During the first few weeks, we did nothing but tease each other. If one of us complained about the procedures that he was being subjected to, it would be certain that the other one would not have missed the chance to taunt him with cruelty. When we were alone, if we had enough strength left, we did nothing but fight and accuse each other of the most horrible things. I hoped for him to die soon several times, and he did the same with me.
After a while, things changed for me, though. I realized that he was the only friend I had in there and, very like me, was in that world of heartless humans who torture us for their corrupt intentions. There was no point being enemies under those circumstances. We could resume our hostilities towards each other once we got out of there.
He shut himself up in a stubborn silence, at least when we were in the presence of our captors; in other moments, talk proved pivotal.
I remember a very bad day, in what the doctor had called “Phase One”: trying to decipher the mysteries related to the functioning of our body in order to exploit the acquired information for their purposes. To put it simply, disassemble us piece by piece to see what's inside us. Unfortunately for him, his body was much more interesting than mine. Apart from our ability to transform, lycans are just like all other humans. Our hearts beat, we must breathe, we emit brainwaves, and the heart rate monitor picks up our heart beat, quite the opposite of you, in fact. Obviously, they were much more interested in him than in me. I saw them pull his metal board sheet apart from mine and put it in a horizontal position. Since we had been plunged into that inferno, it was one of the few times that I could follow what they were doing to him.
What can I say...? Even one of my primal desire was for his massacre to end at some point.
If I could, I would have plugged my fingers in my ears so as not to hear him scream anymore.
Those butchers, instead, seemed completely indifferent. They went on for hours to torment him with absurd tests, ignoring his harrowing shrills. From what I deduced, they were interested in his incredible ability to regenerate his tissues, experimenting on the various circumstances of it: cuts, burns, etcetera, etcetera.
I'm sorry, madam, I'm trying not to go into too much details, but I want you to understand what he had gone through and why he's been reduced in that way. Anyway, they also got weary of his screams and gave him an injection. After some time, he stopped complaining and his body remained motionless, but it was even worse. I realized that he could still feel the same pain, but he no longer had the ability to voice his agony. I became aware of those creepy red tears of yours and felt like screaming in his place. That's what I did, actually, ordered them to stop and to leave him alone. I found it outrageous that an ancient and powerful being as him should suffer such treatment from mere humans. Eventually, they silenced me with a good shot of sedatives. It was the best time of my day, with no doubt. When I recovered my senses, hours had passed but he was still there, even though his persecutors were gone. His eyes were wide, gazing straight ahead. For a moment, I thought he was really close to death because his body was covered with blood.
"Bloodsucker! Hey, bloodsucker, can you hear me? Talk to me!"
He slowly turned his head in my direction but he didn't say a word. The bloody tears kept flowing down his cheeks and, although not a single sound came from his lips, his eyes said it all.
"Hey, can you talk? Say something..."
Usually they quieted us, but then the lab was almost deserted and none of them took notice of us. I was whispering anyway, it was hard to hear me.
"Yes...” he murmured.
He was hoarse from screaming.
"Think of something good. What's the last good thing you did? Tell me about it."
I thought he would have shared some hideous murder, but his answer, after a while, surprised me a lot. I could see he was trying to retrieve the information from his memory in the tangle of panic wrapping his mind, but he seemed unable to do so. When I was about to give up and talk in his place, he spoke.
"I played with a little girl. Ellie. I sang a song for her. She hugged me. I must... I promised to bring her a present..." More tears streamed down from his eyes, but his expression didn't change.
I'm sorry, madam, I know it's tough. Do you want me to stop? Ok, then I’ll continue.
"What present? What present must you get her?"
"Barbie's kitchen..."
"Oh, this is beautiful! A vampire in a toy store!"
"That's what I thought so too..."
And, there we were, giggling like two idiots. You have no idea how important it was to laugh, especially for him. It allowed him to resist a little more. His teeth were blood red. Maybe when I was unconscious they had fed him, I don't know. I could see his canines, twins of those that I had torn away from him with my own hands many years ago. I felt a bit ashamed, I confess. I was outraged with what they were doing to him, but I, myself, didn’t treat him much better during those days when I held him captive.
"Tell me something about you, now..." he said in a breath.
"To stay on the topic, I took my little grand-daughter to get an ice-cream and, then, to play in the park."
It seemed centuries ago, already.
"You...you have a grand-daughter? What's her name?"
"I have three. She's the youngest. Her name's Alison."
"Grandfather Greylord... who would have thought?"
"Yeah."
"We’re never getting out of here, are we? I'm about to lose my mind, wolf."
He didn't call me a dog as he usually did. I guess I deserved a promotion.
"Don't say it, don't think about it. My lycans will manage to find us."
"Yes. And they'll set only you free."
"They'll do what I say, but you must resist. What will I do out there if you're no longer there with me? It wouldn't be fun anymore. Have you ever read Garfield's comics?"
"No, I haven't."
"Too bad. There's a strip where Odie, the little dog who lives with Garfield, is beaten by another cat. Garfield beats Odie all the time, but, in that case, he heads straight for the other cat, knocks him down with his paw, and says, ’Odie is mine and only I can beat him.’
“You are my Odie, bloodsucker.
Nobody can slaughter you except for me."
We laughed again and, then, he fell asleep.
Are you asking me if he ever tried to induce them to set us free by using his power? Of course, he did, but they were trained and had strict orders not to look into his eyes, never, under any circumstances. Once, however, he managed to fool one of the doctor's assistants. He started screaming, complaining of not being able to see anyone. He scared the shit out of me. We were again back-to-back and were impeded to exchange signals with each other. The assistant reached him to examine his eyes and I heard your friend's voice becoming lower and more persuasive. I heard him murmur words I didn't understand. Then, the click of a lock behind me made me hold my breath. I understood very well what he was trying to do.
Unfortunately, just at that moment, the laboratory door cracked open and the doctor came in, accompanied by a crowd of armed soldiers. The laboratory was full of surveillance cameras which controlled everything that happened inside at every moment and his ruse had been discovered. After they had succeeded in reducing him back to impotence, they left. I found out after that they had also taped his eyes shut with adhesive strips. For all I know, he has remained in the dark since then. That's why, I believe, he can't tolerate light, now. Why don’t you try to stay blindfolded for two months and then see what happens? At a certain point, they decided that we were ready for “Phase Two”: creating the infamous warrior hybrids. The Sheikh had told us about the volunteers, ready to sacrifice themselves for the cause. We were expecting an army of fanatics eager to take part in it, but mostly they were poor, terrified boys, compelled to offer themselves as guinea pigs.
The idea was that Raistan... Yes, I know, it's the first time I have called him by his name, I noticed it too.
/> I said, the idea was that Raistan would transform them into vampires and that I would give as my contribution, blood, as if it were so easy to create a newborn lycan. They were just rich charlatans fumbling about in a world completely unfamiliar to them. The doctor who led the project himself, at times, did not seem to have the slightest idea of what he was doing, since his theories often clashed with obstacles that he did not take into account.
One day, he came dragging a boy of no more than eighteen, completely freaking out. He went behind my back, in front of Raistan, and commanded him to bite the boy in order to initiate the transformation. As predicted, your friend told him to fuck off. I knew they hadn’t been feeding him for more than ten days in anticipation of his refusal. I heard the boy shrieking while the sweet scent of his blood even reached my nostrils. That butcher must have hurt him in some way to make him bleed and was waiting for the 'shark effect,' as I call it: the moment when Raistan would lose control driven by his thirst and would bite the boy. So it was, in fact. Judging from the sounds coming from behind me, including the weakening cries of help from the poor boy, the shark was at work. However, the doctor realized that there was something wrong: if the candidate died, the project would die with him.
"Stop! Enough! You're killing him! Don't kill him; you must transform him just like you! Stop or you will regret it!"
"I just want to see how..." Raistan said and a thud made me understand that a lifeless body had just fallen to the ground. "Thank you, doctor, and great dinner. Next!"
We both chuckled, then the sound of a slap told me that the scientist had lost his temper and struck Raistan, making him laugh even louder. The same thing happened the following two times and the doctor was beside himself with rage. They had to tear the last one away from his fangs, but it was still too late anyway. The fragile equilibrium required for the metamorphosis, as far as I know, is something that only the vampire can decide. It's on the razor edge of seconds and drops, isn't it? They beat the shit out of him again but, for a few days, they left us in peace.
He was quite brilliant once again but he hated not being able to open his eyes.
“We must try to escape, wolf. Nobody will come to save us. How long has it been? Three weeks? A month? We have to do it on our own."
Ok, it was a good idea, but how? That place was swarmed with armed sentries. There was only one exit, guarded continuously by at least two men and no windows. If I had been able to have turned into a mouse instead of a lycan, I would have tried. However, I didn't immediately express my doubts to him.
"I'm in. Do you have any idea?" I responded.
I was curious to test his strategic capabilities. He was a Chief General, after all.
"Tomorrow should be the day when they let you walk around, I think. If you transform as soon as they set you free from the table, you could kill those closest to you and then release me. At that point, we could take them. What about it? It’s better than staying here and waiting for them to slaughter us."
"I don't think it will work, there are too many of them even for the likes of us. But, hell, I'm in, General."
About once a week - though it was hard to keep track of the days - they took me to the armored room to allow me to stretch my legs. Being nailed to that slab of metal for all that time was torture in itself.
Raistan wasn't granted the same privilege as I. They were too afraid of what he might do if he had been set free even for a few minutes. They, on the one hand, underestimated me. The next day, as he predicted, they released me, but not before having chained my wrists and ankles, for my half-hour exercise. There were two, armed to their teeth and oozing tension from their pores, a very lethal combination. As soon as I put my feet on the ground, I started to transform, the most high risk moment for me because I would be seized by pain due to the transformation for about a minute. The men lost their heads and, instead of shooting me, they fled to the door and bombarded it with punches to have it opened. Just what we had hoped for. When the process was complete, I broke the chains and went straight to Raistan. I had to fight against my most savage nature to keep me from killing him. I was looking at a vampire, my natural enemy; my primal instinct was commanding me to tear him apart. He felt it and stiffened against the metal sheet. Even though he couldn't see me, he heard me panting and snarling in his direction and he, definitely, was able to read my mind. "Not me, not me, you lug, set me free, kill the others, we have to get away! You idiot, I’ve always said that you're an inferior race! Take these patches off me! Hurry up, they're coming!"
His message reached its destination through my meandering thought processes.
I turned to fight off two imbeciles who had decided to confront me armed only with a syringe; I, then, broke the locks of the metal bands holding Raistan down and tore away the patches from his eyelids, along with most of his eyebrows, earning me an insult.
In the lab, panic was unleashed: those trying to get in collided with those attempting to get out. Everybody was shouting, falling, getting up, and pushing each other while their equipment crashed to the ground, exploding in a sea of splinters. For us, as long as it lasted, it was like being at an amusement park.
Raistan was moving fast and deadly, breaking necks, biting others, dashing here and there to avoid bullets, but I was not to be outdone and the exit was near.
God, the feeling of power I had at that moment! I remember looking at him, intercepting his gaze for a moment; for the first time, I felt a surge of camaraderie, very similar to affection. Soon after, however, things took a turn for the worst. I received a barrage of gunfire in my chest and, even though the bullets weren't made of silver, they hurt like hell. Due to the impact, my breath was cut off and I fell to the ground, clutching my throat with one hand. I turned my head to look for him; I saw him grab two of the guards and send them crashing against each other, skull against skull with appalling violence. Their heads split open like eggs with an awful squishy crack. I let out a roar to warn him: a group of armed men had just raided the room on their way to him since I was already out of action. Raistan looked up suddenly, hissing menacingly with his fangs exposed, gathered momentum and jumped over the whole squad, landing behind and wrong-footing them. Salvation was so close... so close... He could have left at that moment, rush outside and gain his own freedom. I tried to talk to urge him to leave, but when I tried, I was almost suffocated by the blood that had risen in my throat, letting out only a strangled gargle. I had to force myself to remain a lycan to allow time for my wounds to heal more quickly, but it was difficult. I felt myself fading away with increasing rapidity. He was in front of the door, bent over himself, unable to move forward due to the multitude of bullets hitting his back, tearing his skin to shreds. He kept leaning, almost clinging to the metal, his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, as if he was waiting for them to use up their ammunition. What was happening to the back of his body was shocking: every time a new gash had opened, the previous one was already closing, spitting out the bullets. And there I was, impeded by just a few shots! Somehow, I managed to get up on my feet and attack the group of gunmen, killing some and allowing him to catch his breath for a moment. Then, a new burst threw me back to the ground and, this time, overwhelmed by pain, I couldn’t get up. I met his gaze and he left the handle, rushing to me. I'm sure I saw him grumble. A head of one of the men flew off but the others continued shooting and shouting like madmen, their backs against the wall behind them.
"Scram!" I shouted, but he grabbed me and tried to get me back up on my feet. A discharge nearby blew off half his face, throwing him off balance and knocking him to the ground while I collapsed on him with all my weight, crushing him under me: when I'm a lycan, I weigh about six hundred and fifty pounds, you know.
"Get up, you stupid dog, get off me!" I heard him say as he tried to move me, but it was an undertaking beyond me and he was stuck. He mustered all his strength on his arms and legs in order to lift himself, he partially succeeded, but when he was still on his knees, a voice we
knew all too well froze him on the spot. The doctor had arrived and was ordering his guards to cease fire. The room was immersed in a thick haze due to the enormous amount of gunpowder released in the air. The doctor drove something into his back and he dropped back down to the floor, motionless with glazed eyes.
"Stupid dog..." were the last words I heard him utter.
Do not be surprise, dear madam, if my attitude towards him has changed. With that desperate action and his attempt to save me, he has earned my respect. And, werewolves don't forget.
From then on, things proceeded at an accelerated speed and he began living hell. As they couldn't get him to cooperate with the transformations, they devoted themselves to a more scientific system: they would almost drain the test subject and Raistan, then exchanged their blood with a simple transfusion. On the tables with the straps that I had previously mentioned, dozens of subjects started lining up every day. A complete withdrawal of his blood was enough for three or four men, leaving just enough not to desiccate him. They understood how powerful his blood was, there was no need for an exaggerated amount to instigate the transformation process. He was almost always unconscious and, when he wasn’t, he didn’t have the strength to speak. They had placed him in a horizontal position again, with small tubes in his veins that stole his blood from all over his body, around the clock at times. In the early days after our escape attempt, I couldn't devote a lot of attention to him because I was engaged in my own recovery but, as soon as my wounds had healed, my aim was to make sure that he didn't give up.
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