DAY 27

B.E.A.R. LABORATORIES

LEVEL 3

It has been three weeks since I comforted Theseus. That was the last time I went into his cell. After I left that day, he went ballistic. He shifted and destroyed his cell. Even now, claw marks adorn the walls and the glass wall has scratches covering most of its entirety.

They were not able to get close enough to inject him with the syringe, which held the stronger sedatives. Instead, they used the weaker dart guns. They had to shoot him 12 times before he finally passed out.

When I came back the next day, he refused to speak to me; he was angry that I left him there. Since he was giving me the silent treatment, I left. Needless to say, he was much more eager to speak the next day.

I lean forwards in my office chair, looking over my notes from the days following that one. I start with June 1st.

June 1, 2019

What does mate mean?

No today.

I believe he means 'not today,' as in, he will tell me later. I tried to get him to divulge more information, but he just shook his head.

June 2, 2019

What year were you born?

The Project decided not to answer this one. He tried to claw through the glass again.

It was after this day that I realized he didn't like to talk on some days. Sometimes it was because of the question asked, other times it was because he was having an off day. I skip forwards in my notes to June 7th.

June 7, 2019

There were no questions today. Instead, we gave him a children's book to read. He shrugged before nodding slightly when I asked if he could read it. This is good, it means he is capable of human-like intellect. That, and he has, at some point, learned how to read.

June 8, 2019

We tested the Project's hearing today. He responds to sounds undetectable to human ears, which suggests he has advanced hearing like when he is in wolf form.

June 9, 2019

What year were you born? (Track 02)

1605 (With stuttering)

I'm not really sure what I was expecting his answer to be, but it definitely wasn't that. This proves our theory that he doesn't age.

June 12, 2019

There were no questions today, just observing. He gets sick over the weekends. We don't know why, though. He is also more...whiny...after I have missed more than one day. He has also stopped eating.

June 13, 2019

He shifted today--in front of me. It was terrifying. He tried to get through the glass again. It's cracked now. I would have tried to comfort him, but his aggression seemed to be aimed at me.

I reread the last entry before sighing heavily. Dr. Vanderwall wants me to go into his cell today. To say I am scared would be an understatement. I have drank three cups of coffee since he presented the idea 2 hours ago; I have paced around my office four times, and I have bitten my nails down to bloody stubs.

If this were to have been requested of me a few weeks ago, I would have been fine. But lately, the Project has been restless, sick, easily agitated, and aggressive. I am even more terrified now than I was when we'd had our first encounter in the hallway on Level 3.

A knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I hastily stand up and tuck my hair back into its tight bun before opening the door. Dr. Anderson stands in front of me with a grim look on his face. His wiry frame is taught with anxiousness and his bushy grey brows are furrowed.

"I am assuming you have come to fetch me for my premature death?" I say jokingly, yet with a hint of truth to my tone.

"This is no joking matter, Ms. Odair," he sighs, running a hand over his damp forehead.

I clear my throat uneasily. "I know, sir. I am just making light of the situation," I say, shifting on my feet. Obviously my humor was childish and impertinent in his eyes.

"Just follow me," he responds drily, turning down the hallway. I take one last look at my safe, inviting, office before hurrying after his retreating frame.

We take the elevator down to Level 4 and go through security before making our way to Dr. Vanderwall's office. I enter the room to see Dr. Vanderwall sitting complacently at his desk. He looks up at me with a guarded expression.

"Good morning again, Ms. Odair," he says with little emotion. I nod solemnly in response. He has never done anything cause me to be untrusting of him, but something about him makes me uneasy.

He holds up a syringe with a needle nearly 4 inches long. My eyes widen at the sight and I struggle to keep my nerves in check.

"This will be for your own protection. You may hide it on your person for use if the Project becomes violent," he stands and steps around his desk. He hands me the syringe and I take it in my grasp, albeit apprehensively.

I hope I don't have to use this. For some reason, the thought of hurting the Project leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach. Although, if the situation were to arise, I suppose I would have to inject him anyways, if only to save my own skin.

"Thank you. I feel a little better knowing I have a way to protect myself," I say. He gives me a thin-lipped smile before gesturing us out the door.

"Dr. Anderson and I will be in the observation room, so we will be able to speak with you through the speakers," he says as we walk down the hallway. We enter the elevator and my palms start to sweat with anxiety.

Both doctors stand rigidly next to me, neither showing any hints of concern for my wellbeing. I look down at my heels and close my eyes, taking in deep, calming breaths.

The doors open and we exit onto Level 5. We make our way to the cell and observation room. Both doctors bid me farewell and I am left alone in front of the large, metal door separating me from a wild lycan.

Judging by my previous physical encounters with the Project, I shouldn't be afraid, but considering how he acts when I am on the other side of the glass, I have plenty to worry about. I was also told that he was sicker today than usual. We have reason to believe he is running a fever, which is the main reason I am going to be entering his cell.

I wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt before shakily grabbing my badge and holding it to the sensor on the wall. I hear a faint beep before the clicking of the lock. I gently press the door open and inhale deeply before stepping into the destroyed cell.

Theseus is asleep on his bed, his hair a matted mess around his head; his chest rises and falls with every breath. I look to my left into the observation room and see Dr. Anderson and Dr. Vanderwall nodding their heads slightly, gesturing for me to approach the Project.

I hesitantly step forwards and reach a hand out to touch his forehead. I notice that he is extremely pale and his cheeks are sunken in, probably from his refusal to eat. He is shivering despite the thin layer of sweat covering his body.

I tentatively lay my hand on his forehead and his shivers immediately stop and his shoulders lose their tense posture. If I had to guess, I would say his temperature would be about 105 or 106, a definitely dangerous temperature.

I hear the speakers crackle as Dr. Vanderwall's voice sounds through the room. "Well, what do you think, Ms. Odair?"

Theseus stirs slightly and I retract my hand. My hand instinctively reaches for the syringe, eager to feel the comfort of a weapon. A low whine escapes his parted lips, but he doesn't wake up. I sigh in relief, bringing both hands to my sides.

"He definitely has a fever. 105 or 106, I'd say."

The doctors look to each other before nodding. "Come back outside for a moment. We would like you to feed him," Dr. Anderson says. Well, I guess I will have to wake him up after all.

I exit the cell, but not before noticing how Theseus' shivering resumes. I step into the hallway to be met with a security guard and a tray of food.

"This is for the Project," is all the man says before shoving me the tray and walking away. I stare after him with my mouth open in shock.

I reenter the cell to see Theseus starting awaken. I hastily set the tray down on a small stand and wait for him to finish waking up.

He opens his eyes and sits up, rolling his large shoulders. He raises his head and sniffs, freezing when he, most probably, catches my foreign scent. His head snaps around to look at me and his eyes widen.

"T-Theseus," I stutter, my heart rate picking up under his gaze. I clench my hands by my sides and take a steadying breath. "I have brought you some food. They said you weren't eating."

He lowers his head and slumps his shoulders.

"Uh, I am not here to harm you. I just want to check on you," I say gently.

He tilts his head to the side and furrows his brows. The lycan gives me a small smile before turning to the food tray. He picks it up and returns to his bed. I breathe out, relaxed that he didn't attack me.

I am broken out of my reverie by his deep voice. "Mate?" He asks again, this time patting the spot on the bed beside him.

"Erm, I'm not--"

"Sit down, Ms. Odair," Dr. Vanderwall says through the speakers. I look at the glass wall with a pleading look on my face. He pins me with an intense stare that obviously says 'do as I say.'

I step forwards and hesitantly sit on the farthest edge of the mattress from the Project, the feeling of the syringe heavy at my side. He frowns at me before shuffling closer. He settles with his right shoulder bumping against my left and I cringe at the contact.

I look down at his tray and see rice, chicken, and an apple. He completely disregards the fork, diving in with just his fingers. I scrunch my nose at his actions. How do you even eat rice with your hands?

"Why weren't you eating before?" I ask, looking up at him.

"No mate, n-not hungry," he says sadly. What does he mean by that?

"What do you mean?" I ask, to which he shakes his head. I sigh. I guess I won't be getting an answer from him. Normally, I would continue to ask questions, but I don't want to risk upsetting him when I am locked in his cell.

He nudges my elbow. I look down to see him holding out the apple to me. I look up at him and see he is smiling at me with a hopeful expression.

"Do you want me to have the apple?" I ask. He nods, taking my hand and placing the apple in it. "No, I can't have this. It's yours. You are the one who hasn't been eating," I reprimand.

He scowls, pushing his tray into my lap. "Eat, Mate."

I stare at him in disbelief. "W-what? Why?"

He responds by picking up a piece of chicken and holding it in front of my face. He wants to feed me? This behavior is utterly strange, but also unsanitary. I cringe, gently pushing his hand back towards himself.

"I already ate, I'm fine. You are the one who is sick," I say.

"Not sick," he says, shaking his head. He sighs before putting the piece of chicken in his own mouth, resuming his meal, albeit sullenly.

"What do you mean not sick? You had a fever just a few minutes ago," I say, although, his shaking has stopped and he doesn't seem to be sweating anymore.

"W-with Mate, not sick," he shrugs. With Mate, not sick?

"Do you mean to say that with me here you aren't sick?" I ask. He nods, brushing his shoulder against mine. "Do you mind if I feel your forehead for a fever?" I ask hesitantly. He doesn't seem nearly as aggressive as he has been in the last few days, so I should be fine.

He sets his tray to the side and inclines his head to me. I reach up and press the back of my hand to his face. He still feels warm, but it is probably the wolf blood. How could his fever have gone down in just minutes? What kind of connection do we have? I have no special abilities, nor can I shift into a giant wolf, so what connects us?

"Is his fever gone, Ms. Odair?" Dr. Vanderwall's voice says. I just nod my head, still shocked. I pull my hand away.

"So, your presence affects his health?" Dr. Anderson says.

"I think so," I say. I turn my attention to the glass. "What does this mean?"

Dr. Vanderwall scrutinizes me, his steely gaze betraying none of his inner thoughts. I gulp.

I am jolted from my staring match by a sudden weight in my lap. I look down to see a mop of brown hair strewn across my thighs.

"Just stay calm, Ms. Odair. He isn't going to hurt you," Dr. Anderson says.

My jaw drops in shock at his statement and I start to wriggle out from underneath him, ignoring my superior's wishes. A growl stops me and I freeze, my breaths quickening. He throws an arm across my thighs and pulls himself back on top of me.

"N-not hurt Mate," he stutters groggily. Even though he says he won't hurt me, I still feel apprehensive. I mean, he is a beast with violent mood swings.

Realizing there is nothing I can do, I take this time to inspect the many swirling black lines that cover his back and chest. It still surprises me that these aren't merely tattoos, but birthmarks. He was born with these symbols.

I cautiously run my fingers through his hair, working out some of the tangles. The doctors watch our exchange silently, writing occasional notes.

Eventually, deep snores break the silence, and I realize he must have fallen asleep. He is oddly trusting, yet untrusting. He freaks whenever someone gets close to him, but he is perfectly content with falling asleep on my lap.

"You may now exit Ms. Odair. This should be enough for today," Dr. Vanderwall says. I nod my head and slip out from underneath the sleeping lycanthrope.

I quietly make my way to the door and take one last look at Theseus's sleeping form. A crease has formed between his eyebrows and his fists clench the sheets tightly. I sigh before exiting the cell.