quickly, and before Ryker could catch his breath, the men were already on the ground in a multitude of broken bones. The baseball bat clattered on the ground.
The child stared at him as he helped her up and patted the dust away from her jacket. He pulled his hoodie back so she could see him better.
“What are you?” she whispered, staring into his eyes. They were an icy blue, and it actually made her shiver.
“Just another college kid,” he told her. “You live somewhere close? What’s your name?”
She nodded slowly, suddenly fearful for her life. “Alyssa… Are you one of us?”
Ryker took a breath. “I don’t know what you mean. I just didn’t like them beating you up for whatever it is you’ve done.”
“I didn’t do anything. They were just following me; they’ve been following me for days. Are you registered?”
“I’m not a werebeing,” Ryker casually said, “but it seems like you are. How did they find out?”
“I stopped going to school when I changed one morning without meaning to. I hadn’t done my homework and- and it just happened.”
“Which shifter are you?”
“I’m a werefox.”
“Werefox. Well, I think they’re cute. Have you learned to control it?” he asked her.
“I guess. Well, I’m trying. I knew they were going to take me away. My eyes changed color when they stopped me.”
Ah, one of the first signs that one was about to shift.
“Where are your parents?”
She motioned towards the building across a small park. “Over there. But please, don’t tell them it happened to me. They’ll demand for rights – well, they’re secretly advocates, whatever that means.”
“I won’t. I’ll just escort you to the building, how about that?” he asked her, putting his hoodie back up.
She nodded and unexpectedly held his hand. Ryker took a deep breath and slowly wriggled himself free from her grasp.
“My hands are dirty,” he quickly reasoned, disliking the feeling of human touch, a touch that was free from malice and violence. Any kind of touch on any part of his body, even his hair, sent agitations from distaste.
Their walk was quick and quiet, with Ryker on alert for anyone that could launch another attack on them. The girl’s cuts slowly began to heal, he noticed. He was careful enough to avoid getting hit and was glad that a scratch on his knuckle went unnoticed.
“Well, get to your flat safe,” Ryker breathed out.
She nodded and looked at him once more, as if memorizing his face. “Maybe someday, I can do something good for you, mister.”
“Just stay out of harm’s way,” he told her.
Alyssa nodded again and quickly bolted up a flight of stairs, knowing she had escaped a routine crackdown (whether legal or illegal). Looking back at the alleyway, he saw amid the darkness that the men still lay there. At least they weren’t werebeings, or it would have become a bloodbath.
Ryker quickly walked away, knowing they would soon become conscious, or someone would find them and report them to the proper authorities.
CHAPTER FIVE
“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.
&
nbsp; 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.
