They drained the tank.
The liquid hissed away through hidden vents, leaving me collapsed at the bottom like a rag doll. I coughed violently, heaving up mouthfuls of that slick fluid until the floor gleamed with it. My body trembled, not from cold, but from exhaustion. Like I'd just run miles without moving.
I wanted to ask, Where am I? Who are you? But the moment I opened my mouth, a steel ring clamped tight around my throat. A collar. It hummed faintly, and the air thickened around my tongue, strangling the words before they could leave.
A warning.
The scientist's voice came through a speaker above the chamber. Calm, clinical, rehearsed: "Subject-5482, you are currently held in Site-89 for observation. You will not be harmed, provided you comply. Attempted communication without permission will be punished. Understood?"
I nodded. Slowly. My muscles didn't feel like mine, but I forced them to obey.
The wall in front of me groaned and slid open, revealing a corridor of blinding white light. I squinted, shielding my face, but hands grabbed me before I could adjust. Black gloves, faceless helmets—guards. Two on either side, dragging me forward like luggage.
We passed through corridors lined with reinforced doors. Some pulsed faintly, as if something inside was pressing against them. Others rattled with distant shrieks, distorted through metal. I tried not to listen.
Finally, they shoved me into a room. Plain. Sterile. A single chair bolted to the ground. Across from it, a wide window stretching wall to wall, glass thicker than a bank vault's. I didn't need to be told what it was: an observation room.
"Sit."
The guards left without another word.
I sat. Not because I wanted to, but because the collar's hum deepened, warning me.
The glass shimmered, and a new voice filled the room. Not the calm scientist from before, but deeper, measured, with authority sharpened like a knife."Subject-5482. We will begin with simple questions. Nod for 'yes.' Shake your head for 'no.'"
I swallowed. Nodded.
A pause. Then: "Do you remember your name?"
I froze. My chest tightened. I wanted to remember. I searched every corner of my mind for something familiar—a sound, a letter, anything. Nothing. Only static. I shook my head.
Another pause."Do you remember how you came to be here?"
No. I shook my head again.
"Do you feel… different? From what you remember being?"
That one cut deeper. My breath hitched. Slowly, reluctantly, I nodded.
Behind the glass, shadows shifted. I couldn't see their faces, but I felt their eyes studying me like I was a lab rat.
The voice pressed on."We will run controlled evaluations. Resist the urge to act out. The sooner we understand you, the safer this process will be."
Safer... for who?
Before I could dwell on it, the floor clicked. Small panels slid open, and I saw it: a rabbit. White, trembling, placed inside a small cage.
The collar hummed again. Stronger. My stomach turned. No—not hunger. That other hunger. The one that woke with me.
And for the first time, I realized what this "test" really was.
They weren't asking me questions. They were watching to see what I would do.
--------
The rabbit looked at me.
Wide black eyes, nose twitching, body pressed into the corner of its tiny cage, like it knew something I didn't. Animals always seem to know more than people give them credit for.
I couldn't look away.
The hunger twisted in me like a knot tightening. Not in my stomach—lower, deeper, as if my bones themselves were thirsty. I wanted to recoil, to close my eyes, but the hum of the collar kept my head facing forward.
"Observe." the voice behind the glass said. Smooth, clinical. Like this was just another day for them. Just another thing they had to measure.
I clenched my fists against the chair's metal arms. "You're not serious," I tried to say—only to gag when the collar constricted my throat. My vision spotted. My protest turned into a choked rasp that barely scraped the air.
The collar loosened only when I stopped struggling.
My chest heaved. I wanted to scream. To demand an explanation, to beg for mercy, to curse them. But all I could do was sit there, trembling, while the rabbit shivered in its cage.
I hated them for this.
Not just the scientists behind the glass. Not just the guards who dragged me here. I hated whoever I was before this. Whatever I had become that made them certain I would do something unspeakable.
And yet—
The crack from the tank. I remembered it too clearly. The way the glass fractured when my panic boiled over. I hadn't imagined it. That wasn't a trick of adrenaline.
Something inside me had done that.
So maybe they were right. Maybe the rabbit was never in danger… unless I was in the room.
The intercom crackled again. "Focus, Subject-5482. You are resisting. Why?"
Why? Because I'm not a monster. Because I still feel. Because the thought of tearing into that helpless creature makes me want to vomit.
But the words couldn't come out. The collar's low hum buzzed in my throat like static, denying me a voice.
I shook my head violently instead.
Behind the glass, faint murmurs. Pens scratching. Someone muttered, "Negative response to stimulus."
Stimulus. That's what the rabbit was. Not a living being. Just another datapoint.
The hunger gnawed harder. My jaw ached from clenching it. My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth like it was begging me to bite down on something, anything.
I dragged my nails against the chair's metal armrest instead. The screech echoed through the room. Small, pathetic resistance. But mine.
Time stretched. I stared at the rabbit until my vision blurred, until the hum in my bones quietened slightly, not completely. Enough.
Finally, the intercom clicked again. "End the trial."
The collar relaxed, loosening its grip on my throat. Guards re-entered. One removed the cage. The rabbit was whisked away, still alive. Still shaking.
A knot of relief and shame tangled inside me. Relief that I hadn't hurt it. Shame that part of me had wanted to.
The voice behind the glass spoke once more, steady and detached:"Subject-5482 demonstrates self-control under minimal provocation. Prepare for higher-stress testing."
The door slammed shut. The lights dimmed.
And in that silence, I finally let myself whisper—not words, not curses. Just a sound.
A laugh.
Bitter, broken, almost hysterical.
Because the truth had sunk in.
They weren't testing if I was dangerous. They already knew the answer.
They were just measuring how long it would take before I stopped pretending I wasn't.