Colonel Gaines sat at his desk, tapping his fingers as he replayed surveillance footage on a screen. The golden-haired man entered the room behind him.

"He spoke," Gaines said, gesturing at the screen. "But he attacked the nurse."

"It's progress," the man replied flatly. "But don't refer to that thing as if it were human."

"Whatever it is tried to bite her like she was food!" Gaines snapped, turning in his chair.

"It spoke," the man said with a grin. "Which means we'll be able to converse with the beast soon. Let me know when it can actually hold a conversation."

He turned to leave.

"You can always find more nurses."

Gaines stared after him, disgusted, as the door closed behind the man's smile.

Mike shot upright in his bed, startled awake by the gravelly voice in his mind:
"Kill the feathered bat."

He scanned the room in confusion, heart pounding.

The door opened.

"Good morning, Michael," said Debbie with her usual warmth.

"Mor…ning," Mike replied, the word broken and strained.

Debbie's eyes lit up. "I see we're making progress! Fantastic, Michael!"

Mike let out a low growl but suppressed it. Instead, he tried to smile—only baring his teeth. Debbie beamed at the attempt.

Each day she returned, showing him pictures, speaking gently, guiding him through words and memory. Two more weeks passed. Slowly, Mike began forming sentences. He was trying to remember—faces, emotions, fragments of his life.

One morning, Colonel Gaines entered the room holding a file.

"Hello, Mr. Reed. We've been told you can now speak. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your trial."

"Trial?" Mike asked, confused.

"Yes. The fifteen days you were unconscious. Did something happen to you? Something… not easily explained?"

Mike stared back at him. "I killed and ate creatures."

"Killed and ate creatures…" Gaines echoed. "Whose trial did you complete?"

"I don't understand." Mike replied again.

"Who guided you?" Gaines pressed.

"No one. I just… killed and ate until I woke up here."

"You're saying no one guided you through your trial? No instructions, no communication?"

"That's correct," Mike said, irritation creeping into his tone.

"Don't lie to me, Mr. Reed!" Gaines shouted, slamming the file onto the table. "You can't begin to comprehend what's happening here. Your story doesn't match anyone else's who completed a trial!"

Mike clenched his fists. "I don't know anything about a guide or other people! What the hell are you talking about?"

Gaines leaned forward, his voice venomous. "If you want to know what happened to your wife, I suggest you start telling me the fucking truth."

"…Wife?" Mike echoed, the word hollow.

"Yes! Your wife. Kelsey Reed. Do you want to know what happened to her?"

Mike froze. The pressure began creeping up his spine. His heart raced. He tried to remember—her face, her voice—but the image wouldn't come.

"Don't tell me you don't remember," Gaines growled. "When are you going to start being honest with us?"

"I… I can't remember her face…" Mike whispered. "I can't remember… I can't remember…"

Gaines slammed a photo onto the table. "You don't remember this woman?! Your fucking wife?! You're lying to us! That's a federal offense, Mr. Reed, and I swear—"

Mike stared at the image.
And then—he saw her.

Light brown hair. That soft smile. Her warm voice echoed in his mind.
Memories started to come rushing back.
He began to shake. Rage and grief collided in his chest.

"What happened to her?!" he shouted. "Tell me!!"

With a cruel smile, Gaines replied, "Oh, now you remember? How convenient. Well, it doesn't matter—she's dead."

The words hit like a sledgehammer.

Mike's muscles clenched. The scars across his chest and sides deepened. His skin getting thicker. His body felt heavier. Denser.

His eyes burned—now a deeper, darker yellowish-red.

"Liar."
The voice echoed again in his mind.

A growl rumbled through his clenched teeth. Metal restraints groaned as his strength kept growing.

"Get out! Lock it down!" Gaines shouted, bolting for the door.

The restraints exploded—shards of twisted metal flying across the room.

A deafening roar erupted from Mike's chest as the reinforced walls trembled.

Across the facility, in Gaines' office, the golden-haired man watched the footage. His lips curled.

"Fascinating," he said, and turned.
He walked calmly toward Mike's room as chaos echoed through the halls—fists slamming against metal, boots rushing across the tile.

Gaines ran up to him, panic in his voice.
"What the hell is that thing?! You said nothing could break those restraints!"

"Calm down," the man said, stepping past him. "I'm going to greet Mr. Reed. And give the beast my blessing."