Azazel (Being Rewritten)

1

I curl up in my crate on the thin blanket every one of us got. The storage area the crates are lined up in is cold and sterile. I wrapped my tail around myself and flatten my wings around myself to preserve warmth, they both are an extreme side-effect of over splicing one's DNA. A painful one.

The techs will move me soon and I hoped to get some rest before testing.

My flawed performance capabilities make me unsellable to the public and have thus far, been down graded to a study of how much exactly they can push the splicing, and personality warps a single body can take before collapsing.

They can have only ever had the success of two different splices in a single genome but they've no idea exactly how much they can replace. A small squeak from the cadge beside me rouses me from my drowsing.

"Am I admitting too many pheromones?" I ask, I tend to frighten my cellmates with the overwhelming pheromones that I let out of my system. It's just a thing that happens and gets worse the more I'm injected with the drug. Apparently is suffocating.

"No, well yes that's a problem, but that's not it, there's a lot of yelling outside." A small voice whispers. Oh, it was 06745, or Moss, a small timid girl injected with field mice and bat DNA, making her hypersensitive to smells and noises.

"What can you make of it? Are the techs bickering over where I'll be placed again?" I ask softly crawling closer to the side of my crate nearest to Moss.

"No, there's an argument over. . . number 00001? Yeah, there's a voice I don't recognize, he?- yes he wants to buy number 00001."

"Thank you for telling me, I was wondering why I haven been moved yet is all." The doors fly open and she muffles a pained yelp when the metal doors clang painfully loud on the cement walls. My crate is lifted up by my usual movers and carried away.

"Hope your master is kind!" I call to Moss as I'm carted out.

"Sir! I cannot authorize the leasing for subject 00001!" A tech, Dr. Menx wails.

"Subject 00001 is not stable, for selling." a voice says and I scramble far away from the door. That voice belongs to the CEO, Master Ryas.

"It is now, Rune Ryas your authority over subject 00001 has been revoked by Oriaz Ryas the founder and owner." A deep voice says with all the authority of a true master.

"Father has long since passed down the company to me, he has no right to revoke anything."

"I have the court warrant that will allow me to either pay for the creature or take it, I would wise up and just take the damn money." There's a crinkle of paper then the hysterical laugh of defeat.

"Fine! Take it, you'd best keep it in that crate lest it tries to rip your throat out." Rune Ryas says and the 'thumpts' of expensive leather shoes walking away sounds and I listen ears pricked with interest.

"Put it in the back of my truck." I hear the man say and I'm handed of to a new set of carriers and they struggle with the crate rattling it around making me squeak softly when feathers got caught in the slots.

"Is it heavy?" the man asks.

"No sir, the crate is awkward to handle." The one by the front says. And the crate shifts awkwardly.

"Then, get a smaller one." Menx states clicking a pen as always when he's stressed.

"Is that safe for the subject?" the other carrier asks.

"Y-yes, it is a small subject and will fit in the smaller crates." a lower paid tech says.

"Will you move it to another crate?" The man stated impatiently.

"Y-yes s-sir!" my crate I set down with a clatter and I yelp when I hit my head on the wall and one of my wings was forced under my own feet.

"Shit- Sorry little fella!" One of the carriers says. Another crate four times smaller than the one I'm in now is pushed in front of the door and the doors slide open. The movable wall shoves me into the new one when I don't move quick enough. There are a few murmurs of thanks and then I am lifted up and carried away once more.

"Okay set it down carefully~ carefully~" the crate barely tall enough to let me sit up straight is set neatly and softly on what sounds like a truck bed.

Thank god they were gentle with the crate.

"Alright, alright little one, don't worry your new owner is very kind and a bit of a push over when it comes to you rescues." One says softly patting the top of the crate.

"Say don't you subjects have a number as well as a name?"

"Okay, we'll ask boss later. One question, well if you'll answer it. Are you a girl or a boy?"

"I don't think they can talk." One says after a few minutes. We have our vocal chords removed early into the drug injections. Mine grew back but I'm especially good at keeping my mouth shut.

"I dunno, but hey we'll find out soon enough when boss gets home." the other says cheerily.

Soon after the truck starts and the whole damn crate is rattling along and I have to curl up into a right ball in the far back corner to avoid getting hurt too severely.

The truck stops and goes, turns and loops. Then mercifully after the longest time yet it stops, but I don't trust the stupid thing to stay still and remain in my position: a completely unrecognizable ball of feathers and hair. The feathers being my wings. The rest being my over grown length of black-brown hair. And my tail, it's pretty fluffy.

I am lifted out of the truck bed by the same two and play a wise card and keep my mouth shut when it slipped and I hit my shoulder.

"There, you sure you just want her in the living room like this?"

"Yes. Trent, you and Camron can come in if you want." He says and I flinch when the door opens with a loud squeal of protest. Wasn't he advised to let me rot in here?

"When do you guys think it'll come out?" He asks after a few minutes.

"She, she might come out if you ask nicely." Camron says sternly.

"Subjects don't have gender difference beyond physical looks." He deadpans. Dammit one of you say His name!

"Well I guess that settles the paperwork." Camron says playfully. "But her charts say she was formerly a she."

"Just ask her to come out." Trent says irritated.

"Fine! Subject 00001 come out of the crate." I heard an 'ouf' of pain. "Please." I shifted slightly. Did someone hit my master t9 make him say please to something like me? I crawled out slowly hovering in the entrence incase I was going to be shoved back in and returned. I did look pretty gruesome.

They look sort of similar, and their smells were like the seasons one being autumn, ginger and oranges, another being minty and crisp like winter and the last was heady like the forests in spring.

One had blue eyes, another had green eyes, the last had purple. They each had different hair colors being golden, blue-black and red and wore their hair at varying lengths. One was wearing a fitted-tee and jeans, another slacks and a button up and the last one was wearing swim trunks and a loose tank top.

"I think I see her." the blue eyed one that smells of spring says, I think that one is Trent.

"Orange eyes like a wolf." the green eyed one that smells of winter says.