“You sure you don’t want any morphine?”

“For God’s sake, Clementine, just bandage it,” I sighed through the oxygen mask, focusing on the ceiling and my breathing.

“Okay, but if you start whining…,” she warned, cutting off my right sleeve.

I clenched my teeth as she ran my arm under warm water. I managed to glance at my wounded arm, immediately regretting my decision. I deeply sighed, laying my good arm over my eyes. My fingers twitched as she washed the bite wound, gently drying it and slowing the bleeding with a clean cloth.

“You know it was stupid to‒”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I sighed, cringing from the conversation that I would soon have with the directors. “He seemed calm. I thought we had an… understanding.”

“He put Laursen in a coma and you thought you had rapport with him.”

“Oh, shut it,” my growl turned into a cough.

“You trust too easily, Calvin,” Clementine said once I had stopped coughing. She applied cold antibiotic cream to the wound. I winced, twitching on the exam table. She firmly wrapped my forearm in bandages from my wrist to my elbow.

“I really liked this shirt,” I sighed, looking at the bloody, torn sleeve.

“It looks like all your other shirts,” she scoffed.

I glanced up at her. “Sean got me this one for Father’s Day.”

She stared at me. “You remember which shirt‒”

“I remember which shirts my son gets me,” I sighed, leaning back. I stared at the ceiling, taking deep, slow breaths. “And you tell me I trust too easily.”

“Trusting a starving, wounded 12-year-old who broke into your house is a lot different than trusting a murderous cyborg wolf man,” she sighed. She finished the wrapping, “Remember to change it multiple times a day, and apply antibiotic cream.”

“I know, I know,” I struggled to sit up. I pulled the oxygen mask off my face, deeply sighing. “And now I have to go deal with the directors.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Wish me luck.”

“Get a new shirt first,” Clementine snorted.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” I waved a hand in dismissal, getting off the table.

I held my tablet under my good arm, trying to not look at anyone as I left the medical ward and headed towards the dormitories. They were mostly separate from the rest of the facility, only bound by a couple hallways and staircases. Luckily, no one had to share. Here, there were no guards and scientists, just a bunch of people relaxing after long shifts, waiting for their month-long vacations.

In my simplistic dorm room, I changed into a clean shirt, packing a few of my things just in case the directors told me to take my off-month early. I had a feeling they would. I lightly held the bloody, torn shirt. I glanced at the garbage bin. I bundled up the shirt so the bloody part was inside, putting it deep into my suitcase.

When I made my way up to the directors’ office, the door was open.

“Sirs, ma’ams,” I dipped my head at the four directors.

“Dr. Davidson, please, sit,” Senior Director Klaaus motioned to the chair.

I sat, trying to steady my breathing and heartbeat.

“How’s your arm?” Senior Director Alton asked.

“I’m fine, ma’am, I’ve been bitten before,” I nodded.

“Bug bites don’t count,” Junior Director Thompson scoffed, rolling his dark eyes. Next to him, Junior Director Swann glared and flicked his shoulder. He shot her a quick glare, then looked at me, “Approaching EW-54 like that was foolish, especially without his muzzle on.”

“I am well aware of that now, sir,” I said, slightly annoyed at his tone. “I believed that we had a mutual understanding, some small form of rapport. He appeared calm and had cooperated with the overlap segment.”

“Yes, we saw the footage,” Sr. Dir. Alton nodded. “EW-54 ‒ or, as he claims his name to be, Ice ‒ did indeed cooperate for the most part, and was quite calm. And, he has given us somewhat useful information so far; the possible true names of the stone-cold kingdom and EW-1. Who knows what other information he has rattling around in there,” she tapped her head to accentuate her point.

The door swung open with little warning. We all looked to see Elijah Hall. His cold yellow eyes were focused solely on me.

“Doctor Calvin Davidson,” as always, his voice was emotionless, “by order of The Queen, you are to go back to your home immediately and stay there for the rest of this month. Doctor Clementine Johan will handle EW-54 in your absence. Understood?” His strange yellow eyes would likely bore holes through me if he stared any longer.

“U-understood, sir,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice from shaking.

“A jet waits for you.” He turned, closing the door behind him.

When he was gone, I let out a long breath.

“Well, that was fucking terrifying,” Jr. Dir. Swann whispered.

“I suppose it’s back to France with you,” Sr. Dir. Klaaus said, clearly just as unnerved. “We’ll see you next month. Be sure to spend plenty of time with your son.”

“Yes, sir, goodbye,” I nodded, standing up.

I left the room, pausing for a moment to catch my breath. I slowly began walking back to my dorm room, trying to shake the image of Elijah Hall staring right at me, coldly ordering me to go home. The Queen had ordered me to go home.

When I got to the garage, dragging my suitcase and duffle bag, the jet was waiting. I stepped onto it, averting my gaze from the few other people who were heading home for their well-deserved vacations. I put my suitcase in the top compartment, sitting down in a more isolated area with my duffle at my feet. I lightly touched my bandaged arm after unbuttoning my collar.

“Davidson,” one of my co-workers said. I looked at them. “I thought you weren’t supposed to go home until the 20th?”

“The Queen’s orders,” I shrugged, showing my bandaged arm. “Got bit by 54.”

All eyes turned to me, both surprised and horrified.

I looked out the window as the engines revved, trying to ignore the stares and what less-than-ideal feelings they evoked. My leg jittered. My chest felt tight. The jet began to roll out of the garage. The landscape turned from dark concrete and metal to the icy mountainous landscape of northern Finland. Or was it Norway? Not many knew, just that it was cold and that mountains were nearly everywhere. Either way, it was quite a sight to not even see the base within the mountains it was built in, save for a few snow-covered spots here and there.

The jet ride was surprisingly quiet, with the gentle clacking of keyboards, a few soft snores from those resting, and some occasional light chatter. As always, the flight took forever. I hated the flights.

“Next stop: Auxerre, France,” the flight attendant eventually said as the plane began to descend. I blinked, sitting up and stretching.

When the jet landed, I grabbed my bags and walked out, eager to get back home. It was dark outside, although I could just faintly see the first hints of sunrise on the horizon. There was a car waiting for me.

“Nearest train station, please,” I requested, getting in the back seat.

I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes in an attempt to get some rest.

Three train rides, a bus ride, and a taxi cab later, I was home.

The estate left to me by my grandparents was mostly hidden by trees, only accessible by a long, worn driveway and a rusty iron gate. It was three stories, four if you counted the large attic, five if you counted the basement, and six if you counted the roof. From where I stood, it looked like no one was home. A window was open on the third floor.

I unlocked the door and stepped in. “Sean? I’m home!”

“Dad?!” Sean came running down the spiral staircase. “Dad!” He practically jumped into my arms, getting a laugh out of me. He looked up at me, “I thought you weren’t gonna be home until around the 20th? It’s the 5th!”

“Change of plans,” I sighed, locking the door behind me. “I got bit, and was ordered to spend the rest of the month here. Which I am more than fine with.”

“You got bit?” He looked me up and down, trying to find the wound.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” I showed him the bandage around my right forearm. “I just… might need some help re-wrapping it later. After my shower. Anyway, how’s school been?”

He glared at me, “You just got bit and you’re asking how school’s been?”

I shrugged, “I’ve been bit before, you know.”

He was going to argue, but I stopped him, “I have been traveling for 15 hours at least. I need a shower, food, and sleep.”

“Okay, okay,” he threw his hands up in surrender.

“Okay, I’m gonna go shower, and we can catch up over a meal,” I kissed his forehead, then began pulling my suitcase up the stairs.

Once upstairs to the third floor, I tossed my suitcase onto my bed, now overwhelmingly aware of how tired and jet-lagged I was. I undressed, turning on the water in my bathroom.

I slowly unwrapped my bandage arm, softly wincing. I checked the medicine cabinet for antibiotic cream. Luckily there was some left, although more would be needed.

Seconds after stepping in the shower, I inspected the bite wound. It looked both from a human and a dog, as though one had bitten me right after the other. If Sean saw this, I would have no idea how to explain it. A human with extra-sharp teeth and a surprisingly strong jaw? Or a dog with large teeth and a strangely-shaped snout? What was Ice even classified as? Human or hound?

I just had to hope he wouldn’t see it.

When I got out of my shower, I dressed in only pajama pants, fumbling for the antibiotic cream.

“Dad?” Sean called. “I was gonna make lunch. Do you want anything specific?”

“Uh… not really,” I said, smearing the cream over the wound.

“Are you okay? How’s your arm?”

“A bit sore. Doesn’t look infected, I’ll be fine.”

“Need help wrapping it?”

“...Possibly. Yeah. I just….”

“Don’t want me to see the wound,” Sean seemed to read my mind, something he had an eerie talent for. “I-I know you’re not, like, allowed to talk about it, but it’s not like me seeing a single bite wound is gonna reveal top secret secrets.”

I sighed, “Okay, just…. Don’t ask too many questions.” I opened the door to allow him into the room.

His deep blue eyes landed on the bite wound on my forearm, and he gasped, “Is that a human bite?! I-I thought it would be, like, a couple rat bites, maybe a dog or cat bite, n-not a full-on human bite!”

“No questions,” I told him a bit harsher than I should have and briefly making him flinch. I softened my voice, “You know I’m not allowed to talk about it.”

“R-right, right, sorry, ” he shakily nodded, taking up the bandage.

I held out my arm for him to re-bandage. I looked away, trying to stop myself from wincing. He wrapped it rather firmly, which I was grateful for.

“Can I ask‒”

I gave him a pointed look. He took the hint and nodded, focusing on the bandage. He struggled to fasten it, then pulled away, pushing his platinum blonde curls out of his face.

“Are you okay?” His voice wobbled.

“I’m fine,” I told him. “Only really aches when I think about it.”

“A person bit you. I know you work with some crazy stuff but…,” he shook his head in disbelief. “A person bit you. Hard enough to draw blood. And a lot of it, apparently. That looks really deep.”

“Yeah… about that,” I sighed. “Remember that shirt you got me for Father’s Day last year? I might have been… wearing it… when….”

“No.”

“Yeah.”