He could only try his best to restrain himself from rolling his eyes or impatiently scratching the glass with his fingernails.
"I do know about poison, but not for any of the reasons you have."
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
Because you're practically an open book in front of me, he thought, but didn't say it aloud. He went back to lie down and continued playing with his ball. The conversation was over.
The next day, they bound him and subjected him to electric shock experiments. The intense current seemed to penetrate his body, devour his flesh, and shatter his cells. He screamed in agony, while the beast within him roared and howled.
He felt the next full moon quietly approaching, and with each passing day, this feeling grew stronger. The restless blood transmitted a familiar and subtle discomfort through his skin; every part of his body ached, but he couldn't find a way to completely eradicate it, so he could only let it be—like scratching an itch through a wall, that was the most accurate description.
The wolf inside him was pacing restlessly, making him uneasy as well. He paced back and forth, pausing every four steps, then pausing again, then pausing again, then pausing again…
He slammed his fist into the center of the smiling face on the wall—the yellow doodle he'd casually scribbled there. The rebound jolted his arm, but he didn't care. He wanted pain, he needed pain!
He realized this was going to be a terrible transformation. Wolves are creatures of nature, hating coercion and restraint. He should be in the wild or with his "pack," not locked up alone in this damned cage! He loathed any form of coercion, utterly despised it!
That day, he was almost silent, mechanically doing as they said. He ran on the treadmill, his eyes killing anyone who dared to look at him. He spent the entire afternoon meditating and thinking, trying to maintain control before the wolf took over his body.
Winter days always seem to pass quickly, the sun slowly setting. He felt the moon's call far too soon; his blood circulation slowed, his body feeling as if encased in a thick layer of ice. He reached up and removed his clothes, his body tensing, his bones creaking. Usually, he could transform instantly if he was prepared, but reason told him that doing so now would be a grave mistake. The moon hadn't yet risen, and he didn't want those so-called scientists to discover his secret: he, like most werewolves, could change form at will.
He sat on the bed, knees bent, elbows on his thighs, breathing deeply. His breaths were thick and heavy, sounding like some kind of intermittent low howl.
They were all watching him—watching the hair on the back of his neck and back grow longer—with naked, intrigued eyes. They would pay for this, he thought—the moon slowly rose—this confinement, this physical torture, and this mental humiliation! He thought, he would make them regret it!
The moon broke the horizon; the moment of transformation had arrived.
The wolf was clearly furious, pawing the ground and howling angrily. He was trapped! These humans dared to set a trap for him! And lock him in this glass cage! How dare they!
He paced back and forth in the room, his fur bristling, his jaws agape, revealing sharp teeth, his claws digging deep into the floor.
He could smell the unease in the air—they didn't know what he would do next, how destructive he truly was. —Instinctively, and from the scents wafting around him, he knew they were afraid. Of course they should be afraid. These foolish, weak, easily tormented humans.
They were the prey!
He brought his front legs together, bent his hind legs, lowered his head, arched his back, and charged at the glass wall…
He was covered in wounds, hardly a patch of undamaged skin. He curled up, trying to regain his composure. He dared not sleep; if he relinquished control of the wolf now, no one could predict what would happen next. At the same time, he worried that the scientists might take advantage of his exhaustion to conduct other experiments on him. He had to stay awake, at least that way no one would dare approach him.
The bed was the only usable item in the room, though it was almost completely destroyed. Once the wolf realized that he couldn't budge the wall with his own strength, he turned his attention to the small window under the glass door, scratching and pounding with his claws, using every ounce of his strength. Nothing was spared; his clothes, the bed, his books—everything was torn to shreds. Then, realizing that his actions were once again futile, he began to attack himself, frantically digging at the implanted mark under the skin of his neck.
Rage and pain engulfed his entire body, eroding his nerves. He finally had to tilt his head back and let out a long, mournful howl.
Of course, no one answered him.
He knew the scientist had been standing outside for a while, and a few minutes later he heard a light tapping sound on the glass.
"Get out!" he roared, his voice hoarse, his throat burning, dry and painful.
"We need to examine your wounds."
His fingernails dug into his battered upper arm. "I told you to get out!"
"The data shows you're in pain. We don't want you to suffer unnecessary harm."
He suddenly sprang to his feet, slamming his hand against the glass wall, blood slowly trickling down between his fingers. "Unnecessary harm!" he roared. "You've kept a wolf locked up for a whole month, what good did you expect to happen?!"
"We're just conducting necessary research."
"To hell with the research and to hell with your pretentious pity! If this is what you call humanitarianism, I'd rather not have it."
He went back, threw himself onto the bed, wrapped his naked body in a tattered blanket, and focused on healing his numerous wounds.
They gave him a large steak for dinner, delicious, juicy, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, with blood still dripping from the meat.
He wolfed it down, and for a moment, he truly hated himself.
"You're too quiet. This isn't like you."
He cautiously moved his horse forward.
Two weeks had passed since the full moon. His wounds had healed in a day, but the beast within him wouldn't leave easily. "You need me," the wolf told him. "They must pay. We must make them pay." He found the scales of reason tipping in the wolf's favor, but he also understood that outsmarting humans was not something a wolf should do.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked calmly, his eyes fixed on the chessboard.
"Anything you want to say, everything you know."
The scientist captured one of his pawns. "You used to ask many questions, you observed, and then humiliated us."
His left hand hovered over his rook, his right hand rested on the edge of the chair, and his ankles were against the chair legs. He wasn't giving them any chance to win.
"I have nothing to say to you." He moved a pawn.
It was like a new set of rules: first they forced him to run, then to cycle; they submerged him in water to test his lung capacity, struck his skin with various metal objects to observe his reactions, and periodically drugged his food and used various methods to prevent him from falling asleep.
He was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. But what drained him most was being imprisoned here, at the mercy of others.
He scratched his ear, trying to ignore the sounds of the guards fiddling with their guns. They tightened their guard, but occasionally let him out of his cage for a stroll.
He had lost another piece of the pawn.
Now, they even allowed him to shower and shave regularly. He figured it was probably their so-called compassion at work; they expected him to be grateful—he really wanted to rip their heads off.
He moved the car one step.
Three steps later, he said, "Checkmate."
Four days later, he managed to secure a precious, brief period of freedom. After a game of chess, he attacked his opponent and escaped the cage in the chaos. He knew this wasn't a permanent solution, but he couldn't care less. A few minutes later, he was tasered in the corridor.
"Why?" the scientist who arrived later asked him, his lips split and his eyes bruised.
"Just instinct," he muttered, his vision blurring, swaying from the ceiling to the surrounding crowd, scattered and unfocused. In his hazy state, he felt someone inject an anesthetic into his arm. The beast within him had clearly sensed freedom, creeping forward, eager to pounce, but his body betrayed him, leaving him feeling more exhausted and drowsy than ever before.
He closed his eyes, his head drooping to one side. They injected him with another sedative.
Her name was Annushka, and she had been locked in a cage on the morning of the second full moon. She was petite, beautiful, with long flaxen hair, and smelled no more than nineteen. He could still smell the overwhelming fear in her eyes when they forced her into the cage.
He was already familiar with their tricks, but none of their previous actions had ever aroused him as much as this.
He walked to the furthest point from her and slammed his fist against the wall.
"You can't do this!" he yelled. "You bastards! You sons of bitches! Stop doing this!"
The others went about their own business, pretending not to notice him.
The girl stared at him, her eyes wide with terror, tears streaming down her cheeks. The wolf crept closer to her, circling her, eagerly planning how to deal with her.
"Back off," he growled at the beast within him, his nails digging into his palms. The wolf hesitated