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DECEASED is stamped at the top by her picture in faded red ink.

Subject B34TR1C7.Werewolf.

The male with the dead eyes that saw nothing. He never spoke, not once. He’s handsome in the picture, smiling, but I can’t see it because I remember the bruises and blood. His grim lips tightly clamped shut so he wouldn’t scream.

His room was right across from mine, and they always left the door open when they went in to get samples or ‘test’ him. When he passed, I felt so guilty for how relieved I was that his cell was empty. I hoped they would never fill it again, but they did. Over and over.

Another name and another. I don’t recognize these two, but both are stamped as deceased. Their subject names are B34TR1B01 and B34TRB07.

How many of us were there? How many people went through this before I even got there? My hands are filled with file folders, some with several pages, some with one sheet. All deceased, whether they met me or not.

The berserker. I had his memory tucked so far in the back of my mind I didn’t even think of him until Leng brought him out. Subject B34TRC9. No picture.

I was never allowed near him. I was kept outside his cell door if I had to heal him. I just remember his insane red eyes as he roared in rage. His name is Aodhan Byrne. There’s no harsh stamp over his file.

Of course not. He got out. He killed every scientist there that day. He left me there because he thought I was a monster like the other subjects.

Another memory flickers up, and my heart squeezes with pain.

The green-skinned male. He stopped at the door and watched me struggle to breathe through the blood. He’s the one who said what they were all thinking as they left.

“You deserve worse torment than this for all you’ve done. I hope you rot here for eternity.”

The next file is over an inch thick, and nausea wells up. Even though my mouth is as dry as the dirt outside, I keep swallowing.

When I open it, my youthful face stares back at me with hollow eyes, and there it all is. Typed up in emotionless block letters.

My name is Astrid Benucci. I had no idea. I thought my name was my subject number. I’m such an idiot.

Each page lists my ability to heal and what kind of damage, broken bone, muscle sprain, burn scarring. I don’t even remember most of this.

The amount of energy I used up before I passed out. How long I slept. The first person I helped die. It’s even dated and timed. How thoughtful.

They don’t use any names in my file, just subject numbers as a reference. Can’t have us being actual people, after all.

After the death, it’s listed that I was no longer a pure subject, whatever the fuck that means, and I would be terminated. Bullet to the head. It's funny how I forgot that one. I thought you were supposed to remember all your firsts.

The following entry is about my miraculous resurrection. More healing without problems, then oops, another one died. So I did, too.

On and on.

The file starts filling up with all the subjects I let die. And the punishments get more severe as if dying wasn’t enough. Before long, there isn’t anything about healing. It becomes about testing my ability to adapt. Hydrochloric acid IVs. Who comes up with that? Exposure tomustard gas?

I wonder if the person who typed this up felt anything when they did it. Disgust? Anything at all?

I flip it closed halfway through. I don’t need to read this. I lived it.

I sit rocking and listening to the high-pitched whine coming out of me, and I can’t stop it. Is this what it’s like when Ben lets out those sounds? Just out of-control craziness? My see-saw is stuck.

I’m clutching the folders to my chest. I can’t find it in me to go through the rest. I only want to look at the red folder right now. The Old Man always put things in red folders when he didn’t want me snooping.

“Beatrice.”

The sound cuts out of my throat at Mitri’s emotionless voice.

Why? I want to scream it at him. Fuck’s sake, I haven’t told anyone anything that I learned about him.

I should have blabbed. I should have bought a megaphone and stood on top of that stupid Other bank screaming it. While I was protecting his secrets, he was digging mine up and letting everyone see the bare bones in my coffin. So they can judge me, just like that green-skinned male. They can all see that I’m a monster.