Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Warnings!!! This story contains themes of horror, body horror, psychological horror, angst and eventually will involve murder, revenge killings, the destruction of lives who've wronged you, just revenge in general really along with other things that aren't being tagged because I'm not certain if they'll actually be added or not. So yea, if you don't like any of those themes please, please, please give this story a skip!

The first thing they noticed was the weight. 

Heavy. Anchored deep into the core of their spine, pulling them downward even though they were lying flat. Something sharp scraped against the table beneath them when they shifted, the sound grating and alien.

Their mouth was dry. Their eyes refused to open. Somewhere nearby, a machine beeped—a sterile, steady heartbeat that wasn’t their own.

Surgery.

The memory came sluggishly, dragged up from a mind clouded with drugs. They had gone in for surgery. They had signed the papers. They had wanted—no, needed —this. Relief. A future without pain slicing down their back like a hot wire every time they moved.

But something was wrong.

Their body didn't feel lighter. It felt like it was sinking. Like it had been chained inside itself.

A voice floated into the room, low and clinical.

"Subject Six’s integration is proceeding within expected parameters. Neurological response is high. Spinal graft has achieved acceptance. Tail actuation reflex is present. No signs of rejection."

Tail?

Their breath hitched—and that was the first mistake. Instantly, alarms blared, harsh and shrieking, slicing through the fog in their mind.

They forced their eyes open. The world exploded into jagged light—too bright, too sharp. Their vision bled red at the edges, strange new overlays flickering across the sterile room: temperature readouts, movement traces, biometric readings they didn’t understand.

Panic rose, primal and immediate. They tried to sit up—and something moved behind them, a long, sinuous weight that dragged against the ground with a metallic screech.

A tail.

Their tail.

Pain blossomed along their back, sharp as lightning, and they cried out—a sound warped and guttural, half-human, half-wrong as they flopped back down onto their stomach. The figures in white coats jerked back from the table. One of them—an older man with thin glasses and a face too calm—tapped a tablet in his hand.

"Sedate it," he ordered. "We can’t afford another failure from a rupture."

It.

Someone lunged with a syringe—Instinct roared to life.

Their hand moved on its own, faster than they had ever moved before. Claws—black and gleaming—burst from their fingertips, slicing across the nurse’s arm. Blood spattered the floor in gleaming clumps.

Screams. The tail lashed, a monstrous extension of their rage, and the second figure crumpled with a sickening crunch.

They staggered off the table, legs trembling, vision swimming. Their body was wrong, reshaped, heavier—but it moved . It worked. The reinforced spine caught their weight, locking their stance even when their knees threatened to buckle.

There, across the room, a door.

Heavy. Secured. But not for long.

Snarling— when had they learned to snarl? —They charged, claws slamming against the ground. The impact shattered the panel in a burst of sparks. Beyond it, a dim corridor stretched into the unknown. Red emergency lights flashed along the walls, bathing everything in blood-colored haze.

They ran, something tucked tight against their back, quivering with each step, the tail lashing in their wake.

Not human. Not safe. But they were alive .

And they intended to stay that way.

At least until they felt a sharp pain in their lower back, a sharp yelp that faded into a snarl left their mouth, and they turned towards the direction the hit had come from, skidding to a stop and falling to all fours, tail whipping aggressively behind them. 

A fierce growl erupted from deep within their chest as they flared the things on their back as far as they could go, trying to appear so much bigger and scarier than they were in hopes this new threat would leave them be. 

The vision started fading, everything blurring around them as they focused on the figure in another lab coat, shaking as they held a gun out. They snarled once more before charging, thick claws digging gouges into the tile beneath them before leaping at the being. Fangs closed around the throat, and blood, hot and thick, flooded their mouth even as several more shots were fired into their stomach. 

Everything faded to black as both bodies hit the floor. 

Chapter Text

One day earlier

The zipper on Terri’s duffel bag jammed halfway through.

They cursed under their breath, tugging harder as the worn teeth of the bag stubbornly resisted. The sound was sharp in the stillness of the room, a grating little protest that only made their pulse spike harder.

Across the room, Jules was half-sitting, half-sprawled on a pile of stuffed animals, kicking her feet against the loft bed frame with lazy thumps. She grinned, the mischievous curve of her mouth illuminated by the cheap string lights they'd duct-taped under the frame months ago.

"Seriously, Terri? You've had that bag since freshman year. Just get a new one already."

Terri blew a lock of bleached hair out of their face and gave the bag one last defiant yank. It closed with an angry-sounding shriek that echoed in the small, cluttered bedroom.

"I can't afford a new one," they said, half joking, half not. "Every penny went to paying the deposit for tomorrow." They flopped backwards dramatically onto the carpet, the duffel thudding beside them. "Thanks, American healthcare system."

Jules laughed, but there was a tightness to it, a thread of worry she couldn’t quite hide.

Terri sighed, staring up at the water stain on the ceiling, the one that looked vaguely like a giraffe if you tilted your head. "Stupid insurance only covering the surgery itself and none of the recovery time. Like, yeah, I'll just bounce back in only a few hours after the surgery. No big deal."

"And don’t forget the luxury pricing of hospital rooms," Jules added, cackling.

"Right," Terri muttered. "Because gods forbid I bleed all over a discount bed."

The reminder hung in the room, a sudden shift in the easy air. Jules’s smile faltered, just a little, her foot pausing mid-swing.

"You sure you wanna go through with this?" she asked. Not mocking, not doubting — just concerned. Just Jules being Jules.

Terri pushed themselves up, dusting off imaginary lint, and sat down next to her. The old mattress groaned under their combined weight, like it, too, had an opinion about the situation. They pressed the duffel against their chest, a flimsy shield against everything that loomed too large to name.

"I have to," they said, voice low, almost lost under the hum of the tiny desk fan. "My back's been killing me since I was, what, thirteen? I can't keep pretending it's normal to pop 1800 milligrams of ibuprofen like candy."

Jules made a face like she'd bitten into something sour, then leaned her shoulder into Terri’s, solid and warm.

"I know," she said quietly. "I just... wish you didn’t have to go alone."

"I’ll be fine," Terri said, forcing a smile they weren’t sure reached their eyes. "It’s just a simple surgery. In and out. You’ll pick me up the next day and we'll get greasy fries and milkshakes and I’ll sleep for a week while occasionally complaining about the disgusting drainage tubes."

"That’s the plan," Jules said, grinning again, though it looked a little wobbly around the edges. "Fry therapy."

They packed in silence for a while, the little apartment breathing around them, the old radiators clicking and hissing with their own quiet language. Terri tossed a few essentials into the bag — sweatpants, a couple of oversized shirts, their cracked phone charger, and the paperback novel Jules had given them for Christmas. Some kind of dark romance Beauty and the Beast variant, if the dramatic cover art of a snarling beast clutching a rose was anything to go by.

They hesitated over the last item: an old, beat-up sweater, the one with the Ravenclaw patch stitched onto the front. It had originally belonged to Jules, a relic from her obsessive Harry Potter phase, but over time, the sweater had migrated into Terri’s possession the way most well-loved things did.

"You taking Ravenclaw?" Jules asked, pretending not to notice the way Terri’s hands lingered.

"Yeah," Terri said, voice rough. "Feels lucky."

"Good," Jules said firmly. "You’ll need all the luck you can get. Hospitals suck."

Terri snorted, stuffing the sweater deep into the bag. "You’re such a ray of sunshine."

"I’m serious!" Jules said, wrinkling her nose theatrically. "They smell like bleach and bad decisions. And don't let them put you near a window. That’s where the ghosts hang out."

Terri laughed, a real, full-bodied sound that shook loose some of the tension coiled tight in their ribs. It hurt a little — the kind of ache that always lived at the base of their spine — but it felt good.

"You’re such a dork," they said, nudging her with their shoulder.

"Yeah, but I'm your dork," Jules said proudly, tapping a finger against Terri’s forehead like she was planting a claim.

The duffel finally packed, Terri stood up and looked around the room. Their room. The cheap blinds rattled against the windowpane. The crooked bookshelf sagging under the weight of secondhand books and figurines. The posters tacked haphazardly to the walls — a hand-drawn map of Middle-earth, a faded Pride flag, a calendar permanently stuck on August because no one had remembered to flip it.

It wasn’t much. But it was theirs.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Not in a big, dramatic way. Not like a movie scene, with screaming violins and slow-motion shots. But still. There was a before and an after, and tonight felt like standing on the knife’s edge between them.

"You’re going to come out of this cooler than ever," Jules said, shifting to rest her chin on her knees, her eyes sparkling with an energy Terri envied. "Tall, pain-free, unstoppable. You’ll have a scar to show off. Instant street cred."

"Yeah, because that’s what the kids are into these days," Terri said dryly, flipping the paperback over in their hands, "pectoral scars."

Jules grinned. "Hot adventurer vibes. Trust me, it's a thing. You’ll be like Indiana Jones, but gayer."

Terri laughed, but their stomach twisted into anxious knots. A small part of them — the bitter, cynical part they tried to keep buried — whispered that things were moving too easily, too fast. The clinic's eagerness, the too-good-to-be-true price, the rush to schedule — it should have been a red flag. Life had taught them that nothing good came without a fight.

But what other choice did they have?

The really good hospitals — the ones with gleaming white walls and endless safety guarantees — had waitlists years long and prices that would drown a person in debt before they even set foot in the building. They had cheap insurance, ramen-for-dinner budgets, and barely enough gas money.

This place had said yes, had promised them hope. And right now, hope was enough.

"You want to stay over in my room?" Jules asked, voice too casual, like she was trying to slip the offer in without making it A Big Deal.

Terri looked at her, sitting cross-legged in the chaos of her room, picking at a frayed thread on the blanket. Acting like it didn’t matter either way. Like she wouldn’t be crushed if they said no.

"Yeah," Terri said, their voice softer now. "I’d like that."

Jules’s whole face lit up. "Cool. I bought The Mummy trilogy on DVD. We can start a new time-honoured tradition: sexy librarians and ancient curses before major life events."

Terri smiled. "You are so weird."

"And you love me for it," Jules said cheerfully, leaping up to pop the first disc into her battered old PlayStation 4.

As the opening credits rolled, Terri curled up on the large mattress that took up half of Jules's room, clutching a stuffed velociraptor to their chest. Jules threw a patchwork blanket over them both, settling close enough that Terri could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her sweatshirt. It was steady. Comforting. Real.

For a little while, the world shrank down to ancient tombs, CGI scarabs, and the soothing presence of a friend who refused to let them be alone.

Tomorrow will come soon enough.

Tonight, Terri let themselves believe in happy endings.

Sometime around two in the morning, after Jules had started to snore softly against the cushions, Terri lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling.

Their chest ached — not just from physical strain, but from everything else too. The kind of ache that lived in dreams, in quiet fears you couldn’t say out loud.

They imagined tomorrow.

Imagined the version of themself that might exist after the surgery.

Stronger. 

Freer.

Whole.

They pressed a hand over their sternum, feeling the heavy drag of gravity pulling at them, bending them out of shape. Feeling the way every breath seemed to catch and hitch against the weight of it.

They pictured walking tall. Running without wincing. Dancing at a bar without needing to fake a smile halfway through. Existing without that invisible chain wrapped around their bones.

They squeezed their eyes shut, made a wish like they were five years old again — like wishes still mattered — and whispered into the dark:

"Please, let it go well."

Chapter Text

Terri woke to the faint hum of their phone vibrating against the nightstand. For a moment, they lay still under the heavy warmth of the blankets, watching pale morning light seep through the thin curtains. Dust motes floated in the air like tiny spirits. The world felt hushed, like it was holding its breath.

The phone buzzed again, persistent but gentle. Terri reached for it with a groggy hand, blinking at the soft glow of the screen.

Mom: Good luck today, honey. Love you.

A tight feeling curled in Terri’s chest — not fear exactly, but a strange, weightless kind of vulnerability. They locked the phone and set it back down, staring at the ceiling for a moment longer, listening to their own heart hammer in their ears.

A knock at the bedroom door broke the stillness.

"Terri! Wake up, your breakfast is cooling out here!" Owen’s voice called, muffled through the wood but bright with that familiar, effortless cheer.

Terri shuffled out of bed, feet cold against the carpeted floor. When they made their way to the kitchen, they found Owen juggling two paper cups and a crumpled brown bag as he divided the food amongst the plates, his jacket dusted with morning frost.

"I come bearing gifts!" he announced with a wide grin, thrusting one coffee toward them like a knight offering a sacred relic.

Behind Terri, Jules stood at the small kitchen counter, tucking their work ID badge into their jacket and pulling on a knit hat. They gave Owen a fond smile before turning to Terri, their smile still soft but shadowed with something more complicated — worry, maybe, or guilt.

"I have to head out," Jules said, stepping close. They wrapped Terri in a tight hug, hands strong and steady on their back. "But you're gonna do great. I'll be thinking about you all day, okay?"

Terri closed their eyes and leaned into the embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of Jules’ detergent and perfume. It steadied them more than anything else would this morning.

"Text me when you're out," Jules said, pressing a quick kiss to Terri’s temple before grabbing their bag and heading for the door. The lock clicked softly behind them, leaving Terri standing in the too-quiet space.

Owen didn't give the silence a chance to settle.

"Alright, breakfast time!" he declared, tossing the bag onto the coffee table and flopping onto the worn-out couch. "Because nothing says 'surgical readiness' like a bacon, egg, and cheese that's 90% grease."

Terri huffed a laugh despite the nervous knot in their stomach. They sat beside him, accepting the wrapped sandwich and peeling back the paper. The smell alone made them realise how little they’d eaten the night before.

They ate slowly, sipping coffee that had probably been amazing twenty minutes ago but was already slipping toward lukewarm. Owen kept the conversation light, peppering in stupid jokes, random TV show pitches ("What about a sitcom where everyone's a ghost except the landlord?"), and commentary about the terrible local traffic.

It was distracting, and Terri loved him for it.

By the time Owen checked the clock on his phone, the nerves had dulled to a low thrum under Terri's skin instead of the overwhelming wave it had been earlier.

"Alright," Owen said, brushing crumbs off his jeans. "Time to hit the road, superstar."

Terri grabbed the small overnight bag they’d packed days ago — checked, double-checked, triple-checked. Their fingers brushed the worn strap, and they hesitated, the weight of it more symbolic than physical. Once they stepped outside, there was no backing out.

Owen noticed. He bumped his shoulder against Terri’s with an easy, reassuring grin. "You're not walking the plank, you know. It's just the next step. You’re ready."

Terri let out a shaky breath, nodded, and followed him out into the cold morning.

The drive to the hospital was quiet at first. Terri stared out the window, watching the city roll by in slow-motion — dog walkers bundled in scarves, coffee shop windows glowing gold against the gray sky, the occasional early commuter hurrying across crosswalks with their heads down.

Owen filled the silence with soft, rambling chatter. It was like he could feel the weight pressing on Terri's shoulders and was determined to keep it from crushing them. He talked about a new video game he was terrible at, a neighbour’s cat who had declared his porch its second home, and the conspiracy theory that birds weren’t real ("They’re just tiny government drones, Terri. I love them and their designs, but wake up.").

It was ridiculous and nonsensical and perfect. It was normal, and today, normal was a gift.

By the time they pulled into the hospital parking garage, Terri’s hands were trembling in their lap, but they forced their breathing to be even. Owen parked, turned off the engine, and looked over at them seriously for the first time that morning.

"You good?" he asked.

Terri swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. Scared... but good."

"Good," Owen said, his voice steady. "Scared just means you care about what happens next. Means you’re brave enough to show up."

Terri smiled, a small thing, but real.

Inside, the hospital smelled like too-strong disinfectant and bad coffee. Everything gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights. The walls were covered in cheerful art that tried — and failed — to mask the underlying hum of anxiety and antiseptic.

Check-in was a blur of ID cards, insurance information, and a clipboard full of waivers. The receptionist was kind, with a practised smile and gentle instructions, but Terri could barely focus. Their hands shook slightly as they signed the forms.

Afterward, they were led to a smaller waiting area — muted tones, low chairs, a wall-mounted TV playing some old cooking show on low volume.

Terri clutched their phone in both hands, staring at the last message from their mom like it was a lifeline.

Mom: Good luck today, honey. Love you.

The words blurred as tears threatened, but Terri blinked them back.

Owen sat beside them, tapping his foot in a rhythm Terri almost recognised. He didn’t say anything, just bumped their knee with his own and handed over a packet of tissues without looking at them. Casual. Kind.

When a nurse finally came through the door and called Terri’s name, it felt both sudden and inevitable.

Terri stood on unsteady legs, bag in hand.

"You’ve got this," Owen said quietly. "I’ll be here, right where you left me."

Terri turned, feeling the weight of the moment — the fear, the hope, the small but immeasurable comfort of having someone there.

They managed a wobbly smile and whispered, "Thanks, Owen."

Then they followed the nurse through the double doors, the world narrowing down to the sound of their own heartbeat and the quiet click of the door swinging shut behind them.

The nurse guided Terri through a maze of softly humming hallways, the kind that all hospitals seemed to have — sterile but oddly comforting in their familiarity. At the end of a short corridor, she led them into a small pre-op room with pale blue curtains pulled halfway around a reclining bed.

"Here we are," the nurse said warmly. Her badge read Maggie. "You can leave your bag in that locker there. Go ahead and change into the gown — open in the back, I’m afraid — and I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your IV started."

Terri nodded, throat too tight for words, and watched her disappear behind the curtain, leaving them alone with the low hum of the air vent.

Changing into the gown felt surreal. The fabric was thin and scratchy, and their body felt heavier somehow — like it wasn’t entirely their own. They folded their clothes neatly on the chair and tucked their bag away like Maggie had said, lingering a little longer than necessary.

When Maggie came back, a tall cart with a monitor being towed behind her, she was all business, but kind, explaining every step before she touched them — the blood pressure cuff, the little clip on their finger, the IV needle that stung more than Terri expected. She must have noticed their shallow breathing because she paused when she was done, resting a gentle hand on their forearm.

"You're doing great," she said, her voice low and calm. "I know it's a lot, but you’re doing amazing."

Terri managed a shaky nod, blinking rapidly against the prickle of tears.

Maggie smiled. "If you want, I can bring your friend back here to sit with you until we’re ready."

Terri hesitated — wanting Owen nearby, but also not wanting him to see them like this. Fragile. Exposed. But then they remembered the look on his face — the way he hadn't tried to fix their fear, just sat with it.

"Yeah," Terri whispered. "Please."

Maggie squeezed their arm once and disappeared again. A few minutes later, Owen ducked through the curtain, his familiar lopsided grin dimming a little when he saw Terri sitting there, pale and trembling in that awful gown.

"Hey," he said gently, dropping into the chair beside them. "You look like you’re about to fight a dragon."

Terri let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "Feels like it."

"Well," Owen said, leaning in conspiratorially, "good thing you’ve got a secret weapon."

Terri raised an eyebrow.

"Me," he said simply. "I’ll be right here ready to help fight the battle with you. You just gotta get through this bit on your own, and then I’ll stay right by your side.”

The air lodged in Terri’s chest, too thick to breathe past for a second. They reached out without thinking, and Owen took their hand without hesitation, squeezing it hard.

A few minutes later, a new nurse came in — this one wearing scrubs patterned with tiny cartoon animals and bearing a wheelchair. She smiled brightly.

"Alright, Terri," she said. "It’s time."

Owen stood, still holding their hand for a heartbeat longer before letting go, fingers brushing Terri’s knuckles like a silent promise.

"I’ll see you on the other side," he said.

Terri nodded, heart thundering, and let the nurse wheel them down the corridor, the ceiling tiles sliding past overhead like a slow current. They held tight to the memory of Owen’s smile, of Jules’ hug, of their mom’s text, tucking it all into their chest like armour.

As the OR doors swung open, Terri closed their eyes and breathed in deeply. The moment the nurse pushed the gurney through the double doors, a rush of sterile air hit Terri’s face, sharp and metallic. The operating room was brighter than anything they’d seen today, the white tiles gleaming under the overhead lights. Machines were lining the walls, and soft beeping filled the air — the quiet pulse of technology that hummed like it was alive.

"Alright, Terri," the nurse said, her voice a gentle anchor in the sterile chaos. "We’re going to get you settled onto the table now, okay? Just try to relax."

Terri nodded, their pulse spiking. The sight of the surgical bed made their chest tighten. It was cold, clinical. They couldn’t look at it for too long.

A different nurse — this one wearing a surgical mask and gloves — came up beside the gurney, adjusting the bed's angle, moving the stiff sheets into place.

"You're doing great, just like we talked about," the nurse said, smiling behind her mask. She helped them swing their legs onto the operating table, and Terri immediately shivered at the chill of the surface against their skin.

Terri tried to swallow the lump in their throat, but it wouldn’t go down. Everything was happening so fast now. Their thoughts felt scattered, like a puzzle box dumped upside down with no way to put it all back together.

"Alright, Terri," a voice said, and Terri looked up to see the surgeon, clad in green scrubs with their hair tucked into a cap. Their hands were already gloved, their face hidden behind a mask. The only thing visible was the soft gleam of their eyes, calm and reassuring. “We’ll be starting soon. You’ve got the best team here, and I’m going to take good care of you. You just need to focus on your breathing now, okay?"

Terri could only nod again, a soft breath trembling from their lips as they looked at the sterile lights above them. Their heart felt like it was running a marathon, but they forced themselves to breathe in and out, in and out, slow and steady.

"Okay," the surgeon said. "We’re going to give you something to help you relax now. You won’t even know when you fall asleep. Just a little bit of a deep breath. I’m going to place this mask over you and then I’m going to have you count back from ten, alright?"

Terri nodded, and the mask was placed over their face, the smell of something faintly sweet filling their nose. It wasn’t like the hospital air. It was heavier, richer, and it made everything feel dreamlike, like they were floating. They could feel the weight of it pressing into their lungs, making their body go slack, almost too heavy to hold up as they started the countdown.

Terri’s eyelids fluttered, and their pulse raced, a jolt of panic trying to surge through them, but it was quickly swallowed by the softness of the anaesthesia. Their body wanted to fall into the quiet.

So fall it did, and then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Terri woke to a blinding white light.

It pressed against their eyelids even before they managed to crack them open, making the ache behind their forehead spike. The air smelled sharply sterile—chemical, scrubbed clean of anything human. As they stirred, a soft clink echoed through the room. Cold metal circled their wrist, chain rattling faintly as they tried to move. Another weight tugged against their right ankle, pulling them back when they instinctively tried to get up.

They blinked blearily, taking in the room around them.

Smooth, white walls. Seamless, sterile. A harsh fluorescent light beamed down from the ceiling, humming steadily. In the upper corner of the room, a black camera lens watched them, unmoving and pitiless. One entire wall wasn't a wall at all, but thick, reinforced glass, slightly reflective, making it impossible to see if anyone was watching from the other side.

It was a cell — clean, modern, suffocating.

Memory clawed its way back through the haze. The surgery. The hospital. Then, running. Fear. Pure unadulterated fear rushing through their veins as they tried to get away. Hurting others in their panic. Being shot multiple times.

Sedation.

Terri's heart started to hammer in their chest, but the drugs were still thick in their veins, making every breath a heavy effort. They struggled again, uselessly, the chain around their ankle holding firm. They could barely get three steps from the wall. They were trapped. Trapped, and being watched, if the hair raising on the back of their neck was any indication.

The realization settled like a stone in their gut.

Terri’s breath started coming fast and sharp, their heart pounding loudly until all they could hear was its beat and blood rushing as their vision started blurring. Their hands reached up, claws threading through their hair as they gripped the strands before their mind faltered. Claws?

Terri quickly yanked their hands back down and struggled to breathe even harder.

There, on their hands, what once had been normal, if not jagged from lack of care, nails were now long, thick claws that ended in sharp points and looked far more at home on a monster from some horror movie than their hands. The awareness of these new additions to their hands made them realize something else. They could feel it, the wrongness in their back. A deep, alien weight pressing against their spine. A whimper left them as they took in more of their form.

Slowly, Terri twisted to look over their shoulder, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the mechanical hum of the lights above.

Tearing through the skin of their back were two sets of wings. Not soft, feathered wings like some fantasy story. No, these were sleek and metallic, almost dragon-like. The upper pair was longer, spanning wider than Terri could stretch their arms. The lower pair was slightly smaller, connected to the long, sinuous tail that dragged behind them on the floor.

The tail gleamed under the fluorescent light, segmented like some biomechanical nightmare, ending in a cruel, hooked blade that was far more reminiscent of a xenomorph than any creature of Earth.

Terri’s breath hitched further, and their entire body trembled, metal chains clinking in rhythm as the panic seized them. The wings shifted faintly when they moved, the joints clicking almost inaudibly. The thin membrane stretched between the lower wings and the tail looked disturbingly like a bat's, delicate and flexible, but Terri could feel the underlying strength in every small twitch.

They tried to scramble away instinctively, metal clinking from the chains on their wrist and ankles. The short leash attached to their leg forced them to fall flat on their face after barely a step. The pain radiating through their nose and chest unintentionally confirmed that this was no dream, not even a nightmare. Panic rose thick in their throat, but there was nowhere for it to go. Nowhere for Terri to hide from these new additions to their body or the bright white of this cage they found themselves in.

Tears welled up in their eyes as they curled up on the floor, arms clutching their chest, the chest that was supposed to be gone, and their wings folded up around them, hiding them away from the bright lights as they broke down.

Their wings trembled around them, thin metal scraping faintly against the floor with each shuddering breath. The hard, cold surfaces of the room pressed against their skin, against the parts of them that still felt human, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t real. None of this could be.

Terri clutched at their chest harder as they struggled to breathe, as if they could tear themselves open and find the person they used to be still hiding inside.

But there was nothing.

Only the pounding of a heart that shouldn't be beating. Only the rasp of breath in a throat that tasted wrong, felt wrong, was wrong.

A strangled sob escaped them, and then another, each one tearing up through their throat until they were choking on it, coughing and gasping but unable to stop. Tears spilled hot and fast down their face, and hit the floor beneath them. They pressed their forehead to the cold floor, claws scratching uselessly against the surface.

Why?
Why me?
What did I do?

The questions chased each other in wild, senseless loops in their mind. There were no answers. There was no one to hear them ask.

The wings folded tighter around them, the joints trembling with each ragged inhale. Terri’s body didn’t feel like it was theirs anymore. Every twitch of muscle, every scraping of claw, every flex of the horrible, heavy tail at their spine, it all felt borrowed, stolen from some other creature and stitched clumsily onto them.

"This isn’t—" they croaked, voice raw and barely recognizable to their own ears. "This can’t be—" They tried again, but the words broke apart into a helpless wail, muffled against the sterile floor.

They beat their fists against the ground — once, twice — the chains rattling violently, the wings flaring out in reflex before snapping back against their body. Pain flared in their knuckles, in their chest, in their back, but it only made the horror feel more real, not less.

Their breathing spiraled into a rapid, wheezing rhythm. Hyperventilating. The edges of their vision went white, and their head spun, but the terror didn't let up. It pressed heavier and heavier onto their shoulders until it felt like the whole world was sitting there, squeezing the air from their lungs.

In a small, broken voice, they gasped out, "Help. Please. Someone, help me."

But there was no response other than the humming of the lights and the silent, unblinking eye of the camera in the corner.

Terri let out a shattered sob and collapsed fully against the floor, trembling violently as their body fought against itself — instincts they didn’t understand and terror they couldn’t fight — until finally, finally, the exhaustion of the breakdown, the drugs still in their system, and the sheer crushing weight of the panic was smothering their mind into darkness.

Their wings drooped limply to the ground beside them. The chains rattled softly once more, then fell still as them. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their heaving cries. Then, a soft hiss.

The reinforced glass wall split neatly down the centre, sliding open with a mechanical precision that made no sound beyond a faint exhale of pressurized air. Footsteps entered, Terri’s ears twitched, two sets it sounded like. One pair, sharp, deliberate, purposeful the other hurried, struggling to keep up with the first.

Terri didn't lift their head, but they had stopped crying as much as they could. Every part of them ached as they let out little puffs of air in trying to get their breathing under order, not just their body but something deeper, cracked and raw. Violation of the highest order it felt like.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away.

"Subject is awake, but under duress. As we expected they would be," said a smooth, clinical voice. Male, professional, but with an undercurrent of fascination barely hidden beneath the calm and oh-so-familiar.

"Good," came the second voice, harder, colder. This one carried command like a knife in the dark, sharp and merciless. "Took them long enough."

Terri flinched slightly at the sound but didn’t move otherwise, still trying to breathe.

They risked a glance up.

Who they assumed was the second speaker stood tall, arms folded neatly behind his back, the pristine black of his uniform barely wrinkling, a soldier, if Terri had to guess. His expression was carved from stone, not a trace of empathy softening his severe features. Only his eyes showed anything,  a cold, measuring gleam in their black depths, as if Terri were no more than another piece of weaponry he was appraising. Judging by the wicked edge at the end of their tail — metal intrusion, a heavy weight where there shouldn’t be, a violation, wrong wrong wrong — that likely was all they were to them.

Beside him, a lanky man in a white coat, with glasses perched low on his nose and a tablet in his hands — a scientist, like the ones who forced the abominations onto their back, like the one whose coppery blood had spilled into their jaws when their teeth had wrapped around their throat — tapped rapidly on the screen, muttering under his breath.

"Vitals are elevated but stable," the scientist reported. "Subject's stress response is... intense, but not outside expected parameters given the augmentation process. No immediate physical rejection of the cybernetic grafts. Neural synchronisation appears to be holding. They’re holding up much better than the first five."

The soldier barely spared him a glance. His attention was locked fully, sharply, on Terri.

"Good," he said again. "They’ll adapt. Or they won’t."

Terri squeezed their eyes shut tighter, wings pressing closer around their body, as if they could vanish entirely under the shuddering limbs.

The soldier took a step closer. His boots clicked sharply against the sterile floor.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Terri didn’t move beyond wrapping themselves tighter, a small rebellion against these captors.

The scientist looked up from his tablet, hesitating. "Commander Silas, the sedation hasn’t fully worn off. Psychological rejection is still high. Even now we could lose—"

"We will not coddle it," Silas snapped, voice low and dangerous. "You see, fear is an acceptable motivator. Pain, even more so. They were chosen for their resilience. If they cannot even meet my gaze, they are of no use to MECH."

The words sliced through the heavy air like blades. Terri flinched again, breath hitching raggedly.

Slowly — agonizingly slowly, like swimming through sludge, like waking up on that cold table — they forced themselves to shift, lifting their head just enough to glare at the two figures through tear-blurred vision.

Silas’s mouth barely curved into a smile. It wasn’t warm. It was the smile of a man who had found a weapon and was already considering how best to sharpen it before ploughing it into his enemies.

The scientist, by contrast, looked uncomfortable, adjusting his glasses nervously as he hunched further into his tablet, refusing to meet Terri’s eyes.

Silas crouched down slightly, enough to be at eye-level with the broken creature before him. His voice dropped to a quieter, almost coaxing tone, but there was no kindness in it, only the chill of calculation.

"You are special," he said. "Unique. Designed to be something greater than the fragile, pathetic thing you once were. You should be thanking me, really, for being chosen as the start of Project Chimaera."

Terri could only stare at him, wide-eyed, horror and confusion warring in every shattered corner of their mind.

Silas straightened. "Let them stew for now," he said to the scientist. "Observe their recovery closely. I want them ready for initial testing by the end of the week."

"But there’s no guarantee that the neural pathways and skin grafts—"

"End. Of. The. Week." Each word was a hammer, brooking no argument as it slammed the nails of the order into the other’s skull. The scientist bit his lip but nodded quickly, retreating a step back from the soldier before him.

Silas turned sharply, striding toward the exit without a backwards glance. The scientist scurried after him, the tablet clutched tightly in his arms.

The glass wall hissed shut again, sealing Terri back into silence.

The only sound left was the faint, broken gasps of breath as Terri curled tighter into themselves, metal wings folding like a funeral shroud, the chain pulling taut against their ankle as they shuddered and wept into the sterile white of their prison.

Minutes passed.

They stayed curled on the ground, body aching, mind frayed. Then, slowly, their tears stopped. Not from comfort or calm, just emptiness, their tear ducts no longer capable of making more.

Terri whispered into the void, "My name is Terri."

The words felt weak, threadbare. Like trying to remember a face you haven’t seen in years.

"I am Terri," they said again, a little louder. "Not Subject. Not It. Terry."

The camera watched. The red dot blinked, unblinking.

Something moved in the corner of their mind, a flicker of memory. A laugh, a song, a warm hand wrapped around theirs. Home. But the memory slipped away, like water through claws.

They stared down at those claws, watched them flex and clink against the floor.

Their tail twitched beside them, too heavy. Wrong.

And then—

A click above the door. A new light activated, blue and blinking in time with their thundering heart. Blue as the sky that they so badly wanted to see again.

Terri looked up. No sound followed. No announcement.

Just the blue light.

And the quiet knowledge that something was about to change again.

This was not the end of the nightmare.

It was the beginning.