After hours of testing, Lothar had been escorted back by three officers to his cell. He had been told to rest and would be in good shape in a few days. Lothar tried to weasel out a few days off graveyard duty, but his arguments fell on deaf ears.

The doctor had made an appointment for later checkups and had informed the guards to treat him as a person with temporary, partial amnesia.

The doctor also scheduled an appointment for him with a psychiatrist, two days from now, who’ll evaluate his mental state again. Lothar wasn’t excited about that. He had an unpleasant history with shrinks.

He tried to think of an excuse to get out of the appointment, but he couldn’t think of anything credible.

Lothar couldn’t tell him he saw a god in his dreams who blasted him with a power worm. Also, assuring the doctor that he was mentally stable and denying the need for an evaluation is something mentally ill people would do, he supposed.

Lothar agreed, and now he sat facing an exhausted-looking Viking.

Lothar ignored him. He wanted to give the journal another glance now that he was past his denial phase.

I don’t even have time for anger.

A plan for the near future would be very helpful, but he was literally stuck in a cage. He only had two ways of gaining knowledge:

Droj and the worm.

He didn’t know, however, where to even begin with the former. Lothar didn’t know about any funds Vols had, so he’ll bury that option for now. He grabbed the notebook again and plopped himself on his bed, reading carefully each word as he munched on his lunch.

.....

Lothar sighed and shut the book. There were only seven entries in the Journal. The last was Vols’ note to Lothar. He forgot about that and unfortunately, Vols was a chatterbox who always went on tangents, losing himself in his thoughts. There were so many unnecessary passages that went on for pages that pointed out things Vols found displeasing.

The man also found the need to write down every detail of every stray thought he had.

Lothar didn’t know if that was stupidity or arrogance, maybe both.

One thing he was intrigued about was the notebook itself.

Vols was only here for a week, so where did he even get the journal from? Did he ask Droj?

Another mystery Lothar faced was the absence of a pen. He looked everywhere inside the cell but couldn’t find one.

How did Vols write?

As he skimmed the pages, he found no sign as to how the man acquired this book, just that he had to hide it.

Guards don’t search the cells. It was a weird protocol that Vols also noted.

Worm, I am getting tired of closing my eye. What the fuck did you do to me?

I thought my sight would go back to normal after a few hours.

Suddenly, a hologram appeared.

....

Name: Vols Chathier (Lothar Ardolf)

Age: 27 years old (E-HS Timeline)

Race: Human (100%)

Soulsignature: None

Bloodline Attributes: None

Class: [???]

Specs (Physical-Raw): Avg= 10

Perception: 10

Strength: 5 - - -

Dexterity: 7

Agility: 5 - - -

Constitution: 6

Intelligence: 10

Specs (Soul): CLOSED until requirements are met.

Skills:

N/A

Source Affiliation: ??

Quests:

1. [Another fish in the pond]

Increase your physical (Raw) Specs until hitting the Calculated Average of your Race.

2. [?????]

....

“A status sc–” he covered his mouth, mid-shock, glancing at the Viking who was thankfully asleep.

Lothar made sure he was calm when he looked at it again. He studied the hologram with a frown that only deepened as he went along.

Does everyone have these?

Does that mean I lose this privilege if I fully merge with you?

Lothar ignored that and then asked,

What with all the Errors in here? Why are my strength and agility showing negative signs?

I see. What about the requirements?

He looked down at his meal from last night, that was left to rot.

Easier said than done.

Lothar sighed and rubbed his face.

My eye, worm. I don’t see an answer to that problem.

Bloody hell. Your fucking god should have nudged my numbers higher when he was busy ripping me from my life.

Right, sure. What about the source affiliation? It’s just question marks, why is Tink not there?

Bull. You are inside me–Well, that sounded off. I meant you were part of Tink and you’re here now. He called me his Proxy.

<… Any proof of Tink’s meddling is sensitive information. There are many people who can easily extract these informations while you’re still weak. It’s just precaution measures.>

They have to go through you, though. You’re still part god, I think. There are easier, and more mundane, ways to extract information from someone. You don’t need a powerful–That’s not it, is it?

To his surprise, the worm didn’t deny it. His mood soured at its words.

You don’t trust me. I can easily turn my back on you and tell the world about your god, but no one will believe the laments of a crazy man who has no class or source affiliation.

They are insensitive bastards. They were the ones who took him from his home and given him impossible odds to work with. The least they could do was pretend they care about what he thought.

I’m about as tired of this shitshow as you can get. I need to have a conversation with your god.

I don’t care! Why should I even listen to that bastard? You said you were not part of him anymore. That means he can’t take away my system. He can’t enter this world either, so as I see it, you should be the one listening to me.

The worm didn’t reply immediately. It let Lothar bask in an angry silence until agony blindsided him. He let out a silent scream in protest, grabbing his head like he’s afraid it’ll burst, and fiercely glared at nothing.

The pain vanished as quickly as it came, leaving dull throbbings in its wake.

You son of a bitch

Lothar cut the telepathic connection between them. It came easily enough. He just had to not focus on communicating with it.

He felt queazy, braindead, and most of all tired.

“You’ve been doing all kinds of weird things this morning.”

Lothar sighed. He really hated having an open cell.

“I’ve just had a shitty day.” he replied dryly.

“So you bang your head until it cracks open? Hate to see what you do on the really shitty days.”

Lothar let out a humorless huff “I thought you are a man of few words.”

“Words lose their meanings when you use them on idiots”

“Ah,” he sighed and nodded, “so you got a stick up your ass.”

Lothar caught the barest twitch of a smile on his face.

“It’s almost sun time.” He continued.

The Viking pinched the bridge of his nose and then got up “You up for dealing with them?”

“With who?” Lothar responded.

“The ones who have been bothering you lately.”

“I need you to explain more. I’ve hit my head a bit too well.”

“You’re amnesiac?” the man hesitated as if tasting the words before saying them.

“partially, temporarily. I don’t remember the name of my favorite box of cereals, let alone whose asshole I pissed in.”

The Viking snorted “The asshole you’ve pissed in belongs to Dickins and he’s been here long enough to know Ronny’s supplier. Better watch out.”

Lothar frowned. He just couldn’t understand how Vols had gotten enemies so early. He remembered Ronny as the abnormally strong kid and paled. boosters?

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New problems seem to arise before he could even process the last ones. He still hasn’t made terms with the fact that he got shipped away, express style, to another world.

“Why you’re helping me?”

Viking gave him a stupid look “Helping? I just told you the obvious. Don’t think I’ll fight your battles just cause we’re neighbors.”

He looked at the still visible status screen.

“Don’t worry, I’m not as weak as I look.”

He had a few questions, so he begrudgingly asked the worm.

How much could he dump points in Strength before it maxed out? Do Soulbounds get the same side effects as regulars from boosters?

You mean aging?

What you’re saying is that technically speaking, Soulbounds are immortal.

He wanted to ask more, but the incoming footsteps stopped him.

“Sun time.” The Viking whispered, his eyes glittering, as the guards barged in on them.

He immediately ripped his tank top beneath the overalls and wrapped the cloth around his left eye. The Viking raised an eyebrow but did not comment, which Lothar was thankful for.

As they led them out, he studied his surrounding, as discreetly as possible.

Lothar was memorizing the corridors and path to freedom.

He cast his eye on Ronny, the only guard who seemed content doing their job.

Lothar thought he looked to be younger than he was, but he might be wrong. There was no particular trait, tattoo, or mark that made the guard stand out, except for his neatly shaped mustache and wide belly.

They passed 6 access points, each barred door was opened automatically without keys. There was another door to his right which had a small, high window. Lothar could barely peek inside if he stood on his toes. He caught sight of bulky output monitors showing black and white videos, with two officers staring at them.

He wasn’t an engineer by any means, but he found the technology to be around two decades older than earth's. That didn’t strike him as a big surprise, but he assumed with magic, technology would have been more advanced here.

He thought back to his home and the factors that slowed technology’s evolution the most. He came up with only two answers; Religion and War.

He knew nothing about the first one, but maybe wars were more common and long-lasting on this earth than back home. There were many races, so that would explain it.

They finally reached the last door to the outside. The sun peeked shyly from behind the window and Lothar had to squint at its brightness. Warm tendrils wrapped around him, leaving goosebumps all over his arms.

He smiled and raised a hand to cover his eye. He missed the sky.

“Move, half-wit.” he was shoved aside by a stubby guy with a goatee. He flipped him off and walked towards the benches, choosing a seat not stained by bird poop.

The prisoners formed cliques, each doing something in the open space. There were basketball hoops and balls, bars that some used for calisthenics, and many seating areas.

The open area was surrounded by barbed wire and reinforced metal fences that almost reached six meters high. Outside was an empty highway with a forest behind.

The latter was a monstrosity. Pine trees covered its peripheral, towering over sixty meters and stacked too close to each other.

It surrounded them from all sides and went on as far as he could see.

“Scholar, without notebook today?” Droj said as he walked up to him. His red hair looked as untamed as ever, his scar uglier than he remembered.

“No, I decided I want to socialize today.”

So he chose to sit alone.

Vols’ small notebook was tucked away inside his overalls. He didn’t trust Vols’ information on the guards’ searching tours, so he felt better having it with him.

Lothar thought back to what he told him in the locker rooms. He needed a phone and Wi-Fi access.

“The guards Don’t search the cells, I heard. Would make it easier for smugglers to fatten their pockets.” Lothar motioned for Droj to take a seat, which he did.

“They do, just once a month. They’re way too underpaid and under-manned. Plus, they’ve hung little cameras around, already cost them fortune.”

So the implementation of CCTVs in prisons is also new in this society.

“If you don’t feed your dog enough, it’ll find a different owner.”, He mumbled.

Droj picked his teeth with his long pinky nail, spitting now and then on the table between them. Lothar took his elbows off it.

“Dogs will wait years before changing owners. Those bastards flushed badges down drainer the second they got them” Droj said.

“It’s easier for us at least. Dickins and his cronies especially” He shot back.

It was a gamble—he knew it, and might probably blow in his face, but what else could he do?

Droj raised an eyebrow while Lothar kept his face stoic, impressing even himself.

“Dickins is half-fag. A junkie who likes to eat at others’ tables. Coward like him doesn’t deal with guards”

“A half fag?” He wondered

Droj smiled "Yes, a man who likes half men. A half-fag.”

Lothar’s eyes widened in realization, “which half men?”

“Hairy ones. Has whole collection of posters ‘round his cell. My buddy shares one with him, poor bastard.”

“Is–is that even biologically possible?”

Droj let out a guttural laugh “Humans have been fucking dogs before wolves came.”

That’s true, Lothar supposed. Droj had said ‘came’, which meant werewolves weren’t initially from here. He wondered where they came from. Were they like him?

He needed a damned phone so he can find out.

His eyes refocused on Droj who had been eyeing him weirdly. He panicked, wondering if he let something slip. He almost forgot he was dealing with criminals. People who already crossed the line once.

“So the rumors were true.” Lothar realized the foreigner was looking at the scar on his forehead and his eyepatch.

“Word spreads quickly here.” His voice came out indifferent.

Lothar cursed inwardly. He didn’t want to be known as the mad guy who bashed his head against the wall. He needed credibility to do business.

“I had to get to the doctor’s, had nothing sharp in my cell.” he continued, hoping it would clear things out.

Lothar was surprised by Droj’s sudden smile.

“Why you telling me this? You think I care about every joe’s situation upstairs?” He tapped his temple with emphasis.

Lothar shrugged, “I believe–

He was abruptly caught off by the rough slam of a hand on his shoulder.

“Who’s you?” The dark-skinned man with the goatee smiled down at him. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

The new guy was provoking him. His hand tightened on Lothar’s shoulder.

Lothar stood up, knocked the man’s hand off then put his out, “Vols Chathier, you?” A diplomatic approach was the only way to ease whatever that man’s problem with Lothar was.

The guy eyed his hand and ignored it.

“Schlatt! Come here. We were just talking about you.” Droj patted the seat next to him.

“We were?” Both of them sat back.

“Yeah, that’s the one who shares a cell with Dickins.”

Lothar gave him his full attention.

“Mind telling me what’s his beef with me?”

Schlatt ignored him, looking at Droj.

“You heard about the incoming inspection? I swear to the devil, the warden is shoving his hand so far up the administration’s ass to find the funds to hire those occult freaks. what’s up with him, anyway? This is regular territory.”

“They’re spooked and Al ain’t responsible for it. It isn’t inspection, dumbass, it’s interrogation. Fanes crossed line with their little experiments.”

“Agents playing judges? I call bullshit. They’re more familiar with their guillotines than their mothers. Why now?” Schlatt suddenly turned to Lothar, black eyes fixed on him with an intense look.

“Did Levi tell you anything?” He asked.

Lothar cursed inwardly. Seems like Schlatt heard their conversation and now thinks the doctor is an informant.

“About this agent business? No.” Lothar didn’t even understand what they were talking about.

Schlatt scoffed, “Fine, keep your secrets.”

He stood up and clasped a hand on Droj’s shoulder “I need more of that thing you got me last time. What’s your price?”

Lothar perked up “Same as before. Don’t forget about tax.”

Schlatt grumbled, “You really like your tax.”

Droj smiled “What can I say? I love capitalism.”

.....

Dear journal,

This is my first entry for the lengthy time I will stay here.

My first thought as I write these words is that the smells here are putrid. I understand how tightly budgeted regulars’ penitentiaries are, but hiring a cleaning company to sweep this place once a month should not be too riské.

The hours blended at first, but I would chalk that up to my constant sleeping. There just wasn’t anything else to do at first. My habit of escapism seemed to come in handy here as people avoided me like I’m a Vampyre child during a blood moon.

The most interesting part of my routine is the graveyard shifts. I do admit I was shocked when I first went there. I was briefed on the place before, but it was different from what I imagined. The fanes used werewolves mostly as their lab rats, from what I gathered, after upgrading from animals.

I believe they chose them because of three factors: The Trinity forest that surrounds this place, Roana city, and their anatomy. They are the closest to human anatomy.

Roana city is a hub of crime and degeneracy, even the stray cats there are not innocent. Whatever supplies they need to conduct these experiments will definitely be from that disgusting cesspool.

Sources do I hate that place! I spent one–Just one night and have been robbed twice!

Anyway, I believe I will find more clues soon. For now, I will focus on figuring out how these things are being killed and where they’re ending up. How big do you have to dig a hole to bury hundreds of corpses? Or thousands? Who knew?

What about the council? I have seen many werewolves, so how did the Trinity tribe not figure out where their missing are going?

Are they in on it too?

.....