Chained

Chapter 1 - Weapon

Winter's POV

Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead and onto the musty concrete bellow me. My burning chest rose and fell deeply as I attempted to regain as much energy as I could. I shifted my posture on the metal seat I was resting on and observed my next challenge.

A room made of concrete and steel surrounded me with no windows and limited ventilation which made keeping my breathing steady a lot harder. Markus said that it would make my lungs stronger and tougher if I have to constantly fight for air, but it didn't make me feel stronger.

Fatigue and dizziness overwhelmed me constantly, limiting how well I could fight, but Markus never let me stop. The only way I could get a break is if I passed out or complete all the trials.

No one has ever completed the trials before.

The dark room was lit but a few rusted yellow lights which stained my pale skin a sickly yellow.
Although I wouldn't be surprised if it was. A barely knew the full effects of Markus' experiments he conducted on me.

I shared the room with five wolves whom each had their own corner away from one another other. None of us were friends, simply mutual prisoners forced into an unspoken bond. I didn't even know their names. However we helped each other, whether it was with wounds that were too deep to heal alone or if one of us was forced to go without food. Silently and without question, we would help each other. On my first few nights here I did nothing but fight back and rebel. I have the scars to prove it. But they saw I was suffering just as they were and helped me. They became the first wolves that I could trust. How far that trust could go? I wasn't sure.

In the middle of the room was 3 boxing arenas in which we were forced into pairs and fight until one passed out or dies. Often the victor would help heal the wounds of the loser that night if they were severe and could do it without being caught. We weren't supposed to help each other. But I knew that one way or another, all of us would be dead if we didn't.

I was surprised when they helped me, especially since all of them are middle aged Werewolf men who are all well over twice my size. Each of them built like body builders and held nothing back when they fought. When I first arrived here I could almost smell their pity. A 16 year old 5 foot 7 girl who had just been beaten to a pulp. I could barely stand and my knees left blood on the floor from having to be dragged to my tiny cell. The first thing one of them did was half the stale loaf of bread he had, and given a piece to me.

For the first time in my life I was thankful to a wolf.

I returned the favour a few days later when I was still too weak to train but he came limping back into his cell with dried blood matted in his light blond hair and a deep gash in his leg. He had eyes so light that the blue in them could almost be mistaken for white, a stubby nose which had been broken many times, small lips and a square shaped face. I didn't have a first aid kit or anything useful but I did have a rag which I dampened under my rusted sink. I did my best to clean the wound and his hair but was quickly brushed off by the man in the cell on the other side of him who had a needle and thread which he used to sew the wound.

There were six cells, one for each of us. three lined up on one side and three on the other with a path in the middle which we entered and exited from. It was a big space with each cell being roughly 2 metres squared with a toilet and sink in each and a straw bed with a thin blanket.
I preferred the floor. You could imagine the wolves' surprise when I fought one of them for the first time and won. The constant sinister look that Markus never failed to hold, even contained a twinge of shock. I wasn't surprised, I was a warrior trained since i could walk to take down opponents bigger than me. When I was young, I was told to take pride in each of my fights, to fight with dignity and restraint, to know when to stop. I was told to have honour in my victory.
There was no such thing as honour anymore.