"This is dumb." Alpha declared.

Hekanta chose to ignore this remark. They were in the infirmary, in the private room. Ever since Martyshkina’s body failed to resist the strange poison of the Resistance, the higher ups went apeshit, demanding mandatory medical checkups for the warlords as well as injecting the warlords with all the latest vaccines that the state produced.

There was some sense to it, the warlords were a precious resource whose might could turn the fate of the entire war in the state’s favor. Marco was right in pushing for better healthcare for the Wolf Tribe, Hekanta agreed with him on this much.

If only it was easy enough to make them shut up and pass the procedure. Hekanta sighed, listening to the booming sounds of Alpha’s hearts. Cool. It kind of sounds like gunfire, really, but according to the records, this is a normal state for her. Too bad that the last records are dated fifty years old. I really need to know why she has two hearts.

Alpha was sitting naked on four beds tied up together. Her claws twitched in annoyance at being distracted from her duties, her topknot was scratching against the ceiling, forcing the warlord to untie her hair. Twin orbs of amber looked judgingly at every Hekanta’s movement with something akin to a hungry anticipation.

Hekanta wasn’t a small woman by any means, but against the mighty bulk of the warlord, she looked like a child, playing the role of a medic. The warlord’s arm circumference was wider than the medic’s waist, her jaws could snap away Hekanta’s head with the same ease a human takes a bite of a chocolate bar. Alpha’s skin was pure and well cleaned. Hekanta knew from Marco that both Martyshkina and Janine hosted literal legions of parasites in their fur, and she partially expected to see the same here, but her new leader took great care of herself. Alpha’s natural hair color was white, according to the medical records, but the warlord dyed her hair a crimson color. Her skin resembled more of a hide to the touch and was capable of withstanding both armor-piercing fire and medium-powered lasers. Hekanta lost count of the sheer number of scars on Alpha’s body, instead checking in to see if her inner organs were working fine, which they were. Then the medic made the warlord do stretches, to see if she could move freely despite all the damage to her skin. After passing this test, she had to simply check Alpha’s heart and inject the medicine.

"Warlord, it will just take a minute, no more." Hekanta wrote down the results, reaching for one of the specially made syringes capable of piercing even Alpha’s skin, filled with either vaccines or vitamin shots.

"We don’t need these," Alpha looked gloomy at the vitamin shots, "We don’t get organ failure, we don’t get scurvy, we don’t get…"

"Then you won’t be hurt by these either," Hekanta blurted out, shuddering under Alpha’s eyes and quickly adding, "Warlord. Tomorrow is Janine’s turn, and we must also make Zero to show up…"

"Simply write that we got these shots and be done with it."

"I can’t."

"Why? Ivar placed some other imprints on you?" Alpha tilted her head, popping something in her neck with the sound of a fist smashing against a door.

"I am doing everything by the book this time." Hekanta said defiantly, piercing Alpha’s skin and injecting the vaccine.

"Hmph. Is that so, medic? I recall that you were willing to take the risk when it came to the approval of Till’s experimental aid to Yuki. And you managed to strongarm Janine into showing restraint, too."

"The well-being of my patients takes priority over my intentions." Hekanta whispered, trying to look small.

She reached out for the next syringe when the terminal on the table buzzed, indicating that something urgent had just happened. Hekanta almost breathed with relief, feeling how the inquisitorial look shifted, glancing at the portable terminal. Without waiting for the command, the medic turned on the device, attempting to lift it to Alpha’s ear. The warlord merely nodded, indicating that it was OK to turn on the volume and gestured for the medic to continue.

While Alpha listened to the report, Hekanta felt how the warlord’s muscles bulged with rage, barely held back. A growl left her lips, making the glass in the room tremble.

"Connect me to this bitch. At once, medic," Alpha commanded, upon hearing the report that Sonya was arrested for allegedly assaulting a cub in Iterna. While she waited for Hekanta to find the number in the terminal, her eyes found a pack of cigarettes sticking out from a pocket of a field medic uniform, "And throw this shit away."

****

Dynast opened his eyes and sat on the bed, stretching his body. His hand moved to the remote to open the windows and allow the morning sun in but stopped after his eyes found that his wife was still sleeping after a long passionate night of trying to create another heir to the state.

Dynast slid from under the sheets, took a cold shower and checked the time. At five o'clock, the meeting with representatives, men and women elected to lead the cities and large population centers in the reclaimed parts of the Ravaged Lands, will start in twenty minutes. No doubt some of them would be hanged for corruption later on, but he had to assume only the best of them. After all, for all its flaws, democracy was the greatest system of government up to this point. Back when the Reclamation Army was in its cradle, he had to be the full tyrant, enforcing his will on what had to be produced and what had to be sacrificed. This fascist rule thankfully died out gradually as the state grew large enough, forcing Dynast to become a mere autocrat. In time, people will either overthrow him or outright kill him, Dynast was sane enough to predict the future this much. Before the day came, it was his solemn duty to reunite the world, to ensure that no future generation had to face the horror of the Extinction.

He briefly glanced in the mirror, dressing himself and making sure that he still looked presentable, before silently walking toward the doors. Dynast smiled, buttoning his suit, enjoying that he still had it in it. The last time he was in a death and life situation was over two hundred years ago. The life of a ruler slowly dulled his combat instincts to the point that he half forgot how to use his combat mace properly. But his ability to walk unheard, remaining unnoticed by most people, remained with him to this very day.

He opened heavy doors leading to his inner chambers, gesturing for his guard to stay silent, and closed the door gently. Spreading his shoulders wide, Dynast walked across the corridor, receiving a heavy slap across the face when he made a turn.

"You are just a human." Marchenkov, a young man of eighteen years old, said to him, while Dynast repeated the ritual, raising his hand to stop his guards from bringing down their glaives upon the young man’s neck.

The supreme ruler implemented this ritual ever since he botched the situation in the Refugee Center Gamma by first sneaking away from his guard, indivertibly setting up Outsider and later screwing up speech to the people. It ended up well in the end, but now, every morning after he left his chambers, he received a heavy slap across the face, reminding him that he was naught but human. Never again will he act rashly or be unprepared for public speech. Lady Luck was too finicky of a thing to rely on her eternally.

Marchenkov himself was a son of a ruler who was made to bow to the state by force recently. Normally, the children of defeated rulers were forced to join the royal guard, where they were rigorously trained to be his trusted shadows and companions. Young Marchenkov, however, was far too frail, with a host of illnesses and disabilities that came as a result of inbreeding in his family. His skin was pale and could tear at a sudden thrust. His eyes always watered and looked froglike, his once blonde hair was already receding, despite all the efforts of doctors. Leaving the young man alone to be used as a puppet by potential opposition or rebels was out of the question, and he was eager to work, so Dynast agreed and made him one of his secretaries.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Good morning to you too, Marchenkov," Dynast licked away the blood from the corner of his mouth. The boy sure got stronger thanks to the doctors, "Anything afoot?"

"Yes. Sorry for meeting you in the corridor, sire," The young man bowed, while guards looked at him with disapproval, "Iterna's ambassador requests an immediate meeting with you."

"Something about the Ravaged Lands?" Dynast asked, hastily thinking about a possible reason. Iterna warned him about his rapid expansion in their backyard. True, due to the treaty they made and the undeniable evidence of King’s crimes, he should have freed his hands. Today was a civilized time, and Wyrm Lord was making sure to keep the Third Army in check. There was simply no reason for any urgency that he knew of, "Wait, did they find out who were the people behind Chosen Prince invasion?"

"Sadly, no sire, we have more urgent troubles. According to them, one of the Third Army’s officers assaulted several people on the street. A wolfkin, no less."

"Shit," Another Alsyn, "Please invite the ambassador to my office, very politely. And apologize for my absence before the representatives. I will phone each and every one of them later personally," Dynast was about to storm past the young man before an idea came to his mind, "If I remember right, Outsider is still here. Tell him to act in my stead at the meeting with the representatives."

****

Sonya gasped, waking up from her sleep. Her eyelids felt glued against each other, making her put effort into opening her eyes. She found herself lying on a simple bed, covered by a warm and long blanket. The ceiling was painted white, and a single electric lamp that lit the entire room forced her to narrow her eyes in pain. Next to her bed stood a simple bedside table, with no sharp edges, each curve was smoothened with a weird rubber-like material. On this bedside table stood a glass next to a bottle of water. Aside from this, the room also had a toilet and even a nice-looking shower.

The scout swallowed, feeling how something akin to rakes ran all the way down from her throat before plunging into her stomach. Hunger. All encompassing, almost unbelievable hunger struck her, forcing her stomach to rumble like a generator. She experienced it only once in her life, when she and Roggo got lost and she gave up all the food to him. When mom and dad found them, several days later, she was chewing her own clothes, looking more like a stickman. Sure, hers and Roggo’s butts hurt for weeks afterwards, but not before dad and mom feed them both, hugging and crying from happiness.

She reached out to grab the glass and found out that both her arms were handcuffed, pressing her wrists against each other. The handcuffs looked weird, nothing like the sort of iron that the state used to restrain their prisoners, they were light, but did not allow her to spread her wrists even for a millimeter. She touched the glass and found out that it bent beneath her fingers, clearly made with the intention of not being used as a weapon.

Later, all later. Sonya thought, hungrily opening the bottle and pouring water. She drank from the glass before grabbing the bottle and pouring everything down her throat, soothing the rough sensation. Water was a poor substance for food, but the rumbling stopped, allowing Sonya to concentrate on her own body.

It took her a good long second before dread fell on her. Her wounds and cuts were taken care of, she had no idea what the iternians did to her, but now only scars covered her arm. The skin returned back to normal color and the swollenness disappeared, leaving only the itching feeling of healing wounds as a reminder of the fight. No, what scared her shitless was something else. Her fur, all of it, was gone. Her skin was ugly and covered by wrinkles, loose skin covered her abs on her belly, a few patches of her tanned skin were without scars. With trembling paws, she reached for her head, finding neither hair nor fur there either. Her damaged ear had something on it, an elastic bandage from the feel of it. The scout snapped her fingers, making sure that her hearing was still solid.

The door that led to her room slid into the wall, revealing a brightly lit corridor. A blue line ran from her bed, into the corridor, and finally took a turn to the left.

"Inmate Sonya, second name unknown, please follow the line." From the ceiling, a pleasant male voice said.

Sonya released her claws, sighing with relief at the sight of them. She will never say anything to Yuki once she is released from the infirmary and will support her in any way she can, but Sonya herself was a product of the past. Claws were and will always be a sign of a healthy wolfkin to her; losing them was the equivalent of losing a manhood for a normie male or breasts for a female normie; it was simply unthinkable.

"Please refrain from releasing your natural weapons," The same voice said to her, "You are not in danger and are scheduled for release. If you choose to persist, we will be forced to take measures to keep both you and the personnel safe."

Their den, their rules. Sonya thought, retracting the claws and stepping off the bed. She walked down a long corridor, filled with the same-looking doors as the one that opened before her. Naked and trying not to tremble from the cold, she walked to the place where the line led her. She was scheduled for releases… for what exactly? And if they are letting her go, why the handcuffs?

The last one is easy. In their eyes, I am a mutant. Sonya decided, walking toward a door at the end of the corridor. Scary, ugly mutant, unworthy of even a shred of dignity.

She rocketed her shoulders, hearing a few pleasant pops, indicating that she had slept for quite a while. Twitching her head to get rid of stiffness, the scout raised one leg and shook it to loosen the knee joint and allow the muscles to spread freely, then the second, never once halting the walk toward the door. Sonya’s fingers found each other, making crack after crack, before rubbing the palms against each other.

The door before her opened, allowing Sonya to step into a brightly lit room with a single table in the middle of the room. Inside were three people. One, she recognized immediately, was this blasted archangel who knocked her out. His wings were folded behind his back while the strange person bowed to her in greeting. Another was a man in a police uniform, sitting behind the desk. He had a very impressive brown mustache, short hair, and slightly careful eyes. Upon seeing Sonya, he stood up. And lastly, there was a woman in a green business suit, with round glasses that showed piercing green eyes behind them, filled with keen intellect. The color of her suit matched the color of her short hair, and a familiar symbol of the snake decorated the lapel of her suit.

"Miss Sonya, I am glad to see that you are awake," The man said in a deep voice, "I am chief Willington, and I am afraid that there was a tragic misunderstanding…"

"A misunderstanding or an illegal assault based on racial prejudice, it will be for me and my client to decide. Please avoid trying to guide my client towards any decision," The woman charged to Sonya’s side, "Karine Boudreaux, attorney of Barjoni International, it's a pleasure to meet you. You do not need to answer any questions without first consulting with me. There is no need to worry about my fee, the Barjoni family fully covers all expenses. "

"Miss Karine, it was Miss Noemi Barjoni who first shouted about assault on her son," Willington's face turned red, "And I assure you, none of the officers under my command..."

"Noemi was just assaulted by the terrorist and was greatly distraught, not to mention that she is a civilian. Confusion and illogical actions are the least expected things in a situation like that," Karine cut off the chief’s speech once more, "I’d expect at least a modicum of professionalism from the men, women, or virtual intelligences," She shot a glance at the archangel, " who are responsible for handling such situations and for whose brave services we are paying with our taxes, but clearly this was too much to ask for, resulting in the troubles, morale suffering, reputation losses, and battery for my client. Now, release my client, please."

Sonya raised her brows, unsure of what to say. No one in the room was clearly afraid of her, and the woman stepped next to her without hesitation. Willington had a holster on his belt, but it was empty, not to mention the fact that his annoyance was directed at Karine, while Sonya could bet that he was honest about the misunderstanding.

"I am sorry, sirs, ma’am," Sonya started, trying to act calmly and rationally, while the chief came closer to her, removing handcuffs, "Can I please have something to wear?"

"But of course!" Karine snapped her fingers and a metal pole extended from a wall, allowing a green-colored skintight suit.

Sonya glanced at it with a suspicion, it looked too small for her figure. Unsure how to put it on, she spread the "throat" of the suit, noticing with a minor surprise that the material stretched with ease. Swinging her lower body into the suit, she put it on, finding it warm and soothing to touch and noticing the same golden snake image on her chest.

"Courtesy of the Barjoni family, we hope that this cloth will serve you well, miss Sonya," Karine said, throwing another glance at the police officers, "I would lie if I said that I expected our brave police to provide you with at least a prison robe, but good manners are hard to fight in our day, it would seem. Speaking of clothes, with great sadness I must report to you that Barjoni’s tailors failed to identify the remains of your garb and thus we could not reproduce it. For now, of course! The situation will change in the near future, and the Barjoni family is ready to compensate for the cost. This is the least that can be done to show gratitude for saving one of the family’s scions."

"I am sorry," Sonya put forward her paws, "This is too much. I need a moment to think and… I need food. Badly. Also, why is my fur missing?"

"Food, natu…" Something snapped in the woman’s eyes, and she turned to the police officers, "I am sorry, gentlemen. Did any of you dare to shave my client while she was unconscious?"

"No," The archangel spoke for the first time. His voice was calm. The sound of metal played in it, along with a tingle of guilt and assurance, "This is sadly a side effect of the power suppression pills."