Candidate: His Future Queen

Clink. Clink.

The rattle of trays as the cart rolled in her direction was slightly early today. She cocked her head, estimating it to be two corridors over.

“They’re early today.” Her thoughts were echoed by a crackly voice in a nearby cell.

“Indeed,” she responded to the woman, who audibly clapped and cheered. She’d dubbed the woman ‘Peppermint’ due to the scent wafting from the woman’s cell, though she recently learned her name was Cecil. She couldn’t see her, but she pictured a half-senile, cloth-draped, hag.

A male began whistling further down.

Sigh.

Forty-two days.

Laura’s new home was a ten by ten square pristine clinic. Everything was white, down to the clothes they wore. She hadn’t interacted face to face with others, outside of cart pushers and sleepy-time nurses, in nearly a month and a half now. She didn’t exactly know where she was either, just that she was deep underground based on the smell.

She hadn’t gotten much of a good look on the way in either, before being nicely tossed into her white-walled hellhole. The only other times she’s been out of her cell were of the unconscious variety when they needed to clean it or experiment. Sleepy-time fun.

Tap, Tap.

She didn’t bother facing the glass as a voice told her to stay far back. The settling of the tray on her side of the barrier came two seconds before the scent.

Meatloaf. Lovely.

For budget’s sake. She mentally punched the wall, rolling away to stand fluidly.

Every night was meatloaf night. She made for tonight's version.

Sliding the lid off the plate with her foot, she stared at the lump of meat and vegetables. Today, at least, there were carrots.

“Points for creativity,” she muttered.

“FUCK YOU!”

The shouting made her wince. The voice was followed by the sound of thumping, as someone tried to break their glass containment with their body. She recognized the voice as the one who occasionally made strange gurgle sounds– the same gurgle sound that was now increasing to a pitched intensity.

And from the audible reaction of the cart pusher, his efforts weren't in vain.

Thumping continued, along with the occasional string of curses. The sound of rushing feet was fast approaching. Cecil could be heard giggling and yapping, over the commotion. Others only stirred slightly.

Breakout attempts weren’t an irregular occurrence; however, there was yet to be any successful attempt she’d seen.

Sirens soon sounded, forcing her to muffle her hearing to a tolerable level as she stood, waiting.

Guards in full fit rushed past her cell. She could hear them shouting, at whoever–or whatever, had had enough, to back away and lay flat in the cell. The cursing and thumping didn’t pause a beat.

“Seagull to tower, cell one oh four! Light it up!” A deep voice shouted over the sirens into a walkie-talkie.

“Cell confirmation one zero four,” the dull response.

Hisss.

She could hear the barely audible release of air coming from the direction of chaos. A few seconds ticked, thumps audibly growing weaker, and the bellowing ceased.

Gassed.

There was a reason more attempts weren’t a thing.

Every being in this lab was expendable.

She long figured if they were so willing to off them at the slightest nuance, they probably had a decent list of replacements. A new one would usually roll in within forty-eight hours, which also meant they were likely a very large organization with creatures on their payroll, for this kind of information.

She struggled to come up with ideas that could’ve possibly landed her on their radar. She’d always been very careful to never show her form to anyone, not even her own pack–ex-pack. Since her first shift, she always took care to cover the purple moon marking her forehead, practically lived in contacts to cover her eye’s purple hue, and constantly expended energy to mask her purple hair when her favorite color was out of stock. She was more than happy to let others assume she couldn’t shift, yet all her efforts, from a late walk in the night against the Brazilian heat, found her stripped of her things and tossed here. Wherever here was.

She had to have the shittiest luck.

Sigh.

So far, they’ve only attempted to force her to shift once, at the height of the full moon. They knew enough to know that her kind had to shift at least once a month, and resistance to the change was weakest on a full moon–if one were to abstain from shifting.

She was different.

While it did irritate her to resist the shift, it was more like dealing with bad cramps. Laura could feel the itch of the change now, even underground. She knew they would come for her soon.

But she would resist however long she had to, even at the risk of becoming expendable. There was no way they could know exactly what she was in her world, and she wasn’t about to offer herself up to be further guinea pigged.

She shifted, already tired. Her captors did a great job ensuring the bare minimum was met for survival, keeping every creature weak. It forced her to use what little energy she could get from the never-ending cycle of meatloaf on hiding her more distinctive features.

More noise.

As a new group of black-clad bodies rolled a stretcher down the corridor, passing her cell. The armed men audibly struggled to lift the would-be insurgent, but after much effort and a few swears, they carted past, giving her a glimpse of a tarp-covered body. She could smell him now.. he smelled of the sea.

And she didn’t hear a heartbeat.

Crackle.

She winced as the intercom came to life.

“Why must we keep doing the same thing over, hm?” The woman was audibly throwing spittle on the microphone. “The definition of insanity–doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results. Let’s keep this event, and all events past, in mind from now.” More crackling sounded as the intercom went dead.

Stellar.

She knew one way or another their captors would make them all pay for the incident. Last time it was starvation. She barely held out.

There was no more excitement for the night as the lights dimmed. She listened to the rustles of the others settling, eventually the sound of even breathing covered every other noise.

Long after the others were dreaming peacefully, sleep finally claimed her.