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Okay, two more blood samples and the glucose assay will be done. Then we can do the EEGs.

Why isn't this over? Where are you, Max? Angel thought sadly as a whitecoat approached. The front of Angel's dog crate opened, and a guy knelt down and peered in at her. She pressed herself against the back as hard as she could.

He reached in to grab her hand, where the shunt was, and noticed her face. He turned back to his fellow whitecoats. "What happened to it?"

"It bit Reilly earlier," someone said. "He hit it."

Angel tried to pull herself into a tight ball. The whole left side of her face throbbed. But she was glad she'd bitten him. She hated him. Hated all of them.

Stupid Reilly. Guy should work in a car wash. If he wrecks this specimen, I'll kill him.

"Doesn't he realize how unique this subject is?" the whitecoat said angrily. "I mean, this is Subject Eleven. Does he know how long we've been looking for it? You tell Reilly not to damage the merchandise."

He reached in and tried to take Angel's hand again.

Angel didn't know what she should do. The plastic shunt on the back of her hand hurt, and she'd cradled it against her chest. All day she'd had nothing to eat or drink, and then they'd made her drink some horrible, sickly sweet orange stuff. They'd taken blood from her arm, but she'd fought them and bit that one guy. So they'd put a shunt in the back of her hand to make taking blood easier. They'd drawn her blood three times already.

Angel felt near tears but clenched her jaw.

Slowly, she uncoiled herself a tiny bit and edged closer to the opening. She stretched her hand toward the lab guy.

"That's it," he said soothingly, and pulled out a needle with a test tube attached. He I clipped the stop on the shunt and pushed the needle in. "This won't hurt. Honest."

Angel turned away, keeping her back to him, that one hand stretched away from her.

It didn't take long, and it didn't hurt. Maybe he was a good whitecoat -- like Jeb. And maybe the moon was made out of cream cheese. 

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