MICHAEL

After the short amount of time I have been locked up in this harrowing facility, the experiments and perilous serums they have been injecting through my skin has begun taking a toll on my body. I find that I can barely lift my head to look at the other hybrids in the cages around me, weighed down by blackening dolor. My sense of sight used to be bright, intricate details filtering through the world around me, but I find that it has disintegrated and bled along with the blood under my skin. I don't cry much anymore, although when I do, my tears are too dark, like black water that is too toxic for angels to swim in. Even with all these things weakening my body, it is clear to see that no other hybrids are being taken back to be tested on. I am the only bleeding one here. I have lost the ability to care.

Today, something new happened. When my bruised eyelids opened in the morning, I noticed a something slightly more alive in the air. Well, as alive as a pack of deadening hybrids can be. I turned my head to see that all the boys and girls were sitting up, their tails draped across the cage floor and their bodies leaning against the sides of the cage, supported by their elbows. I stare at them in confusion, blinking the sleep away from my eyes; until I look down to see a small can of something foul smelling sitting like a wilting flower at the base of my crate.

I slowly sit up, crossing my legs and laying my tail in my lap as I pick up the can with aching fingers. I read the tin to find that it is a can of cat food. Cat food. Is this what they expect us to eat? I wrinkle my nose at the smell, but my stomach aches painfully, reminding me of how malnourished I have become. Judging by the looks of hunger around me, it seems this is the only source of food we might be receiving.

"You're awake." A voice says to the right of me. I look over to see Lila, her dark ears drooped on her head. She looks at me with wide eyes, noticing my hesitation about the food. "It's the only thing they give us. You get used to the taste after a while."

I stare at it.

"I would eat it soon though, Michael. They take it away if you don't." Lila tells me softly, and I nod silently. I look back at the food before scooting closer to it, dipping my finger into the soft substance, wincing at the texture. I slowly scoop up a little with my finger, reluctantly bringing it to my lips. Before I can taste it, my crate suddenly shakes from the impact of a kick. My tail gets caught in the metal bars and I yelp, pulling it tenderly away just as a voice begins to scream.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I look up sensitively to see a man, not one I recognize. He is dressed in a white coat, like many of the other men who tend to experiment on me. His eyes glare down at my hands, and then his fingers fumble at the locks, sliding them loose and pulling open the door. I whimper, pushing myself to the back of the cage as his large hand reaches in and grabs me at my throat.

His rough fingers wrap around my neck as he yanks me forward, pulling me straight out of the crate as I choke under his hold, my chest burning. I feel many eyes lift to look at me through the bars of their cages, watching me writhe under the tightening hold of the man. I lift up, clawing at his hand with my small ones, struggling to get loose as my cheeks turn red, small chokes coming from my lips.

"You. Are. A. Hybrid." The man growls at me under his breath. His dark eyes glare into my pale ones, watching pain fill them as I weakly drop my hands, becoming limp under his hold. "Why the hell aren't you eating like one?"

He drops me, releasing his grip on my throat and I gasp, hitting the ground and drooping slightly. My chest convulses, trying to get oxygen back to my bloodstream. My brain struggles to work out my mind, but I can't seem to form a proper thought.

"Cats don't eat with their fingers. They eat with their mouths. When will you realize that you aren't just another one of those humans you liked to spend your time with?" The man curls his fingers into a grey fist, and I watch it duck down to my stomach, punching me with extreme force, causing me to spin back and slam into the wall behind me. I cough violently, my small body easily being pushed around by the man's shoves.

The man grabs me by the undersides of my arms, effortlessly lifting me up and pushing me back into my crate. My head slams against the metal bars and I bite my tongue to resist crying out, feeling the trickle of blood drip down my scalp. I listen to the man lock the door back up, and I gently turn around, finding him watching me intently with careful eyes.

My heart pangs as I slowly lower myself towards the ground as the other hybrids are, supporting my small body by my elbows as I duck my head to lick at the cat food, like an animal would. An animal. I still don't categorize myself as an animal, simply because that is not how I was raised. I was raised to belief that I had the mental capacity and the physical abilities as a human, just that I was a lot smaller and a lot shyer than normal humans. My mother taught me that this was okay, but it seems that everything I once believed about myself is wrong.

My tongue gets cut against the sharp edge of the tin and I feel blood spill over my lips, and I quickly lick them in fear that I will get hit again. The man watches me taste the cat food, a vile tasting substance that makes me want to vomit the moment I taste it, but I resist it. The man leaves, satisfied with my behavior, and I press my lips together, not wanting to eat the rest of the food. It tastes so bad, but I'm so hungry, and I can count all of my ribs without even trying.

I force myself to consume the rest of the food, trying not to start crying all while I am, because I hate how my head and my tongue is bleeding and I hate how weak I am and I hate how this place makes me feel and I hate how Luke hasn't come and rescued me yet.

I have honestly begun to feel a bit hopeless, like maybe he will never come after all. It has been a while, too long for my bones to keep up with the traumatic experiences they are putting me through. I'm exhausted, my muscles slack and my ears drooping. Maybe it won't ever get better. Maybe I won't ever get better. It was asinine to think I would.

The men come by shortly after and collect up the empty cans before disappearing once again through the back door, barely glancing at us. I look down at my arms, bare and cold. They are smooth and clean from the disinfectant wipes the scientists always use before injecting me, but they are spotted with needle scars and bruises. I'm tired of looking at them. I wish I had something to cover them up, so that I didn't have to look at them anymore.

My eyes sag. I'm tired. I'm always tired, ready to curl in on myself and go to sleep, but it is so hard to sleep in this place. All I can hear is the deafening silence and the occasional sound of one of the hybrids shuffling in their crate. I don't move. I am a sculpture, carved with rusted knives and painted with a shaking hand, skittish and paralyzed.

A noise coming from the front doors of the facility makes my head snap up, insipid eyes trailing along the dark walls towards the two steel doors, anxious and barely noticing my body shaking like the world was quivering.

The large doors slowly open to reveal a large group of teenagers, looking to be around eighteen or nineteen. Their hair is combed back neatly; glasses perched on some of their noses as they slowly walk in to be greeted by one of the detectives.

I watch the small group of adults move down our hallway, their eyes analyzing our crushed forms inside the crates. A few of them stop to peer inside the cages, reading the descriptions on the metal bars. It doesn't take long to realize they are college students, and they are coming on a tour. A tour. What kind of human would want to come and see the torture that occurs here?

I stare at them like children's book villains, their peach skin and white t-shirts just a mask of their shadowy identity inside. Their slim bodies creep like black panthers down the hall, beady eyes skimming over us as the detective talks to them, feeding them erroneous knowledge about the characteristics of hybrids. I stay curled up in the back of the crate as they approach my crate, not wanting to face the prowling humans, there bodied advancing towards me like a hunter trapping prey.

"This here is Hybrid 303." The detective says, and a murmur spreads throughout the small group. They turn their eyes towards me, black pupils too dark and too big as they drill sores into my skin. "I'm sure you have all heard of him. He's the hybrid that used to live with humans and was the reason for our country-wide search mission."

I shake as a few students bend down and crouch over my cage, trying to stick their fingers in between the bars on my cage. I cower away from all the hands, squeezing my eyes shut and clutching onto my tail. The matted fur bristles under my touch, and my mind shuts off, struggling to clear the havoc in my brain.

Thankfully, the students turn on their heel and leave shortly after all, continuing their tour down the back hallway where I am tested on. I slowly open my eyes, still trembling from the tip of my ears to my toes. The network of veins under my skin runs cold at the anxiety that churns in my blood, and I try and even my breaths.

I continue to shake alone in my cage, and I can't help but think about how this is wrong. I didn't use to be so nervous and scared all the time. I used to be strong. As strong as a small kitten boy can be, but still. Stronger than this. I didn't use to be this terrified of every noise and touch that comes to me, every finger that ghosts over my arm. I didn't use to be so skinny and so small, bait for the detectives that kiss bruises on my skin.

I feel like someone is always hunting me, thorns spiking into my feet when I try and crawl away, blood spilling from behind my eyelashes. I am not a fierce person, and I never was, but they have lapped up every last drip of ardor from my flesh until I am left to die under the midnight sky.

I am just another one of the hybrids here now, just another one of the tireless gazes that hide vulnerability. I have ripped my fleshy heart from the center of my chest and pushed it into one of the needles, begging it to course through my bloodstream and give me some sense of relief.

There is none. There never is, and I want nothing more but to wilt under the burning white moon.

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A/N lol you guys I just realized that I probably write in way too much detail. like do you guys even know what I am talking about or do you all just skim over a bunch of superfluous vocabulary words

anyways I have decided to publish a new book soon, and what ship would you all like it to be? (I have ideas for all of them so it is your choice)

also, thanks so much for 80k. that is so cool wow I love you guys. please vote and comment, I love you all so much. see you all in the next update. x