1

Sylvester stood with his hands in his pockets, appearing relaxed, but ready to leap into action in a tenth of a second if forced. Ryan stood in front of him.

It was the first time they had seen each other since the whole island situation.

But it wasn't a social visit, or anything remotely pleasant. They were both in a reinforced glass and metal prison. The glass existed so that the scientists could watch them as if they were their lab rats, tirelessly circling their miniature mazes, with or without reward at the end of the journey.

Of course, Ryan was the important thing here. The subject of the experiment.

He was only in the lion's cage to control it if it went wild. This was a pain in the ass. Sigh, but at least he hadn't gone from one disaster to the next. Keeping the world from destroying itself was hard work, so this could be considered a break, even if it wasn't.

"I don't even know where to begin. Can I really do this just by thinking?"

Sylvester hadn't been too sure from the start (even though the higher-ups had assumed it right off the bat), but no less so now that he'd been watching him try and fail for about half an hour.

"You're a unique case. We have no fucking idea."

So he was honest with him. Anyway, he deserved it at this point.

"Yeah. That I can transform back is just a theory I don't really want to test. What if I can't go back to being human?"

That worried him too.

Of course.

They would lose a very valuable sample that could help them save the world if he was forced to kill him, after all.

"Don't worry, I would kill you." It would be the only thing he could do for him at that point.

"I'm not worried at all anymore," Ryan said with his face covered in sweat, from the effort he had been making so far, but not just that. "Thank you very much.... It's not working. This is impossible." And maybe he was even right, but hey, they had insisted. "I don't feel any different."

Just when he started to think that maybe they'd get this over with quickly after all...

"Agent Sylvester, maybe you need to give him some motivation.

One of those wise guys in a white coat had to have an idea.

"What does that mean?" He didn't really know what he meant. He wouldn't ask useless questions to waste time, he just wanted to get it over with quickly.

"Attack him. Maybe it will be easier for him to transform."

"Hey, hey, man." Ryan wasn't feeling very enthusiastic about this development.

The Lunar Remnants were born for many things. They weren't even clear on that about them, but what was clear was that no human had ever birthed a Lunar Remnant while being calm and peaceful. Sure.

So it had a certain logic to it.

So Sylvester shrugged, as if to say "what can you do," and launched himself like a bullet at Ryan. He stepped back with his hands in front of him and a little fear on his face, he knew he wasn't coming for him with the intention of killing him, but Sylvester figured it didn't matter. That it was still scary.

It was hard to see yourself from someone else's point of view.

There was no fight.

Sylvester got to Ryan between one heartbeat and the next, and kicked him in the chest. Which he either couldn't defend himself from or didn't even try. Either way, whatever it was, it wouldn't have changed the end result.

Which was this, Ryan flew about ten meters backwards, crashing into the glass wall. Even that was enough to fill it with cracks. It was supposedly designed to contain Lunar Remnants, but if Ryan really lost control, then Sylvester would be the real prison. This would be nothing more than plastic wrap for him.

Immediately, Ryan's chest exploded and through the blood rose his ribs cracked open. For a second he thought it wasn't the fault of the glass but that he had overdone it, but of course that was complete nonsense. For one thing, if he had overdone it, the ribs would have popped out to say hello from the very first moment, the human body didn't have such delayed reactions.

Second, that was just what they wanted here.

He'd started to transform... or so Sylvester thought, but after a while Ryan remained just like that. The misshapen, overgrown ribs of that beast in a small human body that refused to change. He could imagine how painful that would be, but he didn't want to.

"A partial transformation? Interesting," said one of those morons in the white coats.

"I'm just a... lab rat now." At least they agreed on something, if only that they didn't like those scientists very much. "I don't know if this is much better than being dead. At least it wouldn't hurt like this, God."

On the latter they definitely didn't agree one bit.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Anything is better than being dead."

"Oh, yeah?" It sounded like a serious question, though it was a self-evident truth to anyone whose sanity wasn't slipping.

"Yes. Because after that there's nothing."

"If you're an atheist, fine, but I believe in God."

That or a religious person. Well, he hadn't considered that.

Ryan hadn't struck him as the type. He was full of surprises. He had nothing against religion, obviously, but it was a little frustrating since he couldn't really say anything against faith when he was trying to get somewhere with this.

It didn't do him any good for Ryan to give up because hoping for a heavenly reward was easier than continuing to fight.

"Even in heaven?" Sylvester asked that more out of curiosity more than anything else.

He supposed it would be more accurate to call him agnostic. It wasn't so hard to believe in the existence of a divine creator, but in life after death, the greatest contradiction of contradictions? A kind of paradise among the clouds?

That was much harder for him.

"You can't believe in bits and pieces. That's not how it works. Hell, why not believe? Millions of people before me believed without miracles or strange things. But I've seen with my own eyes that there are things that science can't explain. Like what is happening to me now.

That was a good point.

Nothing he hadn't heard before, in fact it used to be the first recourse people would pull from in a conversation about this, and it still didn't convince him.

But it was a good point. Time would prove which one of them was wrong, sadly, if he was right there would be no way to get together to talk about it, he wouldn't be able to enjoy his victory. Or anything at all.

If Ryan didn't scream it was because he must have been in too much pain to muster enough air, in fact, he could barely speak. Under those conditions, where it was hard to even stay conscious, Ryan continued to strive for a futile purpose that could blow up in everyone's face.

Save the world? Great!

But what did this have to do with anything? Even if Ryan could transform and return to normal, what the hell did this have to do with anything?

Off to the side, discreetly, Sylvester began to unclench and unclench a fist. With force.

After a while, his left arm transformed. But only his left arm. Once again, the progress of the transformation stopped. Wasn't this a bad sign? A sign that he was forcing things and it would all go wrong if they continued? Or maybe it was too late to back out now, with his chest and left arm like this.

"Take it easy," Sylvester said.

"But I'd rather get it over with quickly. If I have to suffer this pain day after day.... I want to satisfy them in just one day."

Did he really think this was going to stop even if he got it done in one go? Of course he would be grateful if he was right, but he didn't believe it.

Sylvester didn't feel like a lab rat. Not anymore. More like a carnival monkey. If he felt that way, Ryan would feel ten times worse. Obvious, but what mattered to him was how he felt himself.

But it wasn't worth the trouble and headaches over something like this. It was the only reason he hadn't stopped them before they even started.

Now it was too late anyway. Since Ryan had come this far, Sylvester had to see the end of it with his own eyes. He had no choice, the damage had already been done.

Ryan kept trying. He possessed great willpower, there was no denying that.

But he was unable to transform even one more arm, or his head, let alone complete the transformation. Faith could move mountains, but sometimes it wasn't enough. Sometimes it took something more.

Which he didn't have, for now. Even the syndicate scientists eventually became convinced that there was a time for everything. In other words, they threw in the towel and asked him to try to detransform. A task that wasn't any easier. In theory, it was nothing more than the same thing in reverse.

"What if I am not capable?" So it was natural for Ryan to hesitate. To be afraid, the shadow of fear seemed to be about to engulf his pupils in a darkness without light like the bottom of a well.

"Assuming the worst is not going to help you."

That was the only thing he could offer the man as he went through this. Moral support, and the truth.

After much effort, Ryan managed to get his left arm back to normal. His reward was to fall to his knees, groaning in pain. But normal. What was surprising was that he had continued to speak, albeit barely, with his ribs on the outside.

No, even more so, that he had remained conscious throughout the experiment.

And even now.

Even now he was clinging to consciousness. He may have only had a few loose threads left, but they were there. They were strong enough to keep him fighting.

It became apparent as the ribs began to shrink and return to his insides. The regeneration might be more painful than the wound itself, but at least he was fixing the problem, clenching his fists, biting his tongue and fighting on no matter what, savoring the metallic taste of his own blood, the bitter tears that ran down his cheeks.

Ryan fell to the ground, but even then he remained conscious. Unable to move, surely, but it was still a feat.

Sylvester walked over to him and crouched down beside him. Really the only thing I can offer him, he thought as he put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, is moral support...

"Good job."

And the truth.

2

People took normality for granted.

That's why it was called that.

That's why when something broke it ten out of ten people had no fucking idea what to do. Alfred was certainly no exception to this rule. He wasn't that special.

All he knew was that the whole world had turned upside down. Even the rain was just another obstacle as he trudged through the dense darkness of the night, buildings looked like distant islands floating in the fog and he had the feeling that he would never catch up with anyone or anyone ever again.

The cold, black rain was pulling him down and he could almost feel the fingers of something clinging to his clothes, squeezing his skin.

He had escaped. By the skin of his teeth, but what counted was that he had escaped. But he still couldn't rest easy. Maybe Alfred wouldn't be able to achieve peace of mind for the rest of his life. He had the feeling that if he valued his life he would have to run until his legs could take no more.

It crossed his mind to pay for a cab, but he dismissed such an idea very quickly, it would be wasting too much time. As it was, Alfred couldn't afford to waste a second. At least that was what he thought, his mind shaken by the adrenaline of having avoided sleeping with the fishes by the skin of his teeth.

His legs reached their limit. He leaned a hand on the wall of the alley, trying to breathe properly, but he couldn't, it was almost as if it was something more than tiredness, as if he was missing something, a fundamental piece, yes, yes, something more, something more.

He took a deep breath, he stood up.

He saw the shadow of a person, elongated on the wall, approaching him. Out of pure instinct, he moved forward, trying to get away from the shadow looming over him.

But when he turned around, Alfred knew that it wouldn't have mattered even if he had run into the street with his arms outstretched, screaming for help. That even his attempted escape hadn't mattered at all, things had always been destined to end this way and not any other way.

Because he saw something.

Something.

"Impossible. That..."

A trembling voice. They weren't great last words, but that was all Alfred could say in time.

Before he was turned to mush.

It wasn't a metaphor or an exaggeration. All that was left of him were a few chunks of flesh stuck to the dirty alley wall with his own blood. After such destruction, anyone would have thought that he had been conscientiously run over by a truck or crushed by an elephant.

But the only thing that emerged from the alley was the shadow of a man, dancing in the moonlight that always watched everything impassively.

Human or beast?

Perhaps only the winners had the right to decide that.