Page 115 of Unhinged Alphas
They drag me down yet another endless whitehallway, my feet barely touching the ground. My head spins, still fuzzy from whatever they drugged me with. I try to focus, to memorize the layout, but it's all a blur of stark walls and harsh fluorescent lights. Like a maze designed to disorient and confuse.
We pass a set of double doors, and I catch a glimpse of what looks like a medical lab. The acrid smell of chemicals burns my nose, making me gag. One of the soldiers snickers.
"What's wrong, omega? Smell something you don't like?"
I spit at him, aiming for his eyes. He jerks back, cursing, and raises his hand to strike me. The female soldier intercepts, grabbing his wrist.
"For fuck's sake, control yourself," she hisses. "You want to explain to Command why the asset is damaged?"
Asset.
That's all I am to them.
A thing to be used and discarded.
We round another corner, and I hear voices drifting from an open doorway. I fall completely silent, stilling even my breathing as I strain to listen, desperate for any information.
"The asset that looks like a mutated fuckingzombie is in containment. Took nine tranq darts to bring him down."
My heart leaps despite the cruelty in his voice.
Wraith. It has to be.
He's alive.
"Christ. How's he still breathing after that much sedative?"
"Dunno. But Command wants him alive. Says he's too valuable. So we can't give him more yet without risking overdose."
Relief floods through me, followed quickly by dread. If they want Wraith alive, it can't be for anything good. And that means Valek was right about his origins. My heart aches for him. What must he be feeling right now?
But at least he's alive.
I can only hope he knows I am, too.
The soldiers shove me into a small room filled with various scanners and medical equipment. A stern-faced beta in a lab coat waits, tapping her foot impatiently.
"About time," she snaps. "Get her prepped. We're behind schedule."
They force me onto a cold metal table, strapping me down with thick leather restraints. I thrash and yell, but it's useless.
The beta approaches with a syringe, and I bare my teeth at her. "Try it, bitch. I've been known to bite fingers off."
She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Charming. Hold still. A little pinch..."
The needle slides into my arm and I hiss at the sting. Whatever she's injected me with burns as it spreads through my veins. My vision blurs and the room starts to spin.
"What... what did you do to me?" I slur, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth.
"Just a little cocktail to keep you compliant," she says, her voice distant and echoing. "Can't have you causing trouble, now can we?"
I try to fight the drug, but it's no use. My limbs grow heavy, and my thoughts turn sluggish. I'm vaguely aware of them taking blood samples, scanning my body with various machines. Someone pries my mouth open, swabbing the inside of my cheek. Someone else cleans and dresses the burns on my arm, glazing them with a liquid that forms a second skin. I'm vaguely aware of being able to clench and open my hand on command, but that's all.
Time loses all meaning. It could be minutes or hours later when they finally unstrap mefrom the table. My legs buckle as they haul me to my feet and I slump against one of the soldiers.
"Looks like the bitch is finally house-trained," one of them sneers.
I want to snarl at him, to fight back, but my body won't cooperate. They half-drag, half-carry me down more identical corridors. We pass other cells, most of them empty. But in one, I catch a glimpse of matted hair and gleaming eyes. Some poor bastard driven feral by captivity and endless experiments.