Skinned

I was back home after Reed had urged me to clear my head.

Seated at sofa with my laptop at hand and the flashdrive already inserted, all I could hear was the debate running through my head as I asked myself if I really needed see its contents for myself.

There were four video files in total, all of which were five years apart, and I let the cursor hover over the the very first one that was named with the same set of numbers burned on the skin of Killian’s clavicle, 1065.

I was scared to know that the vampires could do a great level of harm, especially when I was a witness of it alone. It made me wonder what else they had in store for us.

And to what extent?

I drew in a heavy breath and swallowed down my dread, and before reluctance could hinder me, I immediately hit play.

There was a short moment of plain static taking over the screen, voices of different people filling the audio as they spoke in a foreign language. A few seconds into the conversation, I heard a man speak up, his voice carrying a strong accent to it, “1065 is our second subject with superior breeding.”

“And 1064?” A woman asked.

A short pause.

“Undergoing second phase of trial.”

“This one, does it come from the same lineage as the previous subject?”

“Yes, only this one is a year older, twelve. Even the blood tests suggests that he’s of the same relations with 1064.”

“Brothers?”

“Yes.”

The static complete disappeared, and showed a boy confined in the middle of a purely white room. He had his shoulders curved forward, his posture frail as he sat alone and terrified on the steel cold chair. And I felt my heart ache for him as he looked down at his ceaselessly trembling hands, both of which were restrained under a pair of silver shackles.

In a weak attempt to control his body’s tremor, he laced his fingers firmly together and tucked his hands tightly between his thighs.

And I felt my heart drop when he looked directly up at the camera mounted on the corner of the room, forcing me to immediately hit pause and freeze the frame exactly on the clearness of his face.

It was Killian as a mere boy.

I reached out a finger, tracing the details of his features as I caught sight of the spiraling dread and despair that marred his youth. His profile was soft, innocent, yet his purely brown eyes told me that he had already witnessed enough to last him a lifetime.

And what he endured as a pup, instead of days spent in pure games, had instead been torment that even I failed to imagine.

Killian turned his head to the two-way mirror in front of him, his features breaking into a display of sorrow as his eyes turned into a pool of tears.

“Where’s my brother? Where’s Kade?” Killian asked, his voice breaking at the last part, “Please, don’t hurt him. He’s just a kid—I can’t lose him too, please.”

“Mikhailov?” Someone asked, and it sounded like it came from the other side of the two-way mirror where Killian couldn’t hear.

“He can’t know,” A woman firmly said, her voice an icy tone, “Grief ruins werewolves. We need the boy compliant.”

Killian made a harsh jolt when he heard a screeching sound of a heavy door being slid open, and from the corner of the video, walked in a woman with white pristine skin and sleek dark red hair tightly pulled back into a bun. My breath hitched the moment she allowed her eyes to meet the camera, her irises holding a vivid glow of red that seemed to slice through my screen.

There was something in the way she carried herself that the air around her was brooding—threatening. Despite her youthful features, the cut of her gaze and the grace of her posture told me that she was not as young as she looked to be.

“You ask for an answer unearned, Killian,” Mikhailov said.

A look of undisguised pain crossed Killian’s features, as if her words alone left an ugly ring to his ears.

“And it wasn’t enough that you killed everyone in my pack? My people? My parents?” Killian shot back, and I could clearly feel his grief pouring out for the blood that laid waste in his perished territory.

A vein on Mikhailov’s jaw ticked as she pressed her lips firmly together, her patience quick to wear thin, “You choose your next words carefully, Killian.”

And from there, Killian must have gotten the idea that she wasn’t there for his sentiments. She wasn’t there to talk about the slaughter she made, not when she had done it all without a hint of mercy.

Mikhailov merely wanted him to submit to her game.

“Just tell me what you want from me, I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt Kade.”

Mikhailov tipped her head up, her interest peaked.

It was as if Killian’s words were enough for a contract signed—his blood as the ink to mark the promise of his compliance.

And I gritted my teeth when a small, winning smile reached Mikhailov’s lips as she finally got what she needed the most with utmost ease.

The scene then shifted to a dozen of people in white coats surrounding Killian who had his forehead, wrists, and ankles bound onto the chair with thick silver cuffs. His head had already been shaved and his features were more terrified than ever as his eyes took in his surroundings, and what made me sick to the stomach was the horrific amount of tubes stuck behind his back. And the tubes were all connected to a glass cylindrical container that carried at least a gallon of what looked to be a thick, crimson substance.

“I can’t ask you to be calm with this,” Mikhailov’s voice rung through the place, “I will not lie that the first process will be painful, so I ask of you to go through this not for us, but for your brother alone.”

Killian pressed his lips firmly together, his eyes wide as he tried to control his impending tears. And I noticed the way his hands balled into tight fists beneath the silver cuffs, drawing in a huge breath before giving Mikhailov an accepting nod.

A man stepped up behind him holding another tube with a lengthy needle, and I raised my hand to my mouth as I watched Killian shut his eyes as the man went in to stick the needle at the back of his head. Unable to move his head away from the needle plunged halfway into his skull, all he could do was release a pained scream that had me turning away from the screen in horror.

Killian was left trembling as soon as the tube was finally stuck into the back of his head, and the man of assistance stepped down and went back behind the computers to do his business.

“Subject 1065 is ready for the first phase of infusion. On your word, Dr. Mikhailov,” a woman said, her golden eyes glued to the computer as she quickly typed onto the keyboard.

Killian’s eyes remained closed, refusing to meet the two way mirror as he tried to shift his conscience somewhere else—somewhere oblivious to the pain that he was going to endure from then on. And I could read clearly his lips as he uttered out a short prayer that was most common to us werewolves.

“By skin and wild, I submit myself to you, My Moon.”

“Begin,” Mikhailov said, and the woman awaiting her signal immediately nodded before flipping a small switch.

“Infusion is on 25%, Dr. Mikhailov.”

My hands trembled as I watched the glass carrier behind Killian begin to distribute the crimson fluid through the tubes, and it was so viscid that it was pushing itself through the tubes in an excruciating slow pace.

As soon as the fluid reached Killian, his body immediately jumped at the contact, a growl that wasn’t supposed to be heard at his age escaped the back of his throat; It was like the fluid was prematurely drawing out the wolf from the depths of his core, forced to reach the surface in order to reject the poison being forced into his system.

“The subject’s shifting process is being triggered, it’s working,” a man behind a computer spoke up.

“Infusion on 50%.”

Killian was already screaming, blood drawing out from his nose as his body continuously jerked against the cuffs that bound him down into place.

“75%”

I felt my heart drop, my eyes pooling with tears as I watched Killian’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his body going into convulsion. His vitals completely had completely sky rocketed as several monitors made an alarming sound.

“Dr. Mikhailov, the boy is—” a man spoke up, his eyes wary as he watched Killian going through a seizure.

“You don’t stop until I say so!” Mikhailov snapped, “Proceed to 100%.”

The woman in control with the infusion took a moment to swallow down her fear, and she then flipped the last switch on and allowed the last of the fluid to rush into Killian.

Upon the last wave of infusion, Killian was left unconscious on the chair, and it was up to Mikhailov’s workmen to check if he had managed to hold himself up.

After a few moments, the door opened, and Dr. Mikhailov walked in with her heels clicking behind her steps, her eyes glued to the boy whose youth she had destroyed just so she could turn him into her weapon.

“Vitals?” she asked, her hand hovering over the tubes behind Killian’s back.

“Normal,” a man said.

“Pull the tubes, let him rest,” Mikhailov told her men, “He’ll begin second phase in two weeks. For now, we’ll run him through a few tests.”

That was the last clip in the first video, and I was already feeling sick.

The next one showed me a version of Killian who looked to be in his teenage years.

His physique had started to fill out with muscles, his eyes still holding the same color of hazel, yet his features had shifted to become detached. Larger and thicker pairs of cuffs were now being used to keep him down, yet the same amount of tubes were still used.

Killian wasn’t showing any sign of fear anymore, and he kept his eyes straight ahead and looking at the two way mirror in front of him. He looked to have grown numb from the years that have past, and it killed me to think of what else they had done to him in order to have him turn out this way.

“This is your fifteenth fix on the infusion,” Mikhailov’s voice echoed through the speakers in the room, her tone calm yet still holding an underlying frustration, “We’ve been sticking you with the same amount dosage, but all we get is the same result and a momentary shift in the color of your eyes.”

Killian blinked slowly, his posture void of tension as he looked at the two way mirror as if he could see clearly the woman hiding behind it.

“I want to see my brother.”

“You don’t get to see him if you don’t give me the results I need,” Mikhailov said.

There was a shift of muscle in Killian’s jaw as he clenched his teeth, “How do I know that he’s not dead yet?”

“Are you doubting my word, Killian?” Mikhailov asked, and I couldn’t deny the menace that came with her words, “We both know that lying to you would be a complete waste of my time. You forget that you made a bargain with me, Killian, you just haven’t held your end of the deal yet.”

Killian’s glare was enough to pierce through the two way mirror, “Just tell that after all this, I get to see him.”

A short pause.

“Let me give you a portion of what you ask for,” Mikhailov said, and the doors opened from the other side of the room, revealing a woman in a white coat holding a wrinkled piece of white shirt. She held out the cloth in front of Killian’s nose, and his eyes widened in immediate recognition from what might have been a shirt carrying Kade’s fresh scent.

As the fluid began to travel through the tube and, once again, into Killian’s system. He remained tight lipped, heaving in breaths as he endured the well acquainted pain, and I understood what Mikhailov was talking about when his eyes gradually changed to acquire the vivid glow of blue that I had met long ago.

The last video was dated just a day after I found him by the lake, this time, I was shown a footage of Killian in the same place, same cuffs, and same glass tube that carried the crimson fluid.

“It’s been too long, Victor, he should be showing signs by now,” Mikhailov said from behind the two way mirror, and Killian remained oblivious to their conversation as he sat waiting for another round of his infusion.

“I can’t say where we went wrong, Mikhailov. I’ve done all the monitoring, something’s just not right,” A man, who I assumed was Victor, spoke up.

Killian’s eyes dropped to the floor, his features wearing a look that I knew too well—he was thinking.

“How long?” Killian asked and let his eyes drag up to the two way mirror.

“How long what, Killian?” Mikhailov’s voice reached the speakers.

“How long before you finally let us free? Or are you waiting for one of us to die?”

“We can’t let you go until you show progress, Killian,” Victor’s voice then rang through the room, “If you want to see your brother, you have to do your part.”

Killian let out a hostile snarl, his hands balling into tight fists beneath the thick cuffs, and I noticed the way his eyes flickered from warm hazel to a glowing blue.

“Victor?” Mikhailov said, catching sight of the same thing that I just saw.

“I saw it too,” Victor said.

“Proceed and advance to 50% of infusion. He doesn’t need to go slow,” Mikhailov immediately said.

A man in the same room as Killian nodded and checked the tubes stuck behind him before proceeding to the set of computers.

“Dr. Mikhailov, we can’t rush the process, it’s—” Victor tried.

“I know what he needs,” she cut him off.

And I knew too.

Mikhailov had already modified Killian to become her weapon, yet she was missing the vital part to her plan,

“He needs a trigger,” she concluded, her words leaking with much assurance.

And she was right.

All weapons needed triggers to make its damage,

and apparently, Killian’s trigger was Kaden.

“Are you sure about this?” Victor asked, “If you provoke him further, we’ve no idea what this subject is capable of.”

Mikhailov tuned Victor out completely, and as soon as the infusion was kicked to an abrupt start, Killian released a pained snarl.

“Infusion is on 50%,” the man spoke up.

“Would you like to know why we refuse to let you see your brother?” she hissed, and Killian immediately snapped his eyes open and glared at the two way mirror, as if he was daring her to tell him so.

“December 6th, 2013. Seventh phase of trial, subject 1064 was unable to withstand—”

“You fucking bitch,” Killian snarled with a voice taking on an abnormally deep tone, his body jerking from the force of his wild itching to reach the surface of him, and his eyes turned into a glowing blue that seemed to shout the animosity of his wolf’s wrath.

“—subject 1064 was unable to withstand the infusion. Further examination of the body suggested multiple organ failures—”

“Lies!” Killian exclaimed , and he released a scream that rang through the room.

His bones started to shift, his skin peeling off to make way for the growth of his pitch black fur. He broke free from the silver cuffs as if they were brittle plastics, and I watched him land on the tiled floor on all fours with the tubes tugging off his back, stretching his arm behind him to make one long scratch that peeled the skin away from his body.

It was like he was skinning himself, his agonized scream turning into fits of hostile growls as his bones shifted to accommodate his wild.

The man who controlled the infusion rushed to the door, banging for it to open as he screamed in panic for immediate help.

“Direct all backup into the eastern wing. The room won’t be able to hold him down long, don’t let them kill him. I want him alive,” Mikhailov immediately said, and Victor was quick to reply with a curt ‘yes’.

Shifted fully into a fully grown wolf, I waited for the beast to stand on its four feet as the sound of its pained whimpers left an invisible rope to wrap tightly around my throat.

“Help! Let me out!” the man shouted at the door and pounded more onto the steel surface as he noticed the wolf begin to stir away from its haze, and as it pushed itself off from the ground, my features completely paled as I witnessed Killian’s wild stand on its own two feet.

The wolf reflected the very build of a man, the weight of its muscles nearly tripled to a newer extent of strength and vitality as it stood towering in the middle of the enclosed room. It was at least four heads taller than the man, and I watched as the wolf’s claws extended, its eyes landing on one of Mikhailov’s accomplice crying for help.

The wolf’s growls ceased and was reduced to silence, waiting for the man to turn around and look at him. And when the vampire slowly turned around in worry for the sudden silence, he was shoved right back into the door as Killian’s wolf bit the air just a few centimeters away from his face.

“P-please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the vampire begged, and I jolted on my seat when the wolf grabbed him by the throat, his claws sinking into the man’s neck as he tossed him to the other side of the room, far from the door that held his freedom.

The wolf reveled in the vampire’s cry for help, its movements slow as it made an approach to its new prey. With a frenzied snarl jumped and mauled Mikhailov’s accomplice to death, and I cringed as I saw the blood splatter onto the pale wall behind the man.

The door was kicked open, and the backup that Mikhailov alerted threw a stun grenade into the room, and men dressed in the same black gear appeared in the camera, all holding a gun with lasers pointed directly at Killian’s back.

“Shoot the fucking dog!” A man whose voice I recognize was Gael’s exclaimed, and Killian’s wolf moved to try and avoid the zipping bullets, using the force of his four limbs to run around the room and take down a few of Gael’s team.

Objects were flying everywhere, and I jumped when Killian’s wolf flung a heavily armored guy into the camera, cutting the video short until I was left only with a black screen.

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