Specimen 231

Chapter 2

Specimen 231 lies on a steel table, her body strapped down tightly. For the last hour, the masked man has cleaned her off, using a hand-held spray nozzle to rinse the stasis fluid from her dark skin and long hair. It's given him time to examine her as she dries, her body relaxed and unconscious as the tranquilizers maintain their effect.

Each of her hands has four digits – three fingers and a thumb – and her feet are arranged in similar fashion, with four human-like toes each. Hard, curved nails grow from her digits, and dewclaws are present on her ankles and wrists. The dewclaws aren't attached by bone, as revealed by a body scan - the hooked talons are attached to powerful muscles, allowing her to climb and grip even on slippery surfaces, such as the rubber matting of the containment warehouse.

Her tail is long and tapers, curled now on the table by the creature's bound feet. As he enters notes into a nearby console, the tail slowly begins to uncoil, its muscular curve slipping from the table but coiling just before the last few inches hit the floor. Beneath the table the fixtures of the straps begin to strain, the pseudoleather whining as she begins to stir. Her lean, hard body trembles and tightens, her rib cage rising and falling faster as her body wakes, demanding more oxygen. Cords of muscle stand out beneath her skin, her fat content nearly at zero from having been tanked too long. Straps restrain her wrists and ankles, and even more wrap over her neck, chest, stomach, hips, thighs, and shins. Orange eyes slide open, the drugs still leaving her dazed, but even so the circular pupils slowly contract, lids blinking a few times. Her eyes turn towards the side of the table where the masked man stands, and her head slowly turns, wet hair squeaking softly on the rubber pad beneath her skull.

This time the masked man is prepared and moves away, gripping at the serpentine tail that lifts to grab at his thigh and trip him. The limb is muscular, firm and slender, writhing like a snake in his grip. His arm tenses, the muscles standing out sharply beneath his tattooed skin as the creature's snakelike appendage writhes and struggles. Specimen 231 grunts, arching against the straps actively now. Her fingers flex, her nails clicking and scraping on the metal table in distress as he turns to look at her.

Her face is reflected in the man's mask, her beautiful, fearsome features changing from angry to wary very slowly before she asks in a husky growl "What are you?" As she speaks, her black lips part to reveal her teeth. They are white, clean, and arranged like a human being's, save for four dog-like fangs, two above and two below.

The man in the mask tilts his head, then looks down. While his left hand holds the squirming tail, his right taps a code into his keypad, and he moves to face her again. The voice that issues from the mask is filtered, the tonality almost completely stripped, though it retains a masculine timbre. "I am Janus."

The creature's eyes narrow, and her body settles back onto the cold, steel table, somewhat comforted that her captor can speak. Thinking creatures can be reasoned with or tricked. "What is a Janus?"

Noting that she isn't struggling anymore, the man releases her tail and takes a step back, remaining out of reach. "It is my name. I..." he gestures to his chest, "...am Janus."

The answer's simplicity frustrates her, and she turns her head to look directly up at the ceiling, studying the grate above her. With his filtered, flat tonality, it's difficult to get any feel for his inner thoughts. Without sight of his face, there are no small expression cues to observe. He is maddeningly impossible to read. Still, her orange eyes slide again toward him, and she presses her lips together for a moment before asking tensely "Where are the others?"

With a confused tilt of his head, Janus asks "The others?"

"The other Nalatine prisoners. There were six of us - a Compliment. I looked, but they weren't among the stasis tubes."