Breeder

Jem studies her face in the rearview mirror, eyes as dark as sea-wet rocks, and just as jagged. Her short earthen hair is streaked like a lynx and stops to wisps of curls behind her flushed ears. There is a sharpness to her chin that is less than pleasing, and a harshness to her cheekbones that is merely softened by the curve of her lips constantly pinched in a dissatisfied line.

Overall, Jem concludes that she is merely normal looking.

The more normal, the less attention one attracts, and that is her ultimate goal.

Rolling Carmex onto her lips to prevent them from chapping under the bleak grey skies, she leans across the gear shift of her car and pops open the compartment. Picking up her badge and glock, Jem checks the chamber and magazine, counting the silver and wooden laced bullets before popping it back and clicking the safety on.

Chugging the remnants of her black tasteless coffee, she exits her car whilst tucking the gun into the waistband of her slacks, then adjusts her coat.

In hand is a brown bag and file.

As she walks past the spotless parking lot, her gaze slides up the tall, looming building before her.

Lycanomatic Facility.

The letters are suspended in beaming silver at the topmost floor, magnified and glaring. The facility is set just outside the city, a tedious twenty-minute drive and further ten minutes once past the first security checkpoint. An endless forest surrounds the facility, heavily guarded with hundreds of swivelling CCTV cameras along with military men and wolves that prowl on nimble feet and paws within.

Through the high arched windows, Jem catches glimpses of white tailcoats as scientists rush past with their heads down, slates cradled in their arms.

Hardly does she make it two steps past the front heavy set glass doors when her path is intercepted by a blur of golden hair and perfectly tanned skin.

"Miss Amer is it?" Lazuli blue eyes smile into her wary ones, and Jem takes a reflexive step back. The woman before her holds a fine hand out, her smile unwavering. "My name is Circe, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Jem blinks and recovers, her smile amiable and mild. "The pleasure is all mine, Circe." The scientist's hand is smooth in her own, with fingers like smooth, rounded almonds, and suddenly Jem is conscious of her calloused palm and ragged nails from numerous biting sessions.

With a gentle tilt of her small head, the woman leads her down a white tiled hallway. "I will assume your journey here wasn't complicated? If so, we apologize for the security, it's only protocol."

Jem nods absent-mindedly, her curious gaze sweeping from the walls to the high arched ceilings, noting the metal bolts sealed into the corners. More scientists drift past them. "Tight security,” she comments amusedly, voice dry as driftwood, and Circe casts her a sidelong glance.

"Unfortunately, what we do here is highly confidential and requires nothing short of perfected security."

They pause before a scanner where she shrugs off her coat, shoes, earrings and gun.

"Weaponry isn't allowed past this section." Circe halts her from tucking the glock back into her waistband, leaving it momentarily hovering in hand. The woman gestures at the plastic tray beside the security guard. "If you don't mind... it will be handed back to you upon exiting the building."

Jem hesitates for a heartbeat, then nods, "Sure." Setting it back in the tray, she trails behind her heels whilst carefully watching the back before her. "I will assume you received our email?"

Circe presses an elevator button and steps back, throwing her an unalarmed smile. Her expressions, Jem notes, never seem to break from the mask of amiability. It is unnerving, practised, almost robotic - trained into her. "We did."

"Took you quite long to reply," Jem tests subtly, keen eyes watching for a slip in her facade. There is none.

"Ah, yes, we apologize for that," Circe muses as they step into the elevator. A camera in the corner swivels slightly, focusing on the detective. Jem pretends not to notice the change. "Our facility is rather busy around the year-"

"A week seems far too long," Jem continues with a nonchalant hum as both hands slip into her pockets. After the commissioner drafted the email and marked it urgent, the Eighth Precinct assumed a reply would be delivered within the hour, at most a day. However, it came as a surprise when nothing showed up until the week was over.

“Why take so long when we have evidence that links them to the crime scene?” Jem wondered out loud in her office, tossing her apple up and down in deep concentration.

“Don't be a fool, Amer,” Mike spoke, intercepting her flying apple with a swift draw of his hand. He shone it on the lapel of his coat before biting into the fleshy fruit, a crunch entering the air. His white teeth flashed on red skin, glistening juices licking at the fullness of his lower lip. “They need time.”

“Time for what?”

“To hide whatever they are working on.”

The aluminium doors slide open with a sigh and both females step out onto the eighth floor. They pass numerous rooms, white doors marked with Roman numerals and no windows to allow sight of the inside. More cameras. Three military men walk past them, heavy boots thumping on the tiled floors while dressed like knights in threatening black armour.

"According to the email written, it was stated that a collar had been found with our company's logo on it?"

Jem nods, subconsciously clutching the brown bag with evidence tighter. Circe bobs her head like a bird as they turn a corner and pause before a large aluminium plated barrier.

"I see," she notes and places her petite palm on the metallic scanner. It turns green and she types a password after, fingers flourishing against a range of numbers, then dips down to prop her chin on support as a thin horizontal light sweeps past her eyes, scanning.

Beep.

The barrier rumbles as it parts sideways, light hydrogen mist spilling from the inside to swirl in puffs of clouds around their ankles like creamy sheets of ballroom dancers’ gowns. "Before we continue, I would like you to be aware of the confidentiality level of our project," Circe pauses as her eyes dim in thought. "If you are not comfortable with what is presented, you may leave the room."

Jem nods, mouth drying as her stomach swoops low in nervous excitement. "I understand."

They step into the room which happens to be an observation chamber. Ten scientists sit in two rows and five columns, all cradling data slates on their palms. The only light produced is from their slates, dim against their blank, severe faces, and before them looms a dark mirror that replaces the entire wall.

One old man with a cloud of white hair stands at the front before the mirror, expectant gaze lighting up at the sight of Jem. "Ah, Detective," he smiles, "We have been expecting you."

The crowd nods in her direction, eyes fixated on their slates.

"Please," he announces and sweeps a generous hand at the front where a seat had been reserved for her, "Sit."

Tentatively, Jem makes her way to the front, conscious of foreign gazes that briefly flicker to her and then back down before she can meet them.

"I know that you and the precinct may have several questions for us," he begins, "But I figured instead of answering, we may show you the culmination of our efforts."

"Efforts?" she questions and he nods rather eagerly, lowering into the seat by her side.

"All will be answered at this moment,” he whispers lowly as her gaze slides to the mirror before them.

A moment of silence pervades the room, broken by a pillar of white light that streaks down the centre of the black mirror and widens like opening blast doors, illuminating a spacious room.

A pair of entrances mark either side of the room, and the centre of the floor contains the only furniture - a large, round bed-like cushion in the centre and smaller ottoman-like cushions surrounding it.

Everything resembles white and a neutral grey in an attempt to remove all distractions.

Jem finds herself leaning forward, peering in bemusement at the room. "What am I meant to look at, professor?"

His smile is illuminated by the light, maddening and guileless. "Watch,” he says.

The two doors slide open and in enters a large man, broad-shouldered and towering at a staggering seven feet. He is a behemoth, non-human, his head lowered as he prowls into view.

Jem grows still as the beast tentatively moves forward, and as his head lifts, she catches sight of his inhumane features. His hair is a spill of black ink, neatly trimmed to his scalp, and his eyes hold startling darkness like that of gleaming, polished obsidian. The lineaments of his face are in perfect proportion to each other.

The beast halts at the centre with his head lowering once again in submission, stealing her of his sharp contours, sculpted and pared to perfection.

Jem does not realize that she had tilted in her seat, perched precariously at the very edge, lips parted in confused, terrified awe. Her gaze skims over his lithe torso: muscles ripple beneath a layer of polished-bronze skin, marred with a starburst scar on his ribcage, and his dark boxers do little to hide his stallion manhood that is tucked between thigh and material. It droops so low and contrasts so highly, she mentally estimates it to be at least ten inches.

Jem blinks then, noting the flash of silver latched around its neck. Like the collar, they found beneath the bridge. It beeps green.

"What is this?" she finds herself asking, her heartbeat thundering at the unknown beast that stands before her.

"This."

The scientist's face is irradiated by the room's light once more, hauntingly demoniac for a sliver of a moment.

"This is a Breeder."

read ahead on inkitt; BewareofChicken