Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
They ask what my name is. They ask if I know who I am.
I don't know the answer to either, and that makes me angry, too. Shouldn't I know who I am? I should. If nothing else, I should have a name. But when I rack my brains, trying to recall what it is, nothing is there.
There are no memories, no names, no nothing. I am a big keffing blank. A big angry keffing blank.
When my captor leaves, I drag myself from the bed. The rage is pulsing through my veins, giving me strength. It overrides the drugging effect of whatever they've put in me. I pace around my cell, simmering with fury and unable to vent it. I memorize the few features of my cell. The sink. The flat metal bar at the top of the back wall. The front wall made entirely of glass so I can be observed. The uncomfortable cot that’s attached to the wall itself. The entrance into my cell is a pair of sliding doors with no way to activate it on this side, and they won’t open no matter how much I try to force it. The doors just lead to a locked antechamber anyhow. I’d have to get through two sets of doors before I make it into the hall. It’s all deliberate. They know I’m dangerous and they’re doing their best to keep me imprisoned.
It just makes me angrier. I look around for something to destroy. There's a plant in the corner, of all things.
He might respond to a bit of greenery. It might have a calming effect on him. Bring in a non-toxic plant and see if there's a response.
With a snarl, I grab the plant and fling it against the glass. The window out to the hall doesn't shatter—of course not. They know how to trap me in here. But the plant's plastic container bursts like a bubble and spills dirt all over the floors. I pick up the plant and shred it with the stubs of my claws, and when that's not effective, I use my teeth. By the time the plant is destroyed, I don't feel better. I'm only more enraged. I grab the bed and shred the mattress, sending bits of plas-fabric flying everywhere.
Anything that's not bolted down, I destroy and fling about my cell. And when I run out of unbolted objects, I rip the fountain from the wall and slam it to the floor. Water sprays in my room, and I stand under it and let it spatter on my face.
It…it feels like rain. When did it rain?
Where are my memories? I hate that I can't remember.
An alarm goes off. The sound is a dull roar in my ears, and far too familiar already. I close my eyes and remain under the spray until I hear the hated voices of the main captor and his…friend? No, not friends. They seem angry with each other when they speak, as if they barely tolerate each other's presence. A peer, then, or two males forced to work together on a common project. Doesn't matter. I will kill them both equally dead when I'm free.
A shock sizzles at my neck, at my wrists, at my ankles. It's the shock-collar, but I'm so buzzed with adrenaline that I ignore it. Instead, I open my eyes and turn to the window. The two men are there, wearing plain gray. So much gray. One is in a uniform and the other a heavy, ornate robe of some kind. I make note of that, because it's wise to learn your opponent. We make eye contact.
Both flinch.
It's enough to send my hunting instincts roaring. I throw myself at the window, snarling. It doesn't break, but there's the tiniest bit of give, and that's enough for me. Maybe the glass itself won't break but the metal moorings holding it in place might bend. I fling myself at the window again, and the adrenaline rushes through me, pulsing until I'm in a mindless rage. Nothing exists outside of this window and getting to my prey.
Because they ARE my prey. They're scared of me. It doesn't matter that I'm stun-cuffed and behind glass. They're afraid, and that's all I need to rile me up.
Shockwaves course up my arms and legs. I grit my teeth, determined to ignore the sensations, but eventually they grow overpowering. Black soaks into my vision, everything growing faint before my eyes. My last glimpse is of my captor, frantically hammering at controls, screaming for guards.
I must be getting closer to freedom than he expected, and the thought pleases me.
Next time.
2
CRULDEN
We'll have to increase the voltage on the cuffs. Did you see that? It did nothing to him. He completely ignored it.
He's been bred to have an adrenaline reserve on hand. Somehow he tapped into that, and it allowed him to focus enough that he cut the pain out. It's fascinating…but it's also problematic. What makes him an excellent pit fighter is also part of what makes him difficult to control.