His patience had run out.
He lay there, analyzing the data he had observed and collected in his mind. He had slept for a few hours, partly because there was nothing else to do, and partly because the abrupt change he had just experienced had drained him of energy. There was no clock, no reference point, but he could sense the rising and setting of the moon; his biological clock was always perfectly precise.
Breakfast was oatmeal, and his sense of smell told him it was plain. He ate quietly while observing the people's behavior. An hour later, he had gathered enough information.
He knocked on the glass, and the people stopped to look at him, but did nothing else. So he knocked again.
"Boring," he complained, loud enough for everyone present to hear, "Boring."
The people continued to stare at him.
"Oh, God!" he said. "I know you're here to study me, but look into my mouth and read 'I'm bored.' See? I've cooperated obediently for so long, so I deserve some privileges. I know you have plenty of questions, so come on, I'm waiting."
Clearly, they had received orders not to approach him casually, but he was certain they had received his message and would soon report it. He just needed to wait, and of course, waiting had never been his forte.
He lay back on the bed, stretched, and clasped his hands under his chin, as if in prayer.
He waited.
Forty-eight minutes and thirty seconds later, he got the result he wanted.
A chair was placed in front of the glass screen, and two minutes later, he welcomed his audience.
"Someone told me coffee doesn't replace sleep," he said, glancing sideways before turning back to stare at the ceiling. "And sleeping on your desk puts extra strain on your neck and back. I'm sure your mom'll scold you for it, so you'd better get some sleep before your next video call with her."
It was obvious, but the scientist looked at him as if he were some medical miracle or a monkey capable of reciting Hamlet. It was an intriguing yet condescending gaze.
"Incredible," the scientist said. "Highly developed thinking abilities: observation, perception, comprehension, analysis, and language."
"Yes, wonderful," he replied. "Give me some balls and I might even be able to show you." He sat up, crossed his legs, leaned against the wall, and met the scientist's gaze. This wasn't a problem, he thought; even the dullest person couldn't ignore it.
The scientist blinked awkwardly, slowly lowering his head to look at his knees. "Title, title, or name," he cleared his throat and began to ask.
"Hmm," he said.
"What?" the scientist asked, puzzled.
"That's right, I have a name." He answered with a slight smirk, but said nothing more.
The scientist pursed his lips and asked again, "The official species name?"
"It's a secret."
The scientist raised an eyebrow and asked once more, "The official species name?"
"I can tell you, but then I'll have to kill you." He grinned, revealing his teeth. "I don't think that would be good for either of us."
"Why would you have to kill me?"
He laughed even more heartily. "It's a secret."
"Then, your age." The scientist changed the subject at the opportune moment.
"Relative."
"Height."
"Six and a half feet."
"Weight."
"I think you know better than I do."
The scientist patted his folder and asked, "How many are like you?"
"Like me? No, I'm unique."
"Then how many of your kind do you have?"
"I don't know."
The scientist frowned: "Approximately how many?"
He leaned forward slightly and countered, "Roughly how many illegal immigrants are there in Britain right now?"
"About a million."
He raised an eyebrow: "Are you sure? Did you count them one by one?"
"You mean you don't know how many of your kind there are because you always hide your identities?"
"No, I'm just asking you, how do you know I'm telling the truth? I could say there are fifty, or five hundred, five thousand, five million, how do you judge whether I'm telling the truth or not?"
He slid down, his gaze following the scientist who was about to leave the screen.
"We have the same appearance as you, the same behavior, the same clothes. We go where you go, and most of the time we are you. A major reason we've survived is that we know how to hide, but if you think we only know how to hide, you're wrong. Why do we only appear in myths and legends?" He traced a few lines on the glass with his index finger. "There's an old saying, isn't there? 'The best way to keep a secret from three people is to kill two of them.' Trust me, we're very good at keeping secrets."
The scientist smiled. "No one's coming to save you. Even if they did, they wouldn't be able to find you."
He nodded slightly, giving the other a pleasant smile. "Would you mind risking your life?" "
They gave him a bowl of chicken soup and two bread rolls for lunch, along with a silver spoon. He tossed the spoon aside, dipped the bread rolls in the soup, ate them, and then drank the soup.
The scientists recorded his every move from the other side of the glass screen. When they came in to take away the dishes, he pulled the spoon out and then spent thirty-six minutes keeping it hanging from his nose.
That afternoon, he was forced to run on a treadmill, his back whipped. He glared as he ran, but secretly he was quite happy to be out of his cage and expend his excess energy.
When he returned, he found several books, half a dozen colored crayons, a small stack of paper, a deck of cards, and five bouncy balls on his bed—he would be more than grateful!
'Anyone who believes in the docility of a jackal is a madman?'
This sentence was neatly written in red crayon on the right-hand wall, and a little below it was a passage of blue Latin text: 'The man is a wolf; he is not a man, and he himself does not know what he is.'" "
King Lear," he said. He flopped onto the bed—ignoring the trinkets, and casually tossed a bouncy ball to the ceiling.
He had been in this boring place for over nine days, so bored that even the feeling of weariness had almost worn away. In the far corner stood a tower of playing cards, surrounded by various origami animals—folded from pages of *The Da Vinci Code*—a book he was too lazy to read, which they had placed in the most conspicuous spot, clearly an insult to him. The rest of the bouncy balls were scattered about somewhere. There was nowhere, not even his newly honed ball-handling skills could please him in the slightest.
The new stubble on his chin tickled him, but they refused to provide a razor. Thankfully, he was allowed to wash and shower, but he didn't feel lucky at all. Everything was utterly boring; he was trapped, they had imprisoned him.
He felt he'd probably go mad if this continued. If it did, he'd have to quote King Lear, specifically the fools. Ironically, in Shakespeare's plays, those who could succinctly reveal the truth were often the fools.
"Are you here to observe me or to join me?" he spoke lazily, not even lifting his eyelids. "What do you want me to do this time? Or do you want something from me? Blood? Urine? Semen? Or are you as tired of all this as I am?"
"Where did you learn about Shakespeare?"
he sighed softly. "Questions. You're here to ask questions. Yes, very well, why not. I've already fallen into your trap. I read Shakespeare in school, or what you call Shakespeare, in school. Yes, I went to school. I suppose that's a big surprise for you—a barbarian knows Shakespeare! Of course, it might not be a surprise at all; Shakespeare might very well be one of us."
"Shakespeare is one of you?"
He smiled slightly, then stopped talking, tossing a bouncy ball up and down.
"You didn't eat lunch today." Realizing he wouldn't get anything out of him by asking further, the scientist changed the subject.
"You didn't give me anything to eat."
He continued tossing the ball, tossing and catching it, over and over again.
"You've never refused any food so far."
"You've never drugged your food so far," he replied, his tone still languid, but his heart was far from calm. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but his premonition hadn't calmed the beast within him much. He could feel the wolf's restless rage, pacing anxiously, ready to tear apart anything or anyone that offended it.
"Drugged?" The scientist raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Yes, drugged." He caught the ball, flipped to his feet, and strode confidently toward the scientist, stopping a few millimeters from the glass screen. "Don't pretend you're innocent." He narrowed his eyes, exuding a sharp aura. "Wolfsbane aconite, a type of aconite, grows in Europe and northern Asia. It's a perennial herb with oval, alternate leaves and mostly deep purple flowers, but a yellow-flowered version can also be found in the Swiss Alps. It's also known as alpine aconite or northern aconite. Like other aconite species, it's poisonous, and the toxin is effective against both animals and humans. Your people mixed it into my lunch, and then you stand here asking me why I didn't eat it."
He grinned, revealing his teeth. "
You know a lot," the scientist said, cautiously observing him.
He could practically hear what the guy was thinking: this werewolf knew aconite very well; the legends might be true.