✧ 05. So there's nothing left for me.

As my eyes opened finally, there was only light. A white room greeted me, along with sounds of beeping and machinery stirring about. I couldn't think at all, I couldn't understand where I was or what was happening, and all I could feel was pain and hatred. Comfort had been ripped from me in this moment, and all I could feel was the coldness of the floor and the burning pain in my stomach making me want to vomit. I turn and look over my shoulder, hoping that the other end was a door to run out of, or some sign of where I was. I could only see a large window spanning the entire wall, save for a single stark white door with a shuttered window of its own. Someone was staring at me, observing my every move silently behind the glass of the larger window, before they waved my way. No words were exchanged between us, just awkward silence and the feeling I was doing something wrong this entire time.

After a few moments the person had left, only giving me a brief nod before disappearing into the dark of the rest of the building we were in. Only then did I notice that there was another window across from mine, into a dimly lit white room as well. I couldn't see who was in it, if anything, but another person stood in front of that window, staring into its contents. It reminded me of the old sci-fi movies I'd watch with Rin, in which subjects would be held in cells and observed for hours at a time, all no longer considered human, slowly losing their sense of humanity from the treatment they were enduring. That must have been the situation I found myself in, being trapped in one of these cells with nothing but clean underwear and a white shirt on my body. The longer I stared, the longer I tried to make sense of this situation, the more I could feel my senses intensify. A dry throat kept me from speaking; I could only croak out weak cries, coughing when I tried to use my vocal cords. My hands were cold, almost turning purple at the fingertips from the frigidity. I tried to paw at the floor to find anything to help me, but there was only more cold floor and silence.

An hour had passed before someone else came to visit me. A slot from beneath the door opened up, in which a box was slid through to me. The worker was quick to withdraw themselves before we could make any proper contact, scurrying off in a way that suggested I was at risk at hurting them. Whatever I had become now, it was something that was horrifying to these workers, or somehow dangerous. Yet I still felt like the same person I was on the streets. Before I could really come to terms with the situation I was in, now opening the box slowly with my weak fingers, an announcement rang in our ears, repeating itself twice in Japanese, then twice in English. "All patients are to have their vital signs checked over the next 15 minutes. Please cease any strenuous activity and be sure to stay hydrated before it is your testing time," it said in a monotone voice. At that moment, I pulled the water bottle out of the box I was opening and ripped the cap off with my teeth, drinking the contents of the bottle in seconds. The water stung, it felt like it was going to burn my throat, but it didn't take long before I felt better. A whimper escaped my lips, a sound I've never heard before, as I grabbed at the rest of the box's contents to a simple meal. It was a sandwich and pudding, all from a local convenience store, but it was the first thing I must have eaten in a long time, because the moment I opened my eyes again, it was all gone and my fingers were covered in a sugary residue. I began to cry, tears pouring down my cheeks in large bouts, staining my shirt lightly.

The door opens. A worker, a taller woman with long black hair and a foreboding stature soon walks in with a cart. She kneels down to me, making eye contact with a smile. "This will only take a few minutes," she tells me before taking out a tissue to wipe away my tears and the mess on my face. I didn't have the strength to resist the touch, finding it particularly gentle, something I longed to keep experiencing as she held no vitriol or fear towards me like the other workers. The woman, surely a nurse, took a wipe and wiped off my hands and cheeks, whispering her actions to me as she did them. "Do you remember your name before you came here?" She asked me. I glared at her for a second, only muttering out a sound akin to a squeak, but once I realized my voice worked again, I choked back tears as I tried to respond.

"It's Nakuru," I tell her.

"What a beautiful name," She replies with a smile. "I'm Dara, I'll be the one performing these vital tests on you for the next few weeks. These next tests won't take too long, but if you need me to stay longer, let me know." I looked at the nurse, observing all of her features. She had a long nose bridge, thin lips, and the most gentle eyes with short eyelashes. It was unfortunate that someone as delicate as her was in such a place, as I drew conclusions on my current situation.

"Dara," I repeated back to her. She nodded back, organizing the things atop her cart.

"Nakuru… Your last name?"

"Arima."

"Okay, perfect. Date of birth?"

"June 3rd, 1979."

"Hm. Glad you remember. It's nice to meet you, Nakuru. Come and sit in this chair for a moment." Dara pulls a chair for me, tapping the back of it. I get up and sit in it, feeling the cold plastic beneath my thighs. I shudder for a moment, the feeling traveling up my spine before I settle and take a deep breath. "Is it okay if I draw your blood? You can say no and we can try again another time, of course," she asks softly to me. Her voice had a certain silkiness to it, and every last syllable her pitch would tilt up, as if asking a question with every statement.

"That's fine," I resign softly. Refusal only delayed the inevitable, and I feared the consequences of saying no too often as what could only be described to be a test subject of whatever research project Amachi had mentioned beforehand.

"Alright. Are you allergic to any kind of latex?"

"Don't think so…"

"What about any kind of shrimp?"

"No." I found the questions odd, but Dara nodded in understanding before taking a few notes on a clipboard, never giving a chance to explain why she asked something so odd.

She then took my hand, putting on a pair of gloves as she feels around my arm and wrist. "It'll be another moment, so relax. Just looking for a vein now," she whispers to me. I nod along, watching her fingers trace along my flesh. She had a delicate touch to her, something unlike anyone else I had met, as if understanding how averse I was to being near anyone and trying her best to do her job. She pulls out a tourniquet, wrapping it tightly around my right arm while being careful not to make too much contact. When she finished, Dara held my arm with a slight force, keeping a vein under her thumb and rolling it gently to make sure it was in place. She turned to the cart, taking out a needle to prepare it. It was the kind that was usually given to children or elderly people, with wings to hold itself flat to the skin. She wipes the area, then snaps her fingers by her face to get me to look at her. I felt the lightest sting as the needle went in. She smiles at me, then I can feel a distinct discomfort as my blood is taken from my arm. Dara then looks at me, speaking beneath her breath, "I hope it doesn't hurt too much. Just focus on me for a few moments, we need this for testing." Whatever tests were going to be done didn't matter, I was fine doing anything so long as Dara stayed with me for a little longer. She felt safe in this unfamiliar place, although I couldn't be sure if it'd stay that way for long.

When Dara pulls out the needle, she holds a small piece of gauze over my arm. "What's your favorite color?" She asks. I pointed to a light blue bandage I saw laying on her cart. "Wonderful," Dara murmurs. "That's my favorite color, too." The way she spoke to me was in a manner similar to when you're comforting a child, gentle and simple, but it was clear she knew I was an adult, as she gave me enough respect and clearance to not be condescending — just caring. She puts the bandage against my arm, gently flexing it for me a few times before patting the bandage. "That should be fine. If you feel any pain, tell me, Nakuru." I nodded in response. The nurse then pulled the cart a little closer, taking a flashlight and putting it in my eyes. She looked at me for a second, then turned off the light and held her finger up. "Follow my finger, please," she whispered to me. I tried my best to follow along, doing anything Dara asked of me so long as she was still kind about it. A few more tests were performed. She tested my reflexes, checked my heart rate and blood pressure, then inspected my mouth and teeth and took photos of me. When all the tests were done, Dara gave me a small pat on the shoulder before standing. She pointed to a panel embedded in the wall beneath the large window of the room. "Nakuru, if you want me to come back or you need anything at all, press that blue button and speak into that grid," she tells me. Dara then waves, leaving the room, and I locked onto the button she was pointing out. Surely, I had a reason to push it at any point, just to see her again. I clung to that piece of kindness, though she only knew me for moments, and I knew nothing about her personally, if everyone else feared me, I had to come to understand the one person who didn't and what she saw that the others didn't.

Another few weeks of monotony passed by. Dara kept visiting frequently, and she was soon the only person I was okay with being in my room. She and I would talk while she performed tests on me, and she'd often explain what she was doing and why. When I saw her, I felt a glimmer of hope, and she soon became the only person to ever properly look me in the eyes without glasses or some other shield blocking us. One day, she wheels in a small whiteboard with a poster on it, similar to standard vision tests at the doctor's office. There was a number of voices outside, but Dara was plain and simple as she spoke to me, ignoring the things happening in the facility. "Nakuru, did you rest well?" she asked me.

"I don't think I remember resting."

"That's alright. Every time I go home, it feels like I can't get enough sleep as-is. I've begun taking naps halfway through the day, so that's why you see me later."

"What time is it now?"

"Hm?" Dara looks at her wrist, then raises her eyebrows. "Oh. It's about 8:22 P.M."

"Dinner should've happened."

"You didn't receive it?"

"No," I groan. I hold my stomach, waiting for Dara to finish her setup.

"I'll bring you something, then, Nakuru. Let's just do this test real quick, then I'll come back and we can continue while you eat. I just have to talk to you for a little and see how you are."

"Okay. Ah, to be clear…" My voice trailed off before Dara finished my sentence.

"You used to have glasses? I saw in your chart photos. The head researcher said that they likely fell off during transportation. That's why we're testing your vision now, to see what prescription you'll need. I can just write it up for you, so your vision doesn't impede future tests, and if you'd like, we can start giving you things to read."

"Why would you do that? I know what's happening here." I knew right then that the head researcher Dara was mentioning was Amachi. He must've destroyed my glasses during that encounter, then taken me here. It was a lie that they simply 'fell off during transportation,' and his cowardly shame in trying to cover up his actions by bluffing to his coworkers was appalling. I stared blankly into the distance as my mind ruminated on where I was now and what it took to get me here, only being interrupted by Dara's voice responding to my pointed question.

"Consider it to be an act of care among the other things you'll be experiencing." Dara finished setting up the cart and her things, coming to me with the same flashlight. She inspected my eyes, watching how my pupils dilated and constricted. I shivered, a shrill hiss coming from my throat. Dara backed away immediately. "I'm sorry," she mouthed to me. I blinked, rubbing my eyes.

"Sorry, that hurt."

"That's okay, I can make note of this." Dara started scribbling away in a notebook, getting up to pull the whiteboard to the right position. "Alright, cover one eye and read this for me. Then, do it again with the other." The test only took about half an hour, but Dara made it feel like it was merely a few minutes as she guided me through the entire process. When she leaves the room, I start to get up and walk around the room. I stand close to the large window on one end, trying to look into the window across from me. It was hard to make it out, but a girl with very long brown hair was in the cell across from mine, curled up into a ball on the floor. I stepped back, shaking vigorously. I turned to the back wall once more. A projector was embedded into the ceiling, turned off and pointing to the empty black wall. I walk to the middle of the room, staring down at my feet, then sit down again onto the floor, pulling the single white blanket that I was given towards me.

Dara soon re-enters the room with a lunchbox, placing it besides me as she sits a few feet away. "This was my lunch," she confesses, "but I'm okay with giving it to you. I ate out today, and otherwise I was just going to give this to my roommate or leave it for tomorrow." I felt, for a moment, that I couldn't take such a kind gesture, a lunch that seemed to be homemade, but Dara stared at me as she waited for me to open and accept it. I was quite famished, something I hadn't realized until I heard what time it was, and realized that I was skipped to receive dinner, but she had made up for it by giving me food much better than whatever bland meal was purchased by staff that day. I had grown bored of the same sandwiches, the same desserts, and the occasional boxed drink that took only one squeeze of the hand to empty entirely and leave you begging for more.

"Thank you," I whispered back to Dara. She smiled at me, then arranged herself to pull the cart she always wheeled in a little closer before starting to write in her notebook.

"It's nothing. Though, I wouldn't brag to the other patients about this at all, should you come in contact with them."

"How come?"

"To put it lightly, I was asked to make sure you were taken care of. Though, that wasn't just asked of me, it was…" Dara's voice trailed off slightly.

"Everyone, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I had just personally grown a liking to you, so I figured a few extra favors wouldn't hurt."

"Makes sense." Too much sense. I knew immediately then, that Amachi was surely running all of this, and he only had gotten close to me to get me here. I still had no idea what was going on, but the more I learned, the more surreal everything started to feel. Dara wrote more on her notepad, brushing some of her hair behind her ear as she then starts to ask me various questions.

"Any headaches?"

"Somewhat."

"From 1 to 10, how painful are they?"

"Between 1 and 2."

"Alright. Since you just ate, how does the food feel to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you sick at all, does it feel like it's foreign, is everything okay?"

I sat for a moment with my feelings. Slight lightheadedness, though I also felt confused by the line of questioning. "It's fine," I tell Dara.

"Good. Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

"What?"

Dara's expression soon turned to one of surprise. She pursed her lips, blinking a few times. From her coat, a small pocket mirror is pulled out and placed in my palm. I stared at it, then opened the mirror. When I looked at my face, it felt unfamiliar. It must have been forever since I last saw myself, as my hair was rough and tangled, my roots growing out a deep, dark brown. My pupils were starting to become slits, similar to a cat's pupils, only accentuated by the pair of fluffy ears starting to grow from my head, now only stubs. I almost threw the mirror out of my hand in horror. This was no longer the face I knew, it was someone else entirely, though she may have my nose and lips and same rosy cheeks. Dara stared at me for a few moments, as if pondering her next words, seeing the confusion and fear on my face. Whatever had happened to me, whatever reason I was here for, I had become unaware of my fate for so long, and with not even an explanation on why or how or what was to become of me. Dara extended her slim hand to reach for my shoulder. I immediately withdrew, pulling the mirror close to my body, a searing heat burning my cheeks.

"Dara," I whisper, "what have they done to me?"

"I don't know how to explain it, I'm sorry," she could only say to me. Only in that moment did I despise Dara. She had done nothing wrong directly, truly only being a small part of a larger system, but as I had no other person to blame in front of me, my anger redirected to her. Every time she got closer, I nearly shoved her away, trying my best to keep distance between us without harming her, begging for an answer over and over until she or anyone else could give me one. Dara, sensing that I was no longer in a state to keep talking, closed her notebook and started to organize her cart. "I'll come back in a few days to check on you, then. Maybe then, we can talk about what's going on, but I would have to look into whether or not I can tell you that information. Just…" Her voice then trails off as she stands, letting me keep the pocket mirror she handed over. She had a habit of stopping mid-sentence, pondering her words, then saying something entirely different to whatever she would have said had she not hesitated. "Try to take care of yourself in the meantime, okay? Let me know if they miss your mealtimes again." Those words felt like protocol, cold and unfeeling unlike the rest of our conversation. I couldn't bring myself to respond to her, watching her leave the room silently.

Since then, I began to stare at my own reflection. When someone entered my cell or opened the large curtain to stare at me, I would not respond, as I felt there was no reason to cooperate or try to be cordial with my captors. My appearance then kept changing, my body adapting to the change before my mind could ever catch up. A researcher on a certain day stopped by the window overlooking me, in which I had begun to hunch over the mirror, staring into my eyes. They were lightening, a deep brown now slowly turning a hazel color, at this point becoming the same gray of a foggy afternoon sky. The words they spoke to me, commands and questions, all were a flurry of phonemes I couldn't understand, making out sounds that resembled nothing close to language. I stared into my own eyes. A hunger began to wash over me, the urge to rip and tear into something, a desire to claim something else as if it'd fill the hole that's begun to grow in my heart. The researcher then started shouting, and the sound of their voice filled the entirety of the cell. "Can you hear me, damn it!?" They screamed. I turned to the window, my pupils constricting painfully.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I nod at them.

"You missed having your vitals taken, didn't you? All because you're staring at that mirror all day." Across the window was a tall man, with sunken eyes and a sore on his upper lip. He stuttered all of his words out as if constantly drunk, body nearly ripping apart his clothes with a bulging belly and slim arms. Such a miserable person stood here, speaking to me as if I were an animal, swearing away and berating me for not listening. As I stood up and got close to the window, I stopped blinking. The man pointed to the door. "Dara's here to measure your signs, and you better behave this time. We've had enough of you ignoring instructions," he says through the speaker. Whatever was upsetting him certainly had nothing to do with me, besides his words from prior going unheard. It was hard to listen to anything when constantly trying to watch when something about me would change. I had grown pale and slim, able to feel my ribs every time my fingers grazed my midsection, terrified of my groin and the bump forming at the end of my spine, watching my hair grow out and my mind unable to understand that this body was mine and I was still alive. Perhaps in longing for death, I have begun to expect it each day I unfortunately wake up on the cold floor of this pure white cell.

Dara entered the room within moments, this time with shorter hair and light makeup on her face. She began to put effort into her appearance, though she'd soon be covering it up with a mask and gloves. "Afternoon, Nakuru," she says to me in her usual soft, sing-song tone. The grudge I once placed on her lifted instantly. I turned away from the man still berating me and instead carefully follow the nurse and her cart, my stub of a tail trying its best to wag in a pitiful display. She gently held a hand out, hovering it in front of me. "Careful, I wouldn't want you to knock anything over," she warned. I felt a bubbling feeling in my stomach, rising to my head as an airy feeling causing tingling within my fingers before traveling to my lips. The stub at the end of my spine twitched, trying its best to move to little success. Dara pulled the usual chair out, gave the back side of it a tap, and then got to arranging her equipment again. I knew the routine by now, so I sat down, turning my back to the other researcher still standing at the window as he soon left with no further critiques. The world fell silent for a few minutes. I stared at the back wall, observing every dot of speckled paint on it, waiting for Dara to start monitoring my heart rate and blood pressure as usual.

"Hey, what are you all doing?" I asked bluntly.

"Experiments, perhaps," She answered just as curtly.

"Experiments?"

"It'd be hard for me to say, as I don't have much clearance on what it exactly is. But I believe you, as well as the other patients, all have some quality in your genetics that's being tampered with," Dara responds plainly. She starts avoiding eye contact.

"Is that why I look like a cat?"

She gets quiet, staring at the floor. "Maybe so," she whispers. "Let's ask different questions."

"Okay." I huffed, crossing my legs in the chair. "So what's the haircut for?"

"My hair was getting awfully long, and I was told by my supervisor that it was dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"I'm not sure, honestly. It's not like you will put me in harm's way, will you?"

I sat silently for a moment. "I don't want to," I tell her.

"And that's what I said to my supervisor. You're the only patient I take care of now, so the danger would have to be the other researchers and data clerks, right?" Dara said with a laugh. She started her usual procedures as we talked, watching for any sign that I was hesitating or soon to lash out at her.

I winced as she placed a cold wipe on my wrist. "Why was that one so upset with me?" I asked, referring to the other researcher berating me earlier.

"He's like that. Always so grumpy, he'll find new reasons to get upset even if everything was perfectly fine."

"Hm. Do the others look like animals?"

"Some of them are starting to. You're the only one who's symptoms began appearing so prominently so early on. It's only been about eight weeks since the trials began, but you've already got your ears showing… and your eyes, too, they're already shifting a lot." Dara looked my way, staring at my face for a while. Most of hers was covered with a thin mask, so I focused on her eyes and the way they stared at me with such a delicate, human look.

"That must be why, then. He doesn't see us as human." I murmured, looking away from Dara's gaze. She chuckled.

"That might be part of it, yes. But, you're still very human no matter what he thinks. You might be the next best thing, really, should all of this go well… at least, that's what my hope is."

"What, is it some kind of evolution project?"

Dara shrugged, taking notes as she measured my vital signs. When she removed the equipment from my body, she placed a box beside my feet shortly after. I shifted away from it. "Those are some more gifts from the head researcher," she explains. Every time a box has entered this room, it always has been some kind of gift or offering, but this box was sizable, reaching up to my knees in height with a large "heavy" sign written on the top. Seeing my hesitation to even look at the box, Dara got on one knee to look me in the eyes. "You don't have to open them right now," she states. "I'm aware you must think it's too high of a privilege to receive these." In that moment, it truly clicked to me how unaware Dara was of everything. She must still think that my glasses were just lost in transportation, and that I was embarrassed to receive these gifts. I knew that to accept these would be accepting a plea deal, that I would once again be indebted after already giving up so much and being left with nothing, not even my autonomy.

"I can't accept these," I told her plainly.

"That's okay. How come, though?"

"It's…" My throat tightened before I could speak another word. Nearly choking on the air now, I stared at the back wall and croaked out an uncomfortable sound. Everything in me locked up, my stomach then began to twist as I tried to come up with even the slightest explanation of why I felt so averse to this "head researcher" she kept bringing up. For all I knew, anything I said she could possibly report back to him, causing my death or at least him trying to convince me that he had a reason for everything, and that I understand. Yet I couldn't even come up with the words that would save me the pain of recollection or any possible retaliation for honesty. Dara watched my reaction, then pivoted to my side and let me have another moment. She likely understood everything, staring at me while closely monitoring how I reacted to my inner turmoil, the sickness that began to claim me as I sat there speechless.

"I see. Well, here. Some of them are from me, so I'll open it and give you those, and we can talk. There's no need to mention anything you feel uncomfortable with," Dara says while opening the box. She takes my hand, guiding me to sit on the floor with her. I felt I had no other choice than to oblige, blindly following her lead. From the box she pulls out a few notebooks, a couple of different novels, and then an old Discman with some stickers on top of the lid. "The Discman used to be mine, but I just bought a new one, so I figured if you were anything like me, you'd enjoy something like this," Dara said with a smile.

"I used to collect CDs," I reply softly while holding Dara's gifts.

"I heard that. Some of that old collection was brought over, told that it would aid in your mental state and keep you cooperative. Although we're still sorting through most of it, I brought some that I recognized. Maybe this will entertain you for a while, so long as you hide it all in this box when you rest or leave the room so other patients don't see it."

"Thank you," I could only murmur as a few albums were placed on my lap. Dara spoke quietly, leaving this moment between the two of us, ignoring the rest of the contents of the box. I looked at each CD carefully, then the Discman, its headphones brand new and in a delicate shade of pink. If these were the ones Dara had chosen, she must not have been too dissimilar to me in matters of taste, something I couldn't tell too much. I never saw her outside of her work uniform, or knew much besides the naps she'd mention taking during work and whatever else we spoke of on superficial terms. However, seeing the music in front of me pushed me to keep her around for a little longer again, to forge some kind of brief connection, even if just to make everything else I endured feel tolerable at best. "How do you know some of these?" I asked her.

"Well, truthfully, I've had some odd tastes." Dara relaxed, crossing her legs while carefully taking an album from my hands. "But this, this band is popular across the strait, isn't it? That's where I'm from, so when they first had their debut a couple years back, I couldn't stop listening to their music."

"You're from Korea?"

"A little hard to tell, isn't it?" She laughed it off like it was nothing.

I was surprised. I stared at Dara again, and as if learning this changed how I view her, everything suddenly became clear. Her name was foreign, and though I hadn't seen it written before, I never knew anyone with such a name. "I guess so," I respond.

"There weren't many jobs I liked, so I moved and was lucky to get this job as the first one I applied to. I had learned the language in school, and Umbrella was impressed with my background in healthcare and language ability, so I was a perfect fit."

"If it were that easy, I'm sure anyone could get in."

"It's not, though. Do you know another language?"

"I know English," I murmur beneath my breath. "Though, it wasn't enough to get me far."

"Maybe I can teach you Korean, and you'll have an even better advantage. Should I keep caring for you through these trials, it'll break up the day to have a lesson or two." Dara's eyes lit up at the prospect of teaching me. "I always wanted to be a teacher," she then said. Her voice tilted up excessively when truly excited, though it was rare for someone as serene and pastoral to be brought to such vibrant delight. Her joy in becoming a sort of mentor reminded me of Sumire, that former teacher turned escort, so perhaps Dara found herself in a field in which she was still caring, but unable to truly cultivate as she longed for. It was for that reason I felt there was no reason to reject her offer, as much as I wanted to say no to avoid adding strain to her or possibly drawing anymore attention to myself. If I were to be spending the rest of my days in this cell, at only 19 now, learning would make the entire experience less of a drag. Besides, I too wanted to be a teacher at some point, so perhaps the joy of learning and lending one another knowledge would help me as well, as long as it lasts.

"Okay."

"Really? You'd accept that?" Dara looked surprised, as if she hadn't just made the offer to me,

"Is there any reason I'd say no?"

"Well, maybe you're not actually wanting to learn, or you'd rather not trouble me. I figured someone like yourself would refuse most offers given to her, no?"

"Maybe I would. But I'm interested, if it means that you'll be around more often."

"Of course I will, Nakuru. Like I said, you're the only one I take care of nowadays."

I stared at Dara, finally understanding what she meant. She used to make rounds to the rooms surrounding mine, but as those rooms got louder and their subjects more erratic, Dara seemed to visit them less and less until she was making two to three trips to my cell every day. I started to understand what time of day it was based on the sounds I'd hear and whether or not Dara was on her way to me, even taking note of what would be on her cart as she wheeled it in to take my vital signs, give some medicine, or to simply talk and check in on how I was progressing. I pulled the gifts closer to me and nodded in acknowledgement.

The moments following after were silent, almost awkward, as Dara and I enjoyed one another's company for a while before she suddenly placed her palms on my knees. I froze immediately. Though her hands were warm, softened, almost moist from sweat, I felt like she had placed a heavy weight on me, and I wanted to shake it off. Dara's eyes locked onto mine, and we stare at each other. Then, with a gentle slide of her hands, she sits up properly. "Sorry," she murmured. "Ah, I… I realized that I shouldn't be hiding this from you. Things may be changing soon, as something big happened within the company," Dara said with a low, raspy voice, something quite unbecoming of her. When she continued, her voice had been reduced to a mere whisper. "The head researcher reassured us that we are unaffected by it, but he can't ensure that it'll stay this way."

I stared at her in bewilderment. "What does that mean? Why would you tell me this?"

"Well, I said you're the only one I take care of… I don't know if it'll stay that way forever. Perhaps I'll be laid off, or someone else will take my place, or the project will lose funding and you, among the other subjects, won't be under Umbrella's care any longer."

"That wouldn't be too awful."

Dara went silent, as if unable to properly answer my concerns or give any acknowledgement that wouldn't cause her to be disciplined.

"Whatever it is that happened, I'm sure it'll be fine." I reassured her with a cough.

"I'll try my best to tell you what I know, then… since it'll interrupt our lessons if something happens. I wouldn't want that too much." Dara got up from the floor, bowing towards me respectfully. She began to make an effort to bow before exiting the room, especially if we had many conversations during her visit. I found it, at points, to be quite the bother, something too formal and unbecoming from someone in a position of power over me, but in also understanding that she meant it as a sign of respect, I never bothered to protest.

In the following months, the environment of the facility shifted. It was around the late spring of 1999, around 8 months since Dara and I began our Korean lessons. Some of the subjects around me had fallen silent, no nurses or other staff entering their cells. My features had only grown more prominent, ears fully sprouted out of my head and as fuzzy as ever, and my canines sharpening into little fangs that would bite the inside of my lip and spill trickles of blood into my mouth. From the early winter, just before Valentine's Day, the injections once put into my thighs were now mere pills and aerosol treatments, given twice a day from various workers standing at the window. Dara began to give me more and more discs and CDs, even buying a new set of headphones once the secondhand pair started to show its decay. I found this place to be somewhat comfortable. I had not seen Amachi since before I entered this place, and although he was mentioned, he had yet to personally appear to me, most of my contact being with Dara and the other general staff who were tasked with observing my symptoms or administering medication or other things.

Sitting in the corner of the room, I stared at the back wall of the cell while listening to the Discman Dara had given me before. I was given a box of chalk to write on the back wall when winter began, so I started writing notes and poems and drawing pictures of the things I remember. Rin had crossed my mind quite a few times over the months. I must have drawn a few dozen small portraits of her, grinding down an innumerable amount of pink chalk in all kinds of shades, trying to make sure I never forgot her face even if my artistry couldn't match the real thing. I began to miss her, wondering if she was still on the streets, or what she had been doing all this time, thinking of all the things she could show me or if she even wondered where I had gone. Should she have kept the bracelets we traded, surely Rin would have a reminder that I was once in her life, like the dozens of other names she kept on her arm, but all I had to myself was the memory of her and the portraits I'd scribble on the wall.

The door opened suddenly. My head turned quickly to see who was entering the room, pulling the Discman on my lap close to me as I withdrew within my own body. If it were Dara, she would have knocked twice before opening the door, then taken a few moments to pull her cart into the room before she stepped in herself. Instead, the figure swung the door open, then slammed it shut. Looking up at the person, the face I was met with was none other than Amachi's. He had changed very little since the last time I saw him, perhaps only this time with a clean shaven face, but the same sunken look and overconfident half-grin was on his face. It was a face I had burned into my mind, and a name I refused to ever forget. "Nakuru," he said softly, feigning that same careful and delicate tone he once wooed me with, "How are you adjusting?"

No apology. No acknowledgement of what he had done, the time that had passed, or even any sense of remorse for his actions and lies. I knew many a foul person, one who'd rather save face and make pleasantries instead of facing the things they've done, but few were as blatantly careless as Amachi, now trying to build rapport with the animal he had created. I stared at him.

"No answer? I'll assume you're adjusting well, then," he responded to himself.

There was nothing to say to someone like this. He had the answer to his question in front of him. The box of gifts, the scribbles on the wall, my comfortable state disrupted now only by his presence, but still clinging onto every ounce of privilege he was pouring onto me as if I were his prized pet. My tail started to move uncontrollably, flicking around behind me, feline ears pulling back. My pupils painfully constricted, eyes widening with each step Amachi took forward. Yes, surely, the answer to his question was in front of him, even if I were to appear as a scared kitten, ready to hiss and claw my way to safety, no other wall was covered in scribbles nor room given so many gifts. The life in this cell was the result of the plight of others, the plight of myself, and the benefit of every researcher who dared to breathe a relieved sigh in realizing they'd be dealing with a mere pet-sitting job. Amachi stopped a few feet ahead of me and crouched down.

"This room is quite comfortable. You still have such a way of expressing yourself, even in these conditions."

I blink.

"And those ears, they've formed beautifully. Say, were you ever a fan of Hyper Police? There was a young girl in there, a few years younger than you, also with similar cat features. They're becoming quite the trend now… so don't look so downcast over it, will you?" He said, a faint smile on his face.

I keep my gaze focused on Amachi.

"…That said, you're overdue for some tests right now. And, if you'd like, a retouch to your hair, free of cost to you. I know how much it matters."

If he were to simply shut up right now, that'd be fine. Despite this, I did notice that my hair was growing quickly, leaving only half of it a faint gray while the rest was its natural dark brown. I nodded at the offer - the only sign of response I cared to give to him at the moment — and pulled away physically. Amachi took note of this. Although he had taken so much of me, he still held a sense of reservation, something to give himself deniability if he were to ever truly be scrutinized. Malice cloaked like this was quite the trouble, as he could deny anything by masking over it with his kindness, or even his lack of true harm. He got up from the crouch to walk towards the door. "Walk with me, if you will. We'll have those tests done and see where you stand right now," he ordered softly. I toss the headphones and Discman to the side, scrambling to my feet to get a few feet behind Amachi. The moves felt nearly involuntary, my fear of retaliation overcoming my desire to ignore his demands. Before I knew it, my legs were moving me forward and my hand was held in his.

In this moment, a pit formed in my stomach. I couldn't understand it. But it clawed away at me, leaving me numb and in pain. When we got outside of the room, I was standing in a corridor of wide windows similar to mine. Each room had its own black wall and projector, though few had as many smaller items as mine. The room across from mine was empty save for a large brown splatter of blood that could be seen past the half-drawn curtains. Everything smelled sterile, and the corridor itself was dark and broody save for the light spilling from the windows of each cell. Amachi walked me further down the hall, and I began to look into each cell. Other girls of all ages were in each cell, some with similar animal features, others not quite. Many were standing in their rooms or curled up into balls on the floor, covered in dark yellow and burgundy stains or fresh, bright red blood. The pit in my stomach only got heavier as I looked into these cells. We passed by a room with a researcher standing directly in front of a control panel, another inside the room with the subject in a full white hazmat suit. The person in the suit pinned the subject down, taking a syringe out of a box. I couldn't see the rest, however, as Amachi soon grabbed my face and turned me towards the front to look away. All I could hear was a shrill scream before it was muffled.

"There's no need to watch that," Amachi reprimanded me. "You'll attract the attention of others, and it's nothing someone like you should be seeing."

Only then did I feel the need to speak. "What does that mean? And what are you all even doing? Not even that nurse could tell me anything."

"Experiments," Amachi answered with a sly grin.

"More than that."

"Yes, it's more than that — good job. I discovered a small virus, something not too dissimilar to a bacteriophage, that could latch onto cells and communicate with nearby phages. It's flaw, though, was that it would die much too fast. It'd attach to a small area, then be unable to fuel itself or endure the body's natural defense system, and die out."

I turned my nose to the description. "What is it's purpose, then?"

"The goal was to make a system in which bodies with this phage would inherently be strengthened, as the kind of bacteria that would normally disable it or cause a worse infection would be killed off. That is done with the help of giving it animal DNA to latch onto, and … some other resources Umbrella offered." The pause in Amachi's voice lasted only a moment, but it said so much about his plans. I was surprised he was willing to tell me all of this. Maybe it was because I was in too deep, with fluffy black ears poking from my skull and a tail curling around my thigh, there was nothing that could be done even if I wished to tell the world of what he was doing. Amachi kept a tight grip on my hand as we walked down another corridor, one lit with fluorescent lighting that coated everything in a sterile white. Everything smelled like rubbing alcohol, a dense stench that stung my nostrils. As we kept walking, the sounds of screaming or wailing got quieter, muffled with each new door.

The next room entered was a round room with a large chamber inside. Past it was another small operating room, where two employees stood over a computer and mulled over data and notes for some time. The look someone gives when they're in deep thought varies widely. Some will furrow their brow, others will widen their eyes, few will do a blend of the two, and some more will make a unique expression. Amachi led me into the back room with the researchers, in which I could see both of them grimacing at the computer before acknowledging our arrival, stopping to give a customary bow. The taller of the two left the room to return to his duties.

"Dr. Amachi," the lone researcher said as she bowed.

"I take it you're both going over the current progress data?" He replied, letting go of my hand to fold his arms. "I brought the subject for proper tests."

Amachi gestured me towards an exam chair. As I laid on it, cold leather pressed against my back and my thighs. Straps were pulled over my body, restraining me to the chair. In this moment, I felt my consciousness slip away, trying to take myself to a different place than this present moment. The researcher from earlier who greeted Amachi pulled the computer she was staring at with her coworker towards me.

"Those features are growing well. Her body's accepted the host well, hasn't it, Dr. Amachi?" The researcher asked.

"It has. Those given the feline DNA have had the best adaptation, but hers…" Amachi reached a hand to feel my ears, starting by placing his palm on my cheek. Instinctively, I open my jaw and sink my teeth into the fleshy pad of his palm. He winces and pulls away, then I feel his hand strike me. Once, then again, much harder that time. Being hit was humiliating; although I was the one to bite first, the fact I was restrained so much and unable to fight back meant I was now sitting still, face hot and stinging from the strike, looking like nothing more than a fool. Amachi offered no words or acknowledgement of what happened, returning to feeling around my features. He stared at me with pure hatred in his eyes, something mixed in with that same infatuation he's had for some time. When his hand trailed from my feline ears to my lips, I felt a sting in my thigh once more, the same sting of the usual injections Dara would administer, then Amachi's thumb forced its way into my mouth to pry it open and stare at my teeth. My tongue folded over, and he rubbed my canines with his thumb while sticking another two fingers down my throat to choke me. It was quite the pathetic attempt at dominance he was displaying here before I clamped my jaw down on his hand again. Amachi's face went pale, and he tried releasing his hand from my mouth, grabbing my throat to try and pry himself out of my grip. I writhed furiously in response, kicking about to push the other reseacher away. My skin was crawling, body strengthening itself as all I could manage to do was try to make some kind of superficial wound.

The next moments flashed by with little to recall of it. I was being pummeled over and over until my jaw was nearly broken, forcing Amachi's hand out of my mouth. The other researcher screamed, rushing to his side to check his now bleeding hand. She pulled a muzzle from a drawer, forcing my head still as it was placed over my mouth. The screen of the computer cast a blue light over my body, now displaying my elevated heart rate. The words the researchers spoke were too hushed for me to make out anything, but the way they looked toward me could only tell that they were discussing the pitiful act of rebellion I tried to commit. Gloves were placed over their hands, then they went to feeling at my body again. Amachi groped impatiently around my arms, then my chest, reaching under my shirt to lift it and feel the bottom of my ribcage. He made a soft remark in English about how thin I was getting, feeling down to my belly to press it and massage the area. Only in that moment did I tense up, trying to cease all movement, feeling the other researcher lay her palm flat against my right thigh, feeling my muscles carefully and massaging the area she injected. The computer beeped impatiently as my mind raced in fear. Whatever they were checking, it certainly had to do with my brain, as the two of them turned to the computer and tried to incite more reactions.

I didn't look at the younger researcher of the two since I entered the room, but I stared at her as she started to draw along my body with a marker. Amachi pulled up my shirt, exposing my torso, and pulled another screen towards the exam chair. When I stared at her for longer, our eyes met, and she immediately glanced away. She pulls her mask down, turned towards the screen.

"Dr. Amachi," she murmurs, light reflecting off of her teeth for a moment. "What's that for?" I focused in on her voice, soft and raspy, realizing it was Maya who was feeling around me and drawing along my skin, that reflection being the piercing she's always had beneath her lip. She made a mark on my abdomen, then my chest, then put away the marker and lifted her mask over her face again. All signs had lead to knowing she'd be here, working at the same company as her father, but there could only be so much of a possibility she'd be in the department holding me hostage, now staring down at me as if we never knew one another. My bruised face burned hot, cheeks swelling in pain while a pink sludge of blood and spit covered my bottom lip and chin. Amachi didn't answer Maya's question, instead applying some kind of gel to the areas she had marked, rubbing it into my skin. He did so with a gratuitous approach, further groping my body outside of the areas before withdrawing to hand some equipment over. The way he continously did these unneccessary actions I found to be insensible, and I could only continue justifying biting and trying to injure him further. With the muzzle over my mouth now, and my wrists and ankles restrained, I had no other means to fight, so I instead treid to distract myself through the examinations.

The next few minutes passed by without much issue. A camera examined my internal organs, and every part was pointed out and glossed over. When the equipment trailed up to my ribcage, a bright white object stood out on the camera, making a grotesque pumping motion that I could only feel as a mere tingling in my chest. It was described to be the phage being tested, feeding upon the animal cells and replicating itself, carrying another unnamed component to ensure that my body wouldn't forever reject what was being injected into my body. A string followed along my body from my brain to my womb, forming branches and networks of nerve-like connections. The camera was then lifted from my torso. I had come to understand that I had been changed, but the true extent of it was unclear until this moment. That my body was hosting some alien thing, some plague and I was now a tool to be used by these researchers. I stared at Maya again, tearing up at the seeming betrayal. She had to see me like this, my body exposed and slowly rotting of this illness, and all she has to gain from it is a paycheck and the brief shame of seeing a former friend a mere subject. If she could, would she confess all of this to Rin, lying to her to tell her that I was somehow okay?

My restraints were lifted, and since I was much too weak to continue fighting back, I sat up and soon collapsed onto the floor. Everything burned, and I was still bleeding, my mouth now spilling bright red onto the floor. Amachi knelt down and placed something around my neck. It beeped, then stuck something into my nape, leaving only a slight sting before detaching. "That's a tracking collar," he explained. "Should you continue to have such violent outbursts, the light on that collar will turn red and you'll be incapacitated within moments. I don't want to have to do this, Nakuru, but you leave me with no choice. Come with us, now." My hand was taken so I could stand up, then a finger was hooked into the collar placed on me, and my wrists were held by Maya. In this moment, I was nothing more than an animal, quite the unusual cat, or human, or whatever third thing I could be described as now. To be collared, pet, groped upon so strangely, I was now exposed to the horror of what it was like to be considered commodity. Whatever data, whatever conclusion to come out of my suffering, I could only hope that I would be one of few, not many, and no one else was enduring the same abuse I had to, being beaten and berated yet still paraded as a rare delicacy. That ambition I once had to sit in my comfort and continue my lessons with Dara, remaining docile so long as I remained fed and given nothing more than the occasional injection or bland dinner, had faded into nothing but fury and disgust, a new desire to break out or at least find an escape in my certain death, should I rebel enough.

I was then led into the central chamber. Glass walls surrounded it, a set of stairs leading down to a low platform in which a few bodies lie. They were covered in a dark miasma, more spilling from their mouths. They croaked, rattled, and moaned in pain, turning and writhing slowly in their last moments of life. The door behind me slammed shut, sealing the room with a wheeze as all the excess air is forced out of the chamber. My tears stained my cheeks. I stumbled forward, into a crawl, holding my stomach. I touched my lip, now bruised and swollen, tasting the blood lingering on my tongue and spilling from my nose. The researchers gathered in a row, watching my pitiful crawl, waiting for me to acknowledge them. I stared at the floor, then the corpses, then sat up and turned to the window. Whirring started to sound from above me, followed by a screech and a low buzzing. A speaker turns on.

"There we go," I hear Amachi say, "Try to communicate with those bodies there. They look dead, but I promise you, we have kept them alive enough to listen to commands."'

Maya then followed suit. "You don't need to do much more than establish a connection, and make one of them walk towards you."

I nodded. With the movements and agonizing groans of the bodies, they surely were alive, kept in some kind of stasis. I closed my eyes, hugging my knees as my short tail curled around and rested atop my left foot. Focus was something I found difficult by now; the only time I could focus was when I was listening to music, letting my mind move to the beat, or when I had nothing else to focus on now. However, in this moment, there were a dozen things to focus on, and I couldn't pick one, each new thought bursting just as quickly as it forms, like water boiling atop a stove. Through the streams of consciousness I hear a plea, something quite small and pitiful, a plea for help. I open my eyes, realizing one of the bodies was now sitting up across from me, starting to move ever so slightly. I beckoned for it to come closer. Both corpses get on their knees, though one crawls while the other starts to stand. I hear the speaker screech again. Amachi made a gruff sound, one of excitement or surprise, a grunt followed by a swallow. "Well done," he praised me quietly. My head started to feel light, thoughts floating out of them, but I kept asking both bodies to come to me, for me to embrace them for just a moment and apologize that we were all here. I can't be certain where this desire came from, or if their current movement was truly a result of my requests, but Amachi seemed pleased and I could only continue doing as I was asked.

The door was opened moments later. Frigid air rushed back into the room, and the reanimated corpses collapsed to the ground suddenly. The hair on my neck stood. I felt a shock to my head, sending a tingling down my spine to the tip of my tail, forcing it to jut out and every hair to puff up and raise. I turned back to see Amachi and Maya entering the chamber to retrieve me. The bodies stop moving, no longer rattling or breathing slowly. They couldn't have been alive any longer, but I kept asking them to continue approaching me. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I pull forward, reach my hand out, then get shoved aside before a gun is pointed towards one of the corpses laying on the floor. "Stop, no!" I begged through a tight throat, screaming and crying as my hand was grabbed. At some point in being dragged out of the room, I felt a pop from my shoulder, bringing a searing pain to my entire upper body. He didn't slow down, trying to create distance between the once-shambling corpse and myself. "Hold on, what the hell is happening?! Answer me, please! What the hell have you done to me?!" I continue to plea, but the pulling only continues. Amachi tossed me onto the cold floor before shutting the chamber, and I was left only wondering what had become of me.

Two gunshots rang through the air, and the pained groans and cries of the bodies had ceased. Before I could think about what had happened and what everything I learned today meant, I was being carried back to my darkened cell with nothing more than a raspy cry from my throat.