#728501

"No, but I am!" He taps her nose with a gentle touch. "Yer laugh is adorable."

501 smiles. “You don’t act like a Guard Dog. And that’s fucking amazing.”

"Because I'm not a dog. I may be treated like one, aye, but look at me. I'm a scoundrel," he chuckles. "Ye are amazing too. Don't think ye aren't. Ye are smilin' an' laughin'!" He tilts her head up with a finger under her chin. "If you ever get sad, remember ol' Cas and think of this moment, aye?"

“But I’m a dog.” She looks up at Cas, biting her lip. “I’m their pet. Means I’m not amazing. Means I’m not what you think I am.”

"No, ye are human. Ye are yerself and that is what makes ye special." Cas keeps his eyes on her and smiles sadly. "Ye are right. Ye are not what I think ye are. Ye. Are. More. I can't give ye meaning because ye are already so meaningful. And I promise that no matter how much time passes, I won't forget ye, yer laugh, or yer warmth."

“You’ve known me for five minutes,” 501 grumbles. “How can you be so sure?”

"Would you forget me in the five minutes ye’ve known me?" He retorts with a tilt of his head and a grin. "Also I'm sure because I can read people well enough to know ye are greater than even me."

“I’m worried that they’ll make me forget,” she whispers. “You’re the only person to have shown kindness to me since I woke up…here. I’m not better than you. I’m not better than anyone. I don’t matter.” Still, she buries herself further into the blankets and Cas’s arms.

"And I'll be there to remind ye hopefully... to make ye remember that there is good," he breathes out, his eyes softening so much for her. He truly does care for her in the short time he has known her. He holds her tighter and makes sure to keep her warm. "Ye matter. Yer life is precious. One of a kind just like me. And yer soul... is brighter than a supernova."

“I don’t believe you. What—“ She nervously twists around a piece of her hair. “What do you want from me in return for this?”

The question throws him for a spin. "What do ye mean? Like... a price for me kindness?" He is confused but he shakes his head. "I want ye to smile and laugh more. That's all. And if that isn't possible... hope. Hope that life will get better."

“I don’t have a life. I live to serve my owner.” 501 cringes at her own words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s normally…a price.”

"Not for me. Me affection is free and true. Genuine. I'd never sway ye like that for sadistic amusement. Plus, hugs and cuddles are awesome!" He cackles, trying to cheer her up. "Those are their words, not yers. Ye don’t really want to serve anyone."

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I fucked up again, didn’t I?”

"No, ye did what ye were taught. I can't be upset. I'm more saddened by it," he answers her in an even tone. He knows better than to truly be upset. "It's okay. Ye are safe with me."

“You’re too nice to me.” She hums and closes her eyes, leaning fully against Cas.

"And ye are too wonderful not to be nice to." He can protect her if it means fighting a handler. That is what they wanted right? He is non violent until something in his head clicked to protect. He can defend her until he can't. "Ye look tired... go to sleep. If ye want I could sing or hum a lullaby me mother sang to me–- at least I think she did." He can’t remember his mother. He knows he has one, or maybe had one. The song is still there. They can’t take it away from him. He still has his music to keep him company.

“Okay, sounds…sounds nice. I’ll try not to wake up screaming.”

Cas lets her get comfortable in his arms as his eyes finally settle on the door. He won’t let them hurt her... "Shhh, just breathe and let the waves of sleep take ye, lil lamb." He quietly hums a bit before his melodic voice takes over, his thumb rubbing against her shoulder rhythmically.

When he’s got 501 out of her clothes, his eyes go wide. “Holy fuck.” 501’s got some scars on her, some injuries that he didn’t find during intake, hidden by that stupid baggy shirt she was wearing when he grabbed her. She’s only been at WRU for two days, not long enough for all the marks to heal, and certainly not long enough for some of these scars to fade. 

“What?” Analyn asks. 

Greco gives her a long look. “You can come see, but don’t get too handsy.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t want to get too close to the fucking mutt,” Analyn says, walking back over. “Holy shit.”

Greco smirks. “Told you. Alright, let’s get this started before she wakes up and starts trying to bite. Hands are—”

“Start from the head and work down,” Analyn says. “Head, neck, torso, arms, legs.”

He glares at her. “Fine.” He turns all of his attention back to the pet on the table, reaching out to push her brown hair out of her face with his gloved hands, already planning her next punishment. “Tiny, tiny scar on her right temple. Practically unnoticeable.”

“Got it,” Analyn says. 

“Nose is crooked by…not much. Maybe half a degree. Shouldn’t be noticeable to any perspectives. Hell, I think it gives the kid some character.”

“Leave the personal comments out of it,” Analyn says. 

Greco rolls his eyes. Analyn Reyes is a good Guard Dog Handler, but she’s all protocol, no fun. Doesn’t bend the rules, not even with something like 501. The rules are meant to be broken when it comes to a feral, gorgeous mutt like her. “Faint scar on cheekbone, bruise on jaw,” he calls out. “My girl’s a spitfire.”

“Your girl is going to be a fucking menace, based on what you’ve told me so far.” Analyn taps her pen against the clipboard. “Need me to take the collar off so you can look at her neck?”

“No. I saw it when she came in. There’s nothing there.”

“You mean when you had her tied to a chair for days trying to see to see if she would break.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Greco murmurs, tracing his fingers across the trainee’s shoulders, admiring the strong muscles there. “I’m going to make her crumble into a million different pieces so I can be the one to tape her back together.” He pulls his hand away, only to slap her across the face. 

Analyn makes a face, seemingly annoyed. “Next thing?”

“Worried she’s going to wake up?” He shoots her a smug smirk. “I want to see what the kid was hiding from me during intake. All the damage that this body has taken.” He runs his gloved hands down her torso, lingering on a wicked two inch long scar, tiny dots from stitches on either side. “Well, hello there,” he says, running his hand over where the scar divots into her skin. “Kid got stabbed.”

Analyn looks over. “Seems like it.”

Greco’s eyes lock back onto the sleeping face of 501. “What else are you hiding, Marlow?”

“728501,” Analyn corrects. 

“Does it matter? I like knowing her name. Makes it so much better looking at her now.”

“Anything else on the torso?”

“Relax, Analyn.” Greco puts his thumb against 501’s lip, parting them. “I think she’d look amazing with some metal fangs.”

“Greco. Irrelevant.”

Greco shrugs. “Not to me.” He pulls his finger away from her lips, tracing her arms. “Few faint scars on the arms, looks to be shallow knife wounds. Her knuckles are bruised, but I guess I already knew that.”

Analyn makes the notes quickly, and Greco moves onto her legs. “A few various knife wounds on the legs. Nothing much. But damn. She’s muscular.”

“Already knew that.” Analyn frowns. “Flip her over.”

Greco eases his arms underneath the sleeping trainee and rolls her onto her stomach. What he sees makes him stop in his tracks, makes anger cloud his vision, his mind roaring with thunder. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Oh, *shit.*” Analyn keeps tapping her pencil against the clipboard. “How…”

501 has a massive bruise spanning most of her back, a combination of purple and angry red, swollen up from her skin. Greco gingerly reaches his hand to touch it, feeling how warm it is. It’s almost like 501 was attacked by a wild animal, thrown into the wall over and over again. If she hadn’t been walking this morning, Greco would have assumed something was broken. 

“How did this happen?” Analyn asks, her voice hushed. 

Greco’s still trying to figure that himself, running through all possible options in his head. It couldn’t have happened today, he hasn’t left his girl alone—

He went home last night and left her under Handler Robinson’s care. “That *bitch,*” he hisses, pulling out his phone and calling her. 

“What?” She answers in a bored tone. 

“What the fuck did you do to my dog?”

“She jumped at me. So I had one of my trainees teach her a fucking lesson.”

“No. Fuck that. She could beat the shit out of all your trainees.” Greco’s vision is going red at the edges, he can barely breathe. “Tell me the truth, Analyn, or I swear to fuck…” Greco’s got plenty of influence around here, just as much as Willow, but he has more…connections than her. 

“I’m telling you the truth. I had one of my trainees use her back as a punching bag while she was tied up and muzzled.”

“Who gave you permission to do that to her?”

“I have seniority over you, Greco. And she’s fine.” 

The line goes dead, and Greco stares at his phone, seething. “That bitch.”

Analyn snickers. “She had it coming.”

Greco stares at her “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll note this in the injury report.”

“The bitch mutt fucking hid this from me, too.” Greco grabs 501 by the back of her hair and yanks her head back. “Oh, kid. I’m going to teach you one hell of a lesson when you wake up.”

“I’ll forward this information over,” Analyn says. 

“And find out which one of Willow’s mutts did this to my girl.”

She gives him the middle finger. “Do I look like your fucking secretary? Figure it out yourself.” With that, she walks out of the room, leaving Greco alone with 501. 

He begins carefully redressing her. “I didn’t want anyone else to touch you,” he murmurs into her ear, not caring that she can’t hear him. “Those mutts are nothing like you. They’re worthless.”

Marlow Lancaster. 728501. Greco wants to ruin both. 

“I’m going to give you purpose, kid.” Greco grabs a muzzle, fastening it to 501’s face. “And I’m going to show you that you should never fucking lie to me like that. You tell me everything. Even if I don’t ask.”

It’s funny, how innocent she looks in her slumber. Like a true eighteen year old, barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink. But she’s not human. She’s a vicious, bloodthirsty mutt. 

“If you’re extra good—“ He runs his hand through her hair. “I’ll let you really fuck up the dog that hurt you. Wish you could hear me right now, kid. You’re mine. Understand? Mine.”

It’s laughable that she thought she could go to college. Something with so much potential shouldn’t bother with that.

“Well, at least Greco’s doing his job,” Dennison says. 

James frowns and looks down at his shoes, noticing a bright smear of red blood across the polished leather. “You can kiss his ass while he’s getting Employee of the Month. I’m over here trying to make sure 501 doesn’t kill me.”

“Stop bitching. You know what she needs? To be thrown around. Show her that she’s not as tough as she thinks. We’ve been treating her like she gets all this extra shit because she’s oh-so cool and tough. Kick her around.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past week?”

“Try harder.”

James waves his hand at Dennison. “Go fuck off to vanilla Romantic land and enjoy your trainees who don’t actively try to kill you.”

With Dennison gone, James steps back inside the training room and locks the door. He turns to look at the girl kneeling on her floor. 

There’s a pole in the center of the room. Her arms are tied behind it, her torso is lashed to the metal with thick rope. Her calves are tied to her thighs, and each ankle is tied to the pole, forcing them to spread slightly. A thick leather muzzle covers the bottom half of her face, and the bit is cutting into her gums and making small drops of blood slip out from under the muzzle. She growls at James as he approaches. 

James laughs. “Can’t say you don’t deserve this. Don’t try to talk, it’s useless.” He crosses the room and sits down in a chair across from the pet. “You’re a Romantic now. Not a Guard Dog. Nod if you understand that.”

501 pauses for a minute, then jerkily dips her head down. 

“Good.” James leans forward. His phone buzzes in his pants pocket, a reminder to call his mom and thank her for sending over the photo album of their recent beach trip. But for now, all his attention is on the girl in front of him. 

Not really a girl, more of a mutt. An animal. Soon, a pet. She won’t be calling her mom tonight. The only photos taken of her will be from her owner, if he wants. James hopes they’re humiliating. He hopes 501 suffers. 

501 snaps at him, lurching against her restraints. 

It dawns on him all of a sudden, fast and overwhelming and delicious. “Oh, wow.” James taps his fingers against the arm of the chair and smiles. “What’s going on with you, 501?”

She makes a pathetic, muffled noise and lurches forward again. 

“You want me to touch you, pretty thing?” he asks. “Want me to hurt you? Cause that’s what you’re made to do, right? Take punches for your owner? Like a Guard Dog.” This revelation is life changing. She’s a natural, a natural masochist. Wonderful. 

501 nods, trying to yank herself free. 

“Yeah, no. Here’s what’s going to happen instead: I’m gonna leave you here, just like this. I’m not going to hurt you, 501. I’m not going to do anything. I’m just going to walk away.”

The pet’s eyes widen with shock. Her fear is palpable in the room and James drinks it up. He loves his job, man. He loves his fucking job. He stands up from his chair, circling the girl. Each attempt to free herself only makes the ropes tighter. He squats down, studying 501’s green eyes, brown hair. “Hunter was right. You are a pretty one. Guess I understand why he wanted you as a Romantic.”

501 takes a deep breath, as much as she can with the muzzle. Her head tilts to the side like she’s sizing James up. 

James chuckles. “Little natural masochist. That’s so cute.” He gets closer to 501, a mere inch from her face, and 501’s breathing is hitching and growling. “Good thing that’s what your prospective wants. But I can tell, you know. You like it, pretty thing. You like when me or Greco beats the shit out of you, don’t you? Maybe it’s cause you were a Guard Dog, it was your job. Or you’re just my little masochist.”

501 shakes her head. 

James pushes down his anger to study the trainee again. He likes to find out what his trainees are really thinking and use it against them. 501, she’s not the easiest to read, but James is good at his job. She’s confused. She’s scared. And she really, really doesn’t want to be here.

Not all trainees come of their own free will. 

And she only wants to be hit if it’s in a real fight, if she can hit back and go home afterwards. 

She’s never going home. She doesn’t even remember her home. 

James leans forward and kisses her, right on the muzzle. His lips leaves a wet spot on the matte leather. 

501 makes a horrible, strangled sound and thrashes her head back. Her skull makes a hollow sound as it strikes the pole she’s tied to. 

“You’re a Romantic,” James says, standing up. “You’ll need to get used to much worse than that.”

A single tear slides down 501’s face, melting into the muzzle. 

“You can try and be tough as much as you want.” James sits back down at his desk. “But it’s not gonna work. You’ll break for me. I’ll take all that useless anger rattling around in that empty head and turn it into something productive. Only one thing that you’re useful for, pet.” James delights in the shudder that rolls over 501. “You’re gonna sit there until you’re good and ready for me. And then we’ll start.”

James turns his chair to his desk. He likes having a trainee whimpering in the background, no matter how quiet. It helps him focus. He takes one last look at the wet spot on 501’s muzzle before opening his laptop. Fucking perfect. The feral ones are fun to break, 

He opens his laptop to an email reminding him about the confidentiality of 728501’s contract. 

Not all trainees come of their own free will.

“Let me go,” 501 rasps out, her voice subdued but her eyes blazing. “Let me go home.” She had a home once, she remembers, and it was…red? Maybe? It was in a building, two bedrooms, she can’t remember the word for it, and there were people there with her, but she can’t remember their faces. 

“You don’t have a home until a prospective buys you. You know that, 501, stop being such an idiot.” Handler Greco leans down to pull the animal control pole off 501’s neck. 

501’s hands are already restrained behind her back with rough leather cuffs, Handler Greco grabs onto the chain connecting them and uses it to throw 501 into a cage in the corner. “You’re going in sensory dep for a long time, mutt. That’s what happens to bad pets.”

“Not a bad pet,” 501 says, taking deep breaths. “I’m a person. I’m a person.”

“No. You’re not. You’re a Guard Dog. You’re an object for your owner. You’re the one in a cage right now. And you’re about to be locked away in a cage with no sight, sound, taste, nothing. I think I can see which one of us is the person here.” Handler Greco squats next to her, running his hand through 501’s hair. “Don’t get me wrong, 501, you’re a good Guard Dog.”

Traitorous pride surges through 501. 

“I’m serious. You’re talented. You’re good at telling how people are going to move, how they’ll attack. And you can use that against them. But you need to learn who you’re supposed to hurt. It’s not me, baby girl. It’s not me, or any of the other handlers.”

501 is completely tense, all of her muscles locked as Handler Greco pats her. 

“You don’t understand,” 501 whispers, a tear building in her eye. 

“What don’t I understand?”

“I have these…these things in my head, memories, and I wanna go back to them.” 501 sniffles. She’s tense.

“It’s false memories from the training. There’s nothing for you to go back to.”

Using the built up tension, 501 springs forward, slamming her head against Handler Greco’s face. I don’t have fake fucking memories. I had a real life. This can’t be fake. His nose cracks, blood spills into 501’s hair. She slides back, but Handler Greco doesn’t wait a second to hit 501 in the face with his baton. 

501 grunts with the blow and falls to her side, back in the cage. 

“You fucking bitch!” Handler Greco yells. “That’s it! I’m gonna put you in the fucking hood and leave you until you’re a fucking corpse. You’re gonna die from the silence! Jesus!”

501’s eyes go wide with panic when she sees Greco coming at her with the hood. “No, no, please, please don’t do it, please don’t let me die—” I can’t, it can’t go this way, I want to live, I have to, I have to get out of here.

“It’s too fucking late, 501. Stay still.”

501 would fight back if she could, but paralyzing fear keeps her still for Handler Greco to put the hood on.

There’s nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, even her mouth is devoid of taste. Hands are on her, maybe the last she’ll ever feel, putting a gag back on.

501 cries and it’s soaked up into the hood, she doesn’t even get to feel that. 

There’s nothing. 

She’s going to die like this, alone and trapped and a useless fucking Guard Dog. This is worse than physical pain, she’d take that over this any day. She would rather be whipped than sit here with her stupid broken head. 

Her memories are fake. There wasn’t a before. It’s just 501, and eventually, whatever her owner wants to call her. 

She wanted this. 

She’s good at this. 

It’s too late to beg. 

501 looks a nightmare. Her entire body is a purple bruise, her limbs are so bruised and ruined and look inhuman sticking out of her hospital gown. Her face is so swollen that she’s barely recognizable as herself. Leather straps encircle her wrists, ankles, calves, thighs, waist, biceps, neck, and forehead, keeping her pinned to the bed. A wire muzzle is tightly strapped over her face so she doesn’t bite. 

Greco sits down next to her, stroking her hair out of her face. “They told me you still have at least a week before you’re out of here.”

501 whines. 

“I know, kid. But I’m proud of you, you know?” He gently scratches behind her ear, and she leans into the touch. “You did a good job. You protected me.”

That feral Guard Dog that came at him during combat training cold have killed him. Instead, 501 jumped out in front of the dog, shielding Greco. He almost beat her to death until his primary was able to shock him into unconsciousness. 501 saved Greco, whether she meant to or not.

Their peace and quiet, Greco carefully petting 501 and her humming underneath his hand, only lasts a moment before 501 goes rigid, watching Greco like a cornered animal. 

Greco sighs. “Yeah, you’re too smart for this. Sorry, 501. It’s nothing personal.”

She cries out, a pained, pathetic yelp, and thrashes in her restraints. The heart monitor starts beating faster. 

“Settle,” Greco says. “I’ve just got one thing to test. Then you don’t have to see me for a week.” He likes her better like this, he likes 501 better than the girl that used to occupy that body. Still a feral little shit, though.

He places his hand over her bandaged one. “You were so good for me today. Really, 501. You’re going to be so good for your owner. Pretty little Guard Dog.”

She stops moving, the heart monitor slows, and she looks up at him weakly, begging with her eyes. 

Greco squeezes her hand in an attempt to reassure her. “Yeah. You’re good, kid. You’re good.” Some days he’s softer with her, he calls her kid, he doesn’t leave her in a puddle of her own blood but cleans her off in the shower and makes sure the other handlers don’t stare at her lustfully. He’s finally able to take all of her anger and hone it, she’s finally being good. 

She fights back, she swears, she bites, but at the same time, she’s his favorite trainee. Out of everyone he’s had, she’s his favorite. And he doesn’t know how to feel about that, considering how she got here. 

“Stay still, trainee,” Greco says, pulling a syringe out. The murky liquid shimmers under the harsh lights. 

501 whimpers, her hands clenching into fists. 

“Don’t make me get a full team in here, 501. They’ll make you still for me in ways you won’t like.” Greco takes the cap off and flicks the syringe to dispel any air bubbles. He can’t quite remember the contents. A paralytic, a hallucinogenic, maybe some pain inducers, definitely the fever inducers, something else that he can’t remember. Regardless, there’s a lot of potent drugs in there. 501 is going to be fucked up for a while.

This doesn’t go on the record. He’s made enough friends that everyone will look away when they see that drugs were taken with no supporting documentation. The nurses will keep 501 sequestered while she comes off it. All because Greco really wants to see what it’ll do, if he can threaten her with that again. .

For a brief second, Greco thinks, no wonder she’s so fucked up, if this is what she gets for good behavior. He’ll make a note in his records, though: positive reinforcement provided through verbal affirmations. 

Not using positive reinforcement can really mess a trainee up, and any handlers who don’t document positive reinforcement for good behavior can get investigated by internal affairs. 

But 501 can handle it, she’s a tough girl. 

She looks so scared and sad like this, her eyes wide, Greco could almost forget she’s a trained killer. 

If it wasn’t for the bite marks on his forearm. 

“You’re good,” he says again, grabbing her elbow and turning it over. “You’re good, 501.”

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training. Trainees who demonstrate good behavior should be given only positive reinforcement in the form of verbal affirmations, food, sleep, physical touch, and breaks from intensive training. Under no circumstances should a trainee be punished during the first twelve hours after good behavior. If a punishment is delivered, the trainee will begin to see good behavior and bad behavior as having the same result, so the trainee will act out more. 

Straight out of the fucking handbook. 

501 doesn’t cry when Greco stabs the needle into her arm and pushes the plunger down. He’s only seen her cry twice: when she wasn’t 501, but the girl before, tied to a chair in an interrogation room, and the sixth night of her training when she was resting. He peeked his head into her room and there she was, muzzled and curled up on a mat, tears silently streaming down her face. He never found out why.

Greco discards the syringe in a biohazard box and steps back from her. A small drop of blood wells up from the injection sight, he doesn’t bother wiping it away. Greco dists in the corner of the room. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Only for an hour or just enough to get a good video of 501’s suffering. It won’t be very interesting watching her scream for hours and hours. 

“I don’t know how long it’ll take to sink in.” Greco chuckles. “Hell, I don’t even know half the shit I just gave you.”

501 makes a soft noise of fear and desperation. 

“No. The muzzle stays on, you know this, 501.”

Already the girl has stopped moving, stopped shifting around. 

“Paralytic kicked in first,” Greco notes. “Interesting.” 

501 makes another sad noise. 

“I’m sorry, 501, I told you that it’s not personal.” 

After another ten minutes, the heart monitor picks up again and a sheen of sweat is covering her body. “Are you in pain?” Greco asks as he scrolls through his phone. 

He gets a high-pitched whine in response. 

“Yeah, well, it’s only going to get worse,” he mutters. 

And it does, and 501 is left screaming into her muzzle so hard it leaves bruises for weeks. 

Positive reinforcement paired with punishments or negative reinforcement is proven to be detrimental to the wellbeing of a trainee and further success of training.

“Feisty.” Greco throws the bucket in the corner and picks up a file folder. “Name: Marlow Lancaster. Age: 18, almost 19. Happy early birthday. Occupation: college student and amateur fighter. Lives with Bea Fitzgerald. Only known associates include Fitzgerald and Finn Kapoor. About to fail out of college. Damn.” He closes the file. “You’ve got quite the story to tell.”

“Why am I here?” Marlow asks. Her voice is—remarkably—calm. “Why did you kidnap me?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We didn’t kidnap you. We just have a few questions, that’s all.” Greco leans against the wall. “You act like we—” “What, drugged me? Put me in a white van? Tied me to a chair and dumped water on me?” Marlow rolls her neck. “If you let me go, I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise. It’ll be like it never happened.”

Greco ignores her, pacing the room. “Ms. Lancaster, we have reason to believe that you acquired confidential WRU materials last night. However, upon an inspection of your bag, we weren’t able to find what we were looking for.” “That’s because it’s not in there,” Marlow snaps, lurching forward. “Whatever you want, I don’t have it! I just want to go home! Fuck!”

“Settle down there,” Greco says, pulling his baton from his belt. “You’re acting awfully defensive for someone who’s innocent.”

“Because you drugged me!” Marlow slumps back against the wall. “You fucking drugged me.”

“Well, you are, apparently, a very talented fighter, according to Bo. You wouldn’t have come on your own.” Greco approaches her, circling like a tiger stalking his prey. 

Shit. They know about Bo. “Because I shouldn’t be here.” Marlow’s voice cracks. “Please. You have the wrong person.”

Greco raises his arm and slams the baton into Marlow’s stomach. 

She doubles over, coughing, but keeps her noise of pain stifled. “You’re…you’re going to have to try harder than that,” she huffs out. 

Greco tilts his head, analyzing her. “You took that better than I thought. But I haven’t even turned the power on. I’ll give you, oh, four more warning strikes before I take this to the next level.”

Marlow stares at the back wall. She’s not giving anything up, not to this bastard, not when that redhead kid is on the line. 

Greco brings the baton down again, this time on her thighs. Marlow grits her teeth and breathes out through her nose. She’s taken worse hits before, she can handle this. 

“I don’t think you understand the depths of the mess you’re in,” Greco says. “I know you have it.”

“I don’t have your stupid fucking USB!” Marlow screams. 

Greco grins. “I never said it was a USB.”

Shit. Fuck. She messed up, she’s in for it now. “N-no, you said it was a USB.”

“Bullshit. You have it. That means you have it.”

“Fine,” Marlow growls. “I don’t have it. I never had it. I saw the drive. Not what’s on it. Just the drive with the WRU logo.”

“We’ve talked to people. Rico at the ring. Yeah, Lancaster, don’t look so surprised. I did my fucking research. And your Professor. He’s terribly worried about you, by the way. It would be a shame if I gave him good reason to worry.”

Her mouth goes dry, she shifts around. “If you hurt him, I swear to god, I’ll kill you. I’ve killed before, don’t think I can’t do it.”

“I know. That’s why you’re tied up.” Greco gently rests the baton on the girl’s shoulder. “I didn’t hurt your precious professor. Three hits left, Marlow, be wise about this.”

“Go fuck yourself,” she spits. 

The baton swings across, striking horizontally across her shoulderblades. She lets it knock her forward a little bit, testing the strength of her restraints. She won’t be able to break free, not with her arms twisted behind her so unnaturally. 

“Two,” Greco says. “You’re taking this well. You won’t when I start shocking the shit out of you. Just tell me where the USB is. And this all ends.”

“Holy…” She winces. “Holy shit, dude, I knew handlers were stupid, but I didn’t think you would be this dumb. I don’t have the fucking USB. I didn’t even see what was on it.”

Handler Greco hits her in the face. Her cheek is on fire, she jerks in the restraints as blood trickles down onto her shirt. “One left. This is an exercise in futility, Lancaster. You and I both know that.”

“I’m not telling you shit.” There’s a redhead kid somewhere, maybe with some horrible owner. She needs to stop this. Hell, that could have been her. “Hit me, you dumb motherfucker. Fucking hit me!”

The baton slams into her abdomen again. All she does is close her eyes and shake her head slightly. She can make it through this. She has to make it through this. 

“That was your last chance. Come on, kid. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me turn this on.”

“I’m not making you…” Marlow pauses to catch her breath. “I’m not making you do anything. Please, believe me. I don’t have your USB. I just want to go home.”

Greco sighs. “I’m going to find it eventually. If I spend more than ten minutes going through your bag, I’ll find wherever you’ve hidden it. I think you and I both know that, too, so I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“You’re not going to win. I don’t have your USB.” And I’m not letting you hurt anyone else.

Greco flips a switch on the handle of the baton and it cracks to life. “Fine.”

The baton cracks down on her body, sending shocks through her entire nervous system, and she holds on as long as she can, but trying to keep her screams deep inside is exhausting work, and Marlow passes out. 

***

Time isn’t marked in this room. The lights don’t change, she’s being starved. Marlow’s only gotten two breaks from sitting in this chair, to go to the bathroom and to have Greco force her to drink a bottle of water. She tried to refuse, at first. She couldn’t when he gagged her with a large metal ring for the process. 

How long has it been, since she was brought here? Days? Weeks? Hours? 

And the beatings. Oh, the beatings.

Her body is one giant bruise. She can barely move without something hurting, without opening up a wound and dripping blood on the white tile. 

Greco is standing in front of her holding a lighter and a hammer, with a container of gasoline by the door. Lined up on the table are the contents of her backpack: a pencil case, a very expensive chemistry textbook, a Chuck Palahniuk novel, a container of Vaseline (untampered with), rubbing alcohol, bandaids, and a pair of wooden drumsticks. 

He lights the textbook on fire, which has Marlow trying to rip herself from her restraints. The skin around the zip ties is perpetually leaking blood, rubbed beyond raw. “You bastard.” Her voice comes out hoarse and quiet. She’s hungry. She’s thirsty. She’s tired. “You have no idea how much I paid for that.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Greco snaps. “I want my USB. Now.” The novel goes next, pages curling up. He’s burning her life away, and she’s helpless to stop him. 

“I just want to go home!” She hasn’t cried, not yet. She wants to. 

“I don’t care.” He sets the drumsticks on fire. “There’s no life for you. Not after what you’ve done.”

What’s going to kill her first? The hunger, the dehydration? The beatings? The loneliness and stress of this room? An infection from her wounds? Is Greco going to watch her as she goes?

The pencil case goes next, releasing a horrible, acidic smell in the room. Marlow’s surprised her nose still works after it’s been hit so many times. 

The bottle of rubbing alcohol is smashed by the hammer, the bandaids are burned. The smell makes Marlow gag. 

There’s nothing in her stomach to throw up. 

Oh. He’s on the last thing. He’s looking at the container of Vaseline with venom in his eyes. 

It takes every bit of energy Marlow has left in her shell of a body not to scream when he smashes it open. 

The USB glistens underneath the artificial lights, along with Greco’s eyes. “Finally,” he breathes. 

He picks it up, examines it, and brings the hammer down hard. 

Marlow screams as it’s destroyed. She’s held on for so long, too long to lose like this, to lose from something beyond her control. 

“There’s a girl!” Greco yells. “Finally! A real noise! And god, you’re a pretty screamer, too.”

“I hate you! I fucking hate you!” She’s crying now, tears cutting through the blood on her cheeks. 

Greco sweeps the remains of Marlow’s life off the table and into the trash can. “Do you want food?”

“I want to go home.” She doesn’t know if she can, not with the hollow pit forming in her stomach. She failed. She failed the kid and the thousands like him, she failed all the people that are used like toys by the handlers. 

Greco walks to the door. “Do you want food?”

“I want to go home.”

He leaves, and Marlow is all alone again.

***

Time’s stretching on and on here. She’s so hungry, she’s so tired. Greco’s given her ten bathroom breaks. She took the water bottle the first seven times, drank it all. 

She gave up on the eighth. 

He hasn’t touched her since. Not to beat her, not to do anything. She’s just been sitting, still bloody and bruised and smelling of sweat. 

The door creaks open. Marlow can’t even lift her head. There’s no point. She already knows who it is. “How long has it been?” she croaks out, her voice weary from dehydration. 

She doesn’t receive an answer. 

Something slides across the table, stopping in front of her. A contract. Signed at the bottom by Greco, with the note:

728501 proved to be uncooperative throughout the process. Signature provided by Handler Greco. 

“What is this, Greco?” Marlow asks. Her head is swimming. “What…”

He lifts her chin up with two fingers. His eyes are stern, her eyes are clouded and nervous. “Welcome to the pound, Guard Dog.”

Four handlers, dressed to the nines in riot gear, push into the room. 

“N-no, I didn’t sign your contract, you can’t do this!” Her blood runs cold. Fear gives her a strange burst of energy and has her pulling at her restraints, opening up the sores on her wrists and ankles. 

Greco’s responding grin sends a shiver down her spine. “You watched the video, Marlow. You know what happens here. And we just can’t have that information out in the open. You’re a ticking time bomb, and there’s enough anti-WRU sentiment out there. You’re a liability.” Greco lunges forward, curling his hand around her throat. “And, hell. You’re also an incredible fighter. You’re a natural, you’re made for this. You could never be happy in the real world. We’d be doing you a favor, wouldn’t we?”

Marlow sobs, her body shaking with the effort. “N-no, I want to go home!” She has two good friends and a professor who cares about her and a tiny dorm room with posters on the walls and sure she fights but she likes it, and sure it’s small but it’s all hers. It’s more than she ever thought she could have. 

It’s her home. 

“You’re not going home. You don’t have a home.” Greco squats down in front of her. “Hey, look at me.” When she doesn’t, he grabs the sides of her face and forces her. “Hey. Kid. It’s going to be okay.”

Marlow thrashes around. “Let me go! You bastard!”

“You shouldn’t have touched that USB. You should have turned around and left it alone. The only person you have to blame is yourself.”

Blood is streaming freely from her wrists. Marlow doesn’t feel the pain or the hunger or the exhaustion now. All she feels is fear. 

She named herself. She worked hard for it. They’re going to take her a name and her life and make her an empty shell. She’s going to be bought and traded and used as a human shield—not a human. A pet. Marlow cries and fights her restraints as hard as she can. 

The other handlers are on her, using sharp knives to cut off the zip ties. 

There’s one second of reprieve, one second where the ties are off and no one’s touching her and Marlow takes off running, pushing out the door and sprinting into the white hallway. 

Her body has been worn ragged. She’s lost weight from not eating for days, her muscles are stiff from sitting still in the chair for so long. 

Marlow can barely run. She does anyways. 

The handlers are clamoring behind her, their feet are heavy on the floor. Marlow makes a sharp right turn, then a left, another left. The walls all look the same, the doors stretch on and on with no break in the pattern and the handlers are closing in on her and Marlow’s legs are seconds away from giving out on her.

Marlow stops, takes a deep breath. 

She’s not making it out of here. 

She tilts her head up to the ceiling and sends an apology up. To Bea, to Finn, to Professor Green, to whatever can listen. She’s sorry for all this, for being stubborn and proud and so fucking angry, for the fighting and the screaming. For everything. She’s sorry. 

Marlow Lancaster turns around, dropping into a fighting stance. She won’t go down easily, she won’t let them just take her. 

She fights like hell. 

But the trainers have batons and armor and helmets and they’ve eaten recently. Marlow’s broken and bloody and weak. 

She fights anyways, and manages to take one down with a hook kick before being knocked onto her knees, then forced face-first onto the ground. 

“I wonder if you’ll keep all that wonderful anger, or if it’ll go away when we wipe everything else out of your head,” Greco says. 

Marlow twists around. She can’t get free, she’s just fighting because she feels like she could. Marlow’s never been one to sit and take it. She fights. She’ll keep fighting until she can’t anymore. “My name is Marlow Lancaster,” she hisses. “My name is Marlow fucking Lancaster and I’m not your goddamn pet. I’m not anyone’s anything. I’m my own person. I didn’t sign your stupid fucking contract and I’m not done here. My life isn’t over.”

“Yes. It is.” Greco smiles. “Well, this has been one hell of an introduction. I can’t wait to meet you, 501. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Leo steps down to where her ankles need to be fastened to the end of the dental chair, leaned back slightly. The girl’s legs are exposed in her black shorts: welts from James Hanford’s baton, a grotesquely swollen left knee, and bright red chafe marks from the metal restraints normally locked around her ankles. Leo winces at the sight, and buckles the leather straps more than a few notches loose. 

James stepped out of the room to grab Patrick Dennison from his lunch break to see this display with 501. Leo’s been put in charge of prepping the trainee for today’s test. 

She flexes her hands into fists, the only movement. Sometimes, he thinks she’s dead, how she barely moves. 501 just watches and waits for the right time to fight back. 

Leo doesn’t blame her. Not with the way James treats her. 

He slides his tray over to her and picks up a needle. “Okay. I’m going to start looking for a good injection site, alright?”

She stares stonily at him. With James, she’s a little more of a spitfire, but being away from her bonded puts her on edge. 

Leo puts on purple latex gloves before feeling around her hand. She’s been under the needle a few too many times this week, and her hands are showing it. He frowns when he can’t find a good, unblemished spot. He tries the other hand. Nothing. Both elbows and feet. Nothing. He would call the medical team, but they’re not allowed to interact with 501 unless she’s heavily sedated, and that would disrupt today’s training plans. 

Leo pulls out his keycard and holds it to the sensor on 501’s collar. With a faint beep, it comes undone, and Leo puts it on the table. 501 shudders at the loss, turning her head side to side.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Leo says, putting a hand on her cheek. “I took your collar off, so you won’t get in trouble. It was my decision. I’m going to do the injection in your neck, okay?” His throat locks. “If you stay still, I won’t have to get Handler Hanford.”

He hates himself more every day he does this job. Every time he has to say pets instead of people. When he has a girl who’s two months younger than him, just barely nineteen, tied to a dental chair to be hurt. 

The girl narrows her eyes at him but goes still, baring her neck. Leo presses around with two fingers before finding a vein. “There we go. Stay still.” He cleans the site up with a cold antiseptic before pressing the needle in. 

She doesn’t flinch. He thinks it’d be better if she flinched, or cried, or did something to show that she didn’t like it. 

Leo tapes it down and makes sure her restraints are still comfortable, just as the door swings open. 

James and Dennison walk in. Dennison is almost half a foot taller than James, and a lot more muscular, but Leo supposes that James makes up for it in fury. 

“I’m sorry, I had to do the injection in her neck,” Leo explains. “She’s had too many IVs and drugs recently. And I ungagged her too, she was drooling so much the electrodes wouldn’t stick.” The second one is a lie, but James is never going to know. 

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t have forgotten position 13 four days ago.” James leaves the door unlocked. “Greco might come by later when she’s out of it. Scare the shit out of her.”

Dennison walks over to the dental chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re not doing much today,” James says. He rolls a machine out from the corner and starts untangling the electrode wires. “Put some of these on her head. Leo, push twenty milligrams of the green stuff.”

The hypersensitivity drug. It’s still in the testing phases, no one has any idea of the long term affects. But 501 hasn’t had any adverse reactions to it yet, so she takes a full dose. It’s supposed to make every single feeling the trainees experience even more powerful, pain, pleasure, the clothes against their skin. Makes 501 half-crazy.

Dennison sticks electrodes onto the girl’s forehead while James puts them on her stomach. 

501 is already sweating, shifting around in her restraints as her pupils blow wide. 

“I should try this on my boy,” Dennison says with a faint smile. 

“Yeah, see, but you’re boring. You’d be all soft and cuddly and shit. We’re just gonna shock her until she cries.”

“My boy’s a masterpiece. 501 is…”

James laughs. “Yeah. You don’t need to tell me that she’s a fucking disaster.”

Leo shifts around, torn between saying something to defend the girl or staying quiet. Either way, she’s still getting shocked. He’s already on thin ice with James after being caught giving 236 extra scraps of bread from the employee lounge and giving 501 painkillers and letting both of them catch a thirty minute nap while James was at lunch and…

He sees the point. 

James puts more electrodes on 501’s arms while Dennison works on her legs. She’s whining when the men touch her. It must feel like fire on her skin, the way she’s sweating and squirming. 

Leo is glad he left the restraints loose, otherwise the leather on her chafed skin would be hell.

The last of the electrodes go on, followed by her sharp whine from James pinching the girl’s skin. 

Dennison laughs. “Shit. Now you’re really making me want to try the green stuff on 479. He’d sound gorgeous.”

James moves to stand by the source of the electrodes, his jaw clenched. There’s a dangerous look in his eye, spitting fire down at the weak trainee. “I don’t care about her sounding pretty. I wanna hear her fucking scream.”

Leo takes a step backwards, colliding with the table. Isn’t there supposed to be a clear reason to hurt them? The trainees, the pets, whatever Leo is supposed to call them? And shouldn’t there be a system to make sure that the handlers don’t get to take the…the pets on a joyride? 

Not for Senior Handlers Dennison and Hanford, both with spotless records and friends among the higher-ups. 

“Charging,” James says, switching on the machine. “We’ll start at five and work our way to ten.”

The green stuff doesn’t take away a trainee’s lucidity, so 501 whimpers as she registers their words. Leo is shaking and desperately wishing he brought earplugs so he didn’t have to hear her scream. 

“Five more seconds,” James mutters.

Trainee 501 bolts up, knocking her head against Dennison’s. The man stumbles back, blood gushing from his mouth. “Fuck!” he yells. 

501 slipped her restraints. 

501 slipped her restraints because Leo didn’t tighten them enough.

The electrodes rip from her skin as she stands up, shaking herself out of her ankle restraints. She jumps on Dennison’s back, clawing at his neck. 

“Shock her!” James roars at Leo. 

His heart is pounding, he’s terrified of 501 and James and what happens after. “I can’t! I took her collar off!”

When 501 only manages to draw a little blood from her short nails, she bites down on the man’s neck while kneeing him in the spine.

Leo took the gag off 501. 

Dennison makes a strangled noise, sounding more animal than human. 501 pulls her head back and spits something on the floor. 

501 bit a chunk off Dennison’s neck because Leo took her gag off. 

She jumps off his back, but maintains her grip on his shoulders to kick him hard in the back. Dennison folds like a card, his head slamming against the floor. 

“Dennison.” James says softly. 

He doesn’t answer. 

501 retrieves his shock baton from his belt and starts approaching James. 

Leo wants to go invisible, he wants to pretend this isn’t happening. 

James pulls out his baton. “Stand down, puppy,” he says with a nervous glance back at Dennison.

The man isn’t getting up. 

“Not…your…fucking…puppy!” 501 yells, launching forward with a strike. 

Hypersensitivity is hell. 501 must be dying, all those feelings on her skin, a single bead of sweat could be short-circuiting her brain. But it’s also making her more alert. 

James should be able to take her down with one strike. He does taekwondo on the weekends and he’s widely known for being able to subdue even the unruliest of Guard Dogs. But somehow, each of his attempts to stop 501 is blocked easily by the girl. She pushes forward with an extra surge, swinging from a block to hit James in the side with the baton at full power. 

James screams like his throat is being ripped out and falls over. 501 kicks him in the groin, and at that, he sobs and curls up, giving 501 the chance to strike him in the head so he’s too dazed to move. 

There’s a split second pause while 501 catches her breath until she turns to Leo. She walks forward, and Leo’s heart is hammering into his ribs, she’s going to kill him—

She swings the baton down on the machine over and over and over until it’s just a mess of parts and cracked plastic. 

She’s moving again, closer and closer. 

Just to slam the baton on the remaining vial of the green stuff, spilling the liquid everywhere. 

501 drops the baton. It clatters to the floor amidst the chorus of safe safe safe safe in Leo’s brain. 

He’s going to be okay.

501 reaches out to him, and Leo smiles reassuringly.

Her hands wrap around his throat and his eyes fly open. She has to reach up to get to his neck, but she’s choking him, her grip strong and unyielding. 

It doesn’t matter what he does. He’s always going to be a handler to her. 

Her pupils are blown out, almost completely obscuring her irises. She must be suffering so much in there, Leo can tell from how much she’s trembling and breathing heavily. 

“Stop,” he croaks out. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She puts more pressure on his neck in response. 

It takes longer for him to go limp than he thought. They stare at each other for several minutes as Leo’s vision starts to go and he loses feeling in his limbs.

501 drops him when his vision is completely grayed out and he can’t move. From his sideways, blurry angle on the floor, he sees 501 pick back up the baton and start walking out the door. 

He has to get up.

Dennison is unconscious and James won’t be moving for a while and it’s up to him to go get 501 back. They’re both fucked. This never would have happened if James did the restraints. He’s going to be reprimanded severely. He might even get reassigned. 

Nothing compared to the pain 501 is going to get for escaping. Good trainees sit there and take it. 

Leo takes deep breaths. Bruises are already forming on his pale, freckled skin, almost like a collar.

He should have left the collar on. He should have left the gag on. He should have tightened the restraints all the way and even added some. 

Slowly, Leo manages to drag himself to his feet, bent over, and he holds onto the wall and makes his way into the hallway. 

There’s a loud commotion going on down the hall. Leo makes his way to the source of the noise, wheezing pathetically. 

501 is being held in the air by five different Guard Dog handlers. Four of them have one of her limbs each and Handler Greco is holding her head, fitting a thick leather muzzle over her face as she thrashes and screams. Once the muzzle’s on and she’s quiet, Greco reaches in his pocket to get a syringe of powerful sedatives, enough to knock out a Guard Dog twice 501’s size. He pops off the cap and jams it into 501’s neck. 

The handlers relax, and one picks up 501’s limp body and slings her over his shoulder. 

Greco lays eyes on Leo and his nostrils flare. “What the fuck did you do, kid?”

Leo’s face is bright red, not just from being strangled. 

“Shit. James and Dennison.” He takes off down the hallway towards the training room. Leo limps behind to follow him, but he’s farther behind. When he gets back to the training room, Greco is on his knees next to Dennison, talking on the radio. 

“We need medical. Two stretchers, and I’ll be sending someone else down. Three handlers injured, two in pretty bad condition. The trainee was fine. She’s in solitary now.”

“On our way.”

“10-4.” Greco sets his radio down and looks up at Leo. “You fucked up, didn’t you?”

Leo nods. 

Greco sighs. “Alright. Walk your ass down to medical. You’re going to stay there until you’re cleared and we put together the Committee to review this. And, you know. When James comes to.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo whispers, running his hand over his throat.