"Asset ninety-two. Please seat yourself in your chair and strap in both of your legs and one arm," a soldier instructed him through the com.

Benjamin shook his head. "I have a name, and you know it, Lieutenant Stevenson."

"Asset ninety-two. Please seat yourself in your chair and strap in both of your legs and one arm or we will use force," Lieutenant Stevenson repeated.

"Fine." Benjamin threw up his hands.

He walked over to the chair resembling a torture device and sat down. He slowly tied in each leg and then his right arm with the strong leather straps. Being left-handed, his left arm remained free. He laid his head back and waited.

A small beep indicated the door was unlocked. Benjamin watched as two soldiers in black entered with their big military guns at the ready, and then a cluster of medical staff and three more soldiers came in behind them.

Lieutenant Stevenson kept his finger on the trigger, as he said, "Hand up, palm facing out. Let's see it."

Benjamin held up his hand. A young female officer approached, one hand at her side, hovering over her sidearm, and the other raised to meet his. She quickly grabbed his wrist and lowered it to finish securing him to the chair.

"Quite some skill there. Are you ambidextrous?" Benjamin asked her, but she didn't respond.

He inhaled, though he knew better than to turn his head toward her. "How was the salad you had for lunch? I can smell balsamic vinegar and fresh lettuce. Is that chive and arugula I smell as well? It must have tasted good."

The sergeant moved away. Benjamin turned to regard her pretty face and the dark strand of hair that had fallen loose as she'd strapped him in. According to her name tag, her name was sergeant Ivanov. He found himself idly wondering if she had an accent and what her first name was.

All five soldiers took position around the room while the medical staff approached him. They'd explained to him that he was under quarantine and that symptoms of his new condition included uncontrolled aggression. He hadn't experienced it himself, but he'd witnessed the other guy's erratic behavior yesterday—slamming his fists against the glass and growling like some animal—but that hadn't happened to Benjamin.

Considering he didn't have any visible symptoms, Benjamin suggested that perhaps he was immune and asked to be re-evaluated, but Dr. Khatri had informed him that caution was necessary and that these procedures would soon end—so, he behaved himself in the hopes of an early release.

"How are you feeling today, subject ninety-two?" A male physician asked from behind a mask.

"The same as yesterday. I feel fine," he told him.

Another physician tied off his arm and tapped it, looking for a vein. Every day they took blood and Benjamin wondered to what end. He knew he was fine.

"And what about cravings? Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?" the male nurse asked.

"No, I'm not hungry. Though—I guess it's been a couple of days, hasn't it? That's strange. I should be starving, shouldn't I?" He couldn't recall eating, not once, the whole time he'd been there.

The nurse nodded and wrote down some notes on his clipboard. "We'll send something down for both of you tonight."

"Hey, so, how's the other guy doing? Is he ok?" he asked as they drew blood from his arm. The truth was, Benjamin wasn't exactly sure what happened the night they were attacked. Something dark lurked in his dreams, night after night, and he feared the trauma of what had happened to him was going to awaken and haunt him any day now. Each night, heavy, slow steps approached him and he'd wake up on the cold floor in a sweat—not that sleeping came easy when you slept on the floor—but after all of this was over, there was only one person who'd understand what Benjamin was going through, and he was across the hallway in his own cell.

"Subject ninety-one is recovering just fine. Please open your mouth for me," the nurse instructed.

Benjamin did as he was told. The nurse raised a ruler and measured his teeth. He listed a series of numbers and another physician wrote them down.

Why were they measuring his teeth? After the physician pulled away, Benjamin ran his tongue over them. He was startled to find they felt a lot different than he remembered them. Everything felt sharp and pointed, his canines in particular were larger than he remembered. It had been days since he'd been in front of a mirror. Had he needed reconstructive surgery or was this another side effect of the infection?

"Is something the matter with my teeth? Did I take a hit to the mouth?" he asked.

"No. Everything looks as it should," the nurse replied.

Benjamin hated their ambiguous answers.

The physician nodded to Lieutenant Stevenson and said, "We're all done here."

Stevenson nodded. "Ready."

The soldiers held their position while the medical staff retreated out the door. Once it was closed, sergeant Ivanov approached, releasing his left hand—she'd remembered he was left-handed. Benjamin tried to smile at her but she'd already turned away.

"Hand up, palm open," Stevenson ordered.

Benjamin complied and watched them leave.

After everyone was gone, he freed himself, and resumed pacing his room. He passed the doorway and caught a whiff of chive and arugula and suddenly realized how hungry he was.

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Published by Raven's Hollow Art and Publishing

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