Back in Elk City, winding forests are exchanged for winding laboratory hallways and white walls. As long as intelligent technology has existed, scientific research of beasts has followed. While research institutes would like to claim that the beasts they study are under good care, not all are lucky enough to merely be studied in a comfortable cell; many wind up in a world of wires, electric shocks, and drug cocktails. Merely understanding them was never the goal.
Julius, in a limbo, half-werewolf state, curls his fingers around the cell bars. His speech switches between coherent, vulgar shouting to low, rabid growls. Whatever they used to sedate him has kept him from becoming too dangerous, but placed him in a state where he can be studied. A woman in a high-collar, button-up top carries a clipboard as she walks towards him. The step of her heeled boots echoes down the hallway beneath Julius’s struggle for freedom. She stops in front of his cell.
“Julius Hollenbeck. This is a bit much, don’t you think?” she says. “I’m Doctor Isla Faulkner. I’ll be taking care of you.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of,” Julius spits, out of breath.
“Is that right? If I leave you here, the toxins in the sedative we gave you could kill you. You need me.”
“Toxins? You poisoned me?”
“We highlighted your beastly characteristics. Think of it like in iodine injection that makes tissues observable during a scan.”
“I’m not a beast. I didn’t choose to be this way,” he says. He twitches as the transformation progresses and regresses in a loop that never seems to end.
“Choice or not, your genes are far from what they should be. Many of these beasts are too far gone, too difficult to study. But werewolves are one of a kind. Your transformation isn’t technically permanent; and with practice, we can teach you to control it.” Julius perks up at the thought. His shoulders relax and his breathing slows. “You can go back to being a Sentry, living a normal life-- you can see Helena again-- but you have to let me help you.”
Julius knows it’s a deal with the devil, but he’s left with no other options. With heavy footsteps and hazy vision, he ends up in an open room of switchboards and machines. Soon enough, like a marionette, the wires hanging from the ceiling wrap around his arms and ankles. He hangs his head in defeat, but Dr. Faulkner tilts his chin up with her pen. She tucks it back behind her ear, letting it disappear within strands of black hair.
“I crank this up to ten and you succumb to the radiation. But at low levels, it will only kill you if you let it. Don’t forget that.” She disappears into a contained room; when she emerges again, a low hum resonates across the room. Julius cries out in frustration. His canines emerge from his mouth and his spine twitches and extends. His shouts morph into snarls and growls. The hair on his dark skin stands up, growing dense.
“Remember, the radioactivity is benign. You’re the problem.” Dr. Faulkner places a hand on his cheek, unafraid of his red eyes or his razor-sharp teeth. “Stop fighting, Julius. You were meant to be this way. The wolf within you-- you don’t have to keep it away.”
He manages to muster up the ability to mutter one last question. “Have you ever made a deal with the devil?”
She furrows her brow suspiciously, then grimaces. “Yes. And you’re going to give him exactly what he wants.”
Any further words are incoherent in Julius’s mind. He stands ten feet tall, his cumbersome werewolf body detaching itself from the wires and stumbling into shelves and trays. His eyes glow with hatred-- for the world, for Dr. Faulkner, for himself-- but there’s a certain catharsis to no longer feeling like his body is in limbo. A content smile spreads across her face as Julius places his mere inches from her face.
“Old dog, new tricks,” she mutters. “A promise is a promise. You want to see Helena again? It’s been three days since she was seen in Elk City. Find her. Bring her back.”
The garage door behind Julius opens slowly. He darts out of it, disappearing into the trees beyond the city limits. The waning moon hangs in the sky as if holding on by a mere thread.
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