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"As you can see by the data I provided, the project is proceeding on sche...." Director Archer said, looking around at the shadowy figures of the board. Even though he couldn't see their faces, he could tell from their body language that they were less than pleased.

"Director." The word was spoken with an angry edge to it and he stopped talking at once, surprised. These meetings with the board had been getting more and more irritating as time had gone on, but they had never interrupted his reports like that. "We have all read your reports and they are as thorough as usual. The problem, Wickham, is that it is not enough."

"I beg your pardon?" the Director asked, surprised at their reaction. "If the reports were thorough..."

"You misunderstand, Director." Another board member stated, "The reports were sufficient. It is the program that isn't."

"Perhaps you could explain what you mean, sir." The Director asked in turn, setting his jaw in annoyance.

"As you are aware, this program was established with the purpose of creating soldiers who can clear out an entire enemy stronghold by themselves, quickly, cleanly and without a trace of our presence." The second board member expanded, "And despite an enormous expenditure of resources, and years of effort, you have practically nothing to show us. Not to mention the expense of finding test subjects, and covering for your... previous failures."

"Previous failures?!" The Director replied incredulously, his hot temper flaring at the insinuation. "Since its inception, this program has been pushing the boundaries of the most advanced sciences. There were bound to be failures along the way. There is no way I can be held responsible for..."

"No, no. Of course not." A third board member broke in quietly, sounding sarcastic. "The loss of dozens of subjects before they even reached the first testing phase couldn't possibly be the fault of the person in charge of the project."

"I resent that implication." Archer stated, anger coloring his voice. "We couldn't have known that the adult subjects would reject the genetic additions, or the cybernetic enhancements for that matter. Both techniques were untested, and we couldn't anticipate that the adults would be unable to adapt to..."

"Which brings us to a more pressing problem." the second board member broke in again. "Your only 'successes' are from children. If things continue as they are, it will take years, if not decades, for every subsequent subject to reach their full capabilities, and that is a completely unacceptable time frame."

"And that of course assumes that your current pair will ever be effective." The first board member said, "In the last eight months, progress seems to have plateaued for both prototypes. Despite their young ages, their training records are better than our Tier One assets, and their physical capabilities are off the charts. And yet, despite that, there has been no field test, no practical demonstration, no data other than training. It does not seem that there is much to gain from further instruction."

"Yes, it is true that their skills are exceptional, and some of their abilities are nothing short of amazing, but there is more to a soldier than just physical abilities and training scores." The Director protested, "There is mental conditioning, which, in the case of our prototypes, takes more time than usual, again, do to their age. But there is something else too... Both prototypes have shown on several occasions that they seem to have, for lack of a better term, a second consciousness, one ruled by non-human instincts. When their instincts take over, they seem to become truly super human, both in physical performance and their senses. The point of further training is to learn more about this potential X factor, and perhaps to harness it."

"The point of this project is not to explore your curiosities Director." The first board member replied. "We expect results, and soon. Every day, our enemies become more widespread; our usual forces are becoming more and more ineffective, the political situation precluding their deployment. If you can't produce a resource that can redress that situation, then the funding for this project will go to someone who can."

"I am still the Director of this project, sir." Archer stated, barely keeping his anger in check. "And until I decide that they are ready, the prototypes are not going anywhere. As you said, I am trying to avoid wasting resources."

"Be that as it may, Director Archer," The third board member replied, still speaking in his quiet manner. "We are running out of patience. We had better see something tangible come out of this soon, or there will be consequences..."

***

Subject 1275 stood in the dojo once more, his eyes closed, waiting to be given the command to start the fight. In the last eight months, the instructors had kept increasing the difficulty of the daily challenges in the dojo, but he had learned so much more than they knew, so much more than they could teach him. Ever since that day when he had beaten his teachers so badly, he had changed, becoming sharper, stronger, and far more controlled. Of course, he still wasn't entirely sure what had caused him to snap like he had on that day, but, despite how easily he had taken out his instructors, he had soon realized that he had acted entirely without even a semblance of control. He hadn't slept that night, even knowing that he was due for more combat the next day. But thankfully, he had been given a reprieve from the fight. Rather than the soldiers coming to take him to the dojo, it had been Dr. Klein who had walked in instead, followed by a pair of technicians. They had guided him to a surgical suite and sedated him. It hadn't exactly been the sleep he had wanted and needed, but it served well enough.

When he had come out of the anesthesia almost a day later, he had found himself back in a stasis tank, missing great swaths of his fur. In the shaved patches, a vast network of new scars decorated his skin, and he was sore enough that it hurt to move even while just floating. Over the next week, he had spent what felt like endless hours floating in the thick, greenish liquid, drifting in and out of consciousness while the technicians periodically brought more and more of his new neural lace online. When he slept, the only thing he had dreamed of was the fight with his instructors, over and over, again and again. Every strike, every block, every action he had taken in the battle, seen from every angle he could imagine. And when he was awake, he had had very little to do aside from thinking everything through again. Having seen the violent struggle time and again, he had begun to see things, things he had never expected to see. The years of hard training he had endured must have done him more good than he thought, because he had seen countless points in the fight when he could have been better or could have done more. By the time he had been allowed out of the stasis tank, he could have explained, blow by blow, how he could have more easily disabled his opponents, or, by the same token, how he could have killed them using lethal blows he hadn't even noticed. And strangely, he had felt almost angry, not with the instructors, but rather with himself, because he had made those mistakes.

Ever since that day, his goal had been nothing less than perfection. Every fight, he had tried to make his performance perfect. And every fight, he had gotten hit at least once, and he had caught himself making at least one mistake, no matter what he did. But still, he pushed himself hard, working through every fight again and again in his head when he was supposed to be sleeping, berating himself for every mistake, dwelling on every detail until he was sure he wouldn't do it again. And he had gotten very good, even by his own estimation, so very close to perfection. It had gotten to the point that the instructors themselves wouldn't even set foot in the ring with him for fear of injury. Instead, they had gotten others to do it, soldiers who were competent in hand to hand combat, some he might even have called skilled, but they were not even close to his level. They could hit him of course, but they could never win; that wasn't arrogance talking either; the way he had been trained, he had to be that good or he would have been punished. And he very rarely saw the same opponents twice, which he supposed had something to do with the instructors trying to keep him off guard. In the last month though, they had finally come up with something that truly challenged him. In addition to fighting several trainers at the same time like he had been, they had added dummy targets that would pop up out of the floor suddenly, targets he was required to hit with throwing blades, sometimes making him take the weapons away from the trainers in order to do it.

But, the wolfish prototype had a good feeling about today, mostly because the night before, when he had been going over his latest fight in his head, he had had something of an epiphany. Even before all the fur on his body had grown back, he had begun to rely on the neural lace. It displayed a tremendous amount of information about every opponent, and what was more, every weapon he picked up. And while that was all very useful, the wolf had begun to suspect that it was distracting him at critical moments, leaving him open to making mistakes. Today was going to be different though. This morning, he had woken up early, and after showering, he had chosen not to dress in the training jumpsuit he usually wore. Instead, he had chosen to wear a simple black shirt and fatigue trousers of the same style as the soldiers he had been fighting. He had never really understood why the head instructor had given such clothes to him, but today it felt right to wear them. And when he had arrived in the dojo, he had been given small belts of three throwing knives that he wore strapped to each thigh and bicep, the blades held tightly in place by small magnetic clips so they wouldn't come out while he was fighting.

'Begin.' The word seemed to echo in his brain, sounding tinny in his head. It was almost like it was coming out of a malfunctioning speaker, but he knew no one could hear it but him. He didn't even hear it exactly; as Dr. Klein had explained it to him, part of the neural lace was connected directly to his aural nerve cluster, which allowed his controllers to project words directly into his brain, bypassing his ears altogether. The same sort of thing happened when he opened his eyes, spying the four trainers that stood around him. Information filled his head as he looked at all of them, things like weight, biometrics, any apparent injuries and so on, small symbols overlaid over the trainers indicating information that the neural lace's processor considered important. For a moment, 1275 thought about using it, about trusting the computer's judgments. But then, like an annoying itch or an overheard conversation, he pushed it away, consciously turning off the visual overlay. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. This was something he would do himself, or not at all.

Taking a slow breath in through his nose, he scented each instructor, scented their wariness, and from one in particular, disgust. Looking around, he spied the man who scented like that and took an instant dislike to him. The man was tall, maybe six and half feet, dark haired and dark eyed. He had a sneering expression, barely concealing his disgust at 1275's appearance. The wolf resisted the urge to smile, pushing away the thought that 'Sneer' would suffer for his dislike; that emotion had no place here today. Continuing his rounds, the wolf attached nicknames to the others that surrounded him. The blonde soldier to his left became 'Scar' to his mind, for the puckered skin of a bullet graze on one cheek. The other two he named 'Red' and 'Tattoo' for the first man's hair color and the forearm tattoo the latter man had on his right arm. The men were circling him, their hands coming up into fighting position, but he didn't respond.

Instead, the young wolf stood relaxed, his hands at his side, waiting for them to make the first move. A moment later, one of his ears flicked back, catching the sound of Tattoo shifting his weight suddenly and the wolf ducked quickly, the trainer's sidekick sailing over his head, the man moving pitifully slow. Counter moves rushed through his head one after another, each swiftly discarded. 1275 had no need, and truly no desire, to counterattack, not yet anyway. Even as he straightened up out of his crouch, he sensed more than saw Red lashing out at him with a one-two combination, and the wolf moved his head from side to side, avoiding the blows with ease, not even making contact. Even a couple of months ago, he would have said that the red haired trainer was a boxer by experience, but something in his stance said he was only feigning the motions, a theory confirmed a moment later when the man threw a swift thrust kick at him at the same instant that Scar stepped in from the other side for a close in punch or grab, the pair trying to catch him between their blows, like a hammer and anvil.

The wolf could have stepped out of the way, folding himself around their limbs, but he could see in Sneer's face that he was about to move as well and 1275 finally made contact. With motions so quick the trainers couldn't react in time, the wolf scooped a hand under the leg of Red, his hand grabbing the man's ankle and pulling it past him. At the same time, the young wolf almost folded himself in half to avoid Scar's hands, his fist missing the tip of his lupine nose by an inch. Even as Red stumbled forward with a grunt, his legs stretching a little too far, the wolf's hand reached over his head, taking hold of Tattoo's lapel, yanking the man towards him. Moving with the momentum of the yank, he took a quick step towards Sneer, straightening back up once more, listening with content as the three trainers who were now behind him collided in a rough tangle, their combined momentum forcing the three of them together.

The sneering trainer was already in motion towards him, closing the distance between them with a swift, downward kick, followed up quickly with a pair of quick punches. But 1275 was much too fast, taking a half step to the side, avoiding the kick, then parrying the two blows with small motions, never allowing an opening for the large human to exploit. The trainer continued with his in-close assault, his back knee coming up towards the wolf's gut, but before it could come anywhere near its target, the wolf had caught it on its side with his own knee, pushing it to the side, forcing the man's stance to open wide. If he had so desired, the wolf could have punished the instructor for his mistake with a kick to the groin, or by breaking one, or even both, of his legs. But instead, the wolf took a half step back, ignoring the opening.

Snarling, Sneer kept coming, short punches and elbow strikes kept flying as fast as he could manage as he closed with the wolf once more, and every single one was deflected or dodged before it came anywhere near his target. Then, when the wolf sensed the other trainers disentangling themselves, spreading out once more, he took a rapid step to the side as the trainer went for a haymaker, his hand reaching out like lightning and pulling at the man's elbow, making the punch go wild. As Sneer began to pass him, the momentum of the missed blow making him stumble, the wolf hooked his leg through the man's rear ankle, pulling it upward and making the trainer wince as his stance suddenly lengthened. Before the trainer knew what had happened, the wolf had darted around behind him, his eyes on the other three trainers, the men looking surprised, their faces flushed with embarrassment. They had assumed that because he was obviously young, he was unskilled, and easily beaten. A smile crossed his lupine features, a smile that told them exactly how mistaken they were.

'Engage.' The one word command echoed inside his skull and the wolf's ear twitched in irritation. Always, they pushed for more. Rolling his neck around to cover his annoyance at the interruption to his concentration, the grey wolf finally raised his hands, setting in fighting position. He used a neutral stance, his weight evenly distributed, his hands up and not quite closed. The three trainers he had tangled up scowled at him, coming forward as a team, while Sneer whipped around angrily, snarling as his left leg arced towards 1275's head in a quick wheel kick. A half step back, 1275 turned slightly, the kick heading right for his head. The wolf could have simply blocked it, but he had no desire to tempt punishment today. Instead, he lashed out with his left arm, the underside of his hand connecting with the trainer's knee as it reached full extension, a pop sounding from the joint as the force of the opposing blows combined. The counterblow that the wolf delivered sent the trainer's leg downwards too quickly, making the foot rebound off the mats, and if the wolf had simply blocked, Sneer would have been in perfect position to trap the wolf, but when his leg touched the ground, the trainer collapsed with a howl of pain, clutching the injured knee, the joint unusable and probably broken. But the wolf was already ignoring him. The other trainers were spreading out, moving to encircle him, and what was more, he heard the distinctive mechanical clicking of the mechanisms that brought up the throwing targets beginning to move beneath the flooring, sounds that only he could hear.

Scar made the next move, stepping in towards him again, throwing punches in rapid succession like the wolf's head was a speed bag. The wolf could see the man shifting his weight back and forth as he rightly put the force of his whole body behind his blows, but it also made his strikes as obvious as full techniques to the trained eye of the lupine teenager, allowing the prototype to avoid them easily. He didn't even have to parry or block. Instead, while he avoided the strikes, his ears twitched, listening to the sounds of the mechanism under the floor. Almost without thinking, he drew a pair of knives from the belt on his right bicep, and even as he avoided another couple punches, moving his head this way and that, he flicked his wrist, throwing the knives just as a target sprung up from the floor, one sticking deep into the human shaped target's neck, the other into the center of its chest, where the heart would be. The sudden motion had also distracted the blonde trainer for a critical moment, one punch going a little too wide and that was the only opportunity he needed. Moving like lightning, the wolf struck, his right hand open, the heel of his palm connecting with the elbow of the man's arm as it passed his head, the distinctive pop of a bone breaking echoing in the dojo. Even as the stricken trainer's eyes went wide, the wolf stepped past him, delivering a short, quick punch to the man's kidney as he went past, his artificially augmented muscles making the short jab into a blow from a sledgehammer.

That made two trainers out of the fight, but Red and Tattoo were still on their feet. Red was moving to engage him already and had his hands up in fighting position, but the stance was one that the wolf had never seen any trainer use before, though he recognized it instantly through his extensive training. It was one that was unique to kung fu, meaning that that trainer had skills beyond the military hand to hand training of the others. But, a moment later, such thoughts were put out of his mind as he heard the clicking sound from two different directions, and he drew a knife from both sleeves, preparing to throw. By coincidence, Tattoo picked that moment to advance, sliding towards the wolf sideways, his leg coming up to chamber for a kick. 1275 knew he had only a moment or two before the trainer would become a problem. Red seemed to be waiting, trying to see what he would do. Still, the prototype wasn't worried in the slightest. A moment later, the tattooed trainer lashed out with a hard sidekick, his foot heading right for the wolf's head. Just as the kick came towards him, the two targets popped from the floor. Swiftly ducking down into a crouch again, 1275 spun in a circle, his hands lashing out three times in rapid succession. The trainer recoiled, tumbling backward with his hands clutching between his legs as the two knives struck the targets, burying up to their hafts in the eyes of the dummies.

That left Red standing alone. He seemed young, maybe twenty years old, but he was obviously experienced, moving forward in a half crouch like a feline, lashing out with his hands bared like claws, using the distinctive and aggressive tiger style. The wolf countered quickly, sweeping the blows to the side in extended parries, instinctually using the crane style, a style meant specifically to counter the more aggressive style of the trainer. At the same moment, he heard the clicking mechanisms once more and the wolf grimaced; now it was finally getting difficult. Now, even as the trainer continued his assault, the wolf could tell that the targets were readying themselves to pop out of the ground and he felt the half-familiar, strange calm that had descended over his senses in the fight of months ago returning. Taking a deep breath as he swept aside another lunging strike, the wolf allowed it to take over.

Incredibly, the world seemed to slow down even further for him, the strike that was coming for his face, a strike that should have been lightning quick, fast enough to only allow a fraction of a second to react. Instead, it seemed to move with an exaggerating slowness, almost as if he were looking through the lens of a slow motion camera. Pushing his muscles hard, the young wolf slapped it aside with one hand even as he used the other to draw a knife from a belt on his leg, throwing it at a target behind him even before it was all the way out of the ground. Blocking two more slashing blows, the wolf sensed a change in his opponent, the man suddenly lashed out at him with strikes aiming not for his core, but for his joints, odd jabs with his fingertips, rather than his fists. Retaliating quicker than the man could move, the wolf struck back with similar strikes, but the trainer was just as fast, the two fighters' limbs twisting around and around one another before the two spun apart, unable to connect with their targets. But, even as the fighters spun apart, the wolf drew two more knives with his off hand.

Two more dummies shot from the floor side by side and the wolf threw both knives with one hand, one finger separating the blades so they flew at an angle. As the knives thunked into the dummies with a hollow, yet satisfying sound, the trainer came at him again, lashing out with legs as well as arms, raining strikes on the wolf's guard. Subject 1275 only had time to block and deflect the strikes, much less counter attack. This trainer was good, good enough to be one to the instructors in fact, and he knew he needed to do something quickly, or his perfect match would vanish like smoke in a breeze. Two more targets popped up from the floor in rapid succession a moment later and the wolf quickly drew more knives in the middle of techniques, throwing them with such force they almost knocked the dummies off their moorings. And even as the trainer continued his rapid assault, the wolf suddenly had an idea, a risky move he wouldn't normally have considered. The targets were popping up faster than ever before, and if he was going to get them all, as he knew he must, he would have to take the risk of doing it.

Sensing another target popping up at his three o'clock, 1275 opened his stance, the wolf planting his feet, leaving himself wide open as he drew a knife, holding it in a reversed orientation, its edge upward, opposite how he had been holding the others. A moment later, the trainer took the bait offered by the wolf's stance, lashing out with a hard kick that came in so fast the wolf hardly had time to move to avoid it. Lunging to the left to avoid the kick, the wolf threw the knife across his body, a perfect sidearm throw. The razor sharp weapon buried itself into the dummy's chest a moment later and the wolf grew still for a moment, taking his remaining pair of knives in hand. The trainer's leg came down, and he started to take up his fighting stance once more, but as his weight came down on his leg, he crumpled, his eyes going wide as he fell onto his back. Red's eyes were fixed on the dummy even as two more targets popped out of the ground, completing the ring around the room, not reacting as the wolf hurled his last blades into them. The knife that the trainer was staring at was trailing blood down the dummy's front almost as if it really was a human, rather than an assembly of gel and plastic.

1275 drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting go of the strange, slowed perceptions. Finally, he opened his eyes once more and looked around, a satisfied smile coming to his lips. He hadn't been hit once, nor had he missed a single strike or throw, the knives buried in lethal points on every target, even though he had only barely glimpsed each before throwing. Perfection at last. Red was now looking up at him from the floor, his fists clenching, all too obviously trying not to cry out in pain. The knife that had taken him down had been well aimed, slicing through the back of the trainer's ankle on its way to the target, its razor edge parting boot, sock and Achilles tendon as it went. Finally, as he surveyed the damage, subject 1275 allowed the neural lace to come back into place within his view, scanning the scene with satisfaction. None of the trainers would be getting back up any time soon, and all of the dummies were accounted for. But something different was going on here. Every day before, when the fight was over, medics would come in and treat the injured trainers. But today, the doors remained closed, and the trainers were left on the ground, clutching their injuries, most of them moaning in pain. Suddenly suspicious, the wolf looked up at the mirrored windows of the observation room, a questioning expression appearing on his canine face. Somehow, he sensed that the most loathed man in his life was up there, watching. And apparently, he wasn't done testing him today...

***

"Well, well." Director Archer commented, looking down at the dojo and the wolf standing untouched in the middle of the fallen trainers. "You are right Gunny. He certainly has become impressive."

"That is all you have to say?" The head instructor asked, his surprise making him speak without respect. When the Director turned to look at him, he cleared his throat. "Sir, with respect, I have never even heard of anyone who could do what that kid just did. Those trainers were some of the best I could find and he disabled them like it was nothing. What is more, they didn't even lay a hand on him. There isn't a soldier in our military, or anywhere, for that matter, that can do that. I don't think there is anything more we can teach him. I'm not sure what you expect by putting him through this every day. Our pool of trainers is getting low already, Director."

"I'm sure that to you, it appears that there is nothing to be gained." The Director replied, dismissive contempt in his voice, turning back to the dojo. "But there is one thing he hasn't shown us, something I have to know before we will stop this training."

"And what is that, sir?" The gunnery sergeant replied, fed up with the Director being so cryptic.

"Can he kill?" The Director stated, as if it were obvious and the other man's eyes opened wide. "Even when he defeated your instructors with only his instincts, he held back from lethal force. Which leaves doubts about his effectiveness in the role intended for this prototype model."

"Sir, are you asking me, to purposely get one of my men killed?" The head instructor asked after a moment, setting aside the comment about prototype models. "Even if I could give that order, how exactly do you propose I explain the death of a soldier assigned to my training cadre, Director?"

"I was looking over the records of these trainers you sent in today." The director said, ignoring the questions, his tone conversational. "I seem to recall that Sergeant Cross has numerous reprimands in his record, as well as a disciplinary hearing that led to his demotion from staff sergeant down to corporal. From what I have seen, he appears to dislike Subject 1275 already. It seems to me that the Corps would be better off without him. After all, accidents do happen in combat training." Turning to the technician manning the communication terminal next to the window, he continued, completely ignoring the incredulous gunnery sergeant behind him. "Send in the medics. And once Cross is on his feet, order him to push 1275. Make the prototype reengage. Let's see what he does."

"Yes sir."

***

The door into the dojo slid to the side suddenly and the wolf looked in its direction, instantly setting in his fighting stance once more, but he relaxed when he saw the bags with the red crosses carried by the men streaming in, accompanied by only a pair of armed guards. Turning from the fallen instructors, subject 1275 started to walk towards the door, expecting the guards to guide him back to his room now that the fight was over, but the door slid shut in an instant. Glaring up at the window, he shook his head. What did they want him to do now, fight the trainers again?

"What's the matter, dog boy?" A voice full of contempt asked from behind him, the words almost spat through pain clenched teeth. Subject 1275 froze in an instant, turning back to find that the voice came from Sneer, a medic currently inflating a temporary cast around his injured knee. "Longing to go back to your kennel?" The wolf ground his teeth to keep himself from replying, his hackles starting to perk up despite himself. He had learned long ago to ignore insults during a fight, since they could distract you at a critical moment, but that one got through his training. In one of the books he had been given to read when he was younger, he had learned that dogs were once wolves that had been tamed by humans, losing their predatory edge, becoming subservient. But wolves, wolves were wild creatures, apex predators, the best hunters in the woods, feared and respected. Being called a dog rankled him more than any other insult ever had. Restraining a snarl, the wolf drew himself up, resisting the urge to attack the injured man, the trainer's sneer becoming more pronounced as the medic helped him to his feet. "I don't see the point of having us fight a freak like you. You aren't ever going to be useful for anything. They might as well kill you right now."

"The battle is over, sir." The wolf replied, his jaws full of sharp canine teeth clenching tight, giving the honorific all the contempt he could muster. "I would suggest you accept your loss with dignity."

"Get off me!!" The sneering trainer snarled, angrily shoving the medic aside and coming towards the wolf. "This is exactly why dogs don't talk." At that, the young wolf growled, his rage already building to dangerous levels and the trainer laughed. "Oh I'm going to enjoy putting you in your place." When the wolf turned away, using all of his self control to keep a lid on his temper, the man snarled at him. "Stand at attention when I talk to you!!" At once, subject 1275 froze, the instinct to obey that had literally been beaten into him making him assume the correct position in an instant, turning to face the instructor. The trainer strolled over to where he stood, contempt in every step, the injured leg giving only a slight limp, the cast making it seem like he had never been injured. His sneer deepening, the trainer came right up to the wolf, leaning in close. "Well, where did you learn that pup? Obedience school?"

Shaking with barely contained rage, the wolf boy felt his anger starting to boil over. The man reminded him very much of Director Archer, his ferocious instincts beating at his conscious control, trying to overcome him. Clenching his hands into fists, the wolf summoned every ounce of his will not too give in to his anger. The last time he had felt that sensation, he had savaged six instructors. The man grinned broadly, then suddenly delivered a punch to the wolf boy's gut, missing his solar plexus by barely an inch. Sensing it coming, subject 1275 tensed his abs, breathing out as the punch came in as he had been taught and instead of doubling him over, the blow only made him twitch. But worse, far worse than the pain, the punch stirred up the memory of Director Archer's brutal beating, the memory making the animal side of himself thrash against his control, a side he had worked very hard to keep under lock and key ever since then. Why was the trainer doing this? Why was being so nasty? He had seen how easily the wolf had beaten him and the others only minutes earlier, knew what he was doing was bad idea. There was no reason for this, none at all.

A heartbeat later, the man hit him again, lower down, coming dangerously close to the wolf's groin and this time, the animal within him made a break for freedom, straining to be free, the bonds weakening. Every muscle in his body was tensed now, as if they were trying to rip him apart. The trainer obviously saw him tensing, but his sneer only deepened as the boy remained at rigid attention, almost motionless, though his eyes were blazing with anger. Then, the trainer did something truly foolish. Cocking back his arm, chambering for another punch, he waited for a moment, obviously aiming carefully for the wolf's face. "You are pathetic. A pathetic mistake."

All of a sudden, as the man's arm started forward, 1275 felt something shift in his brain. Pathetic. The same word that Director Archer had used when he had beaten him nearly to death. Somehow, that singular word acted like a key, and suddenly he was back in that terrible moment when the man he loathed had beaten him. He could feel the humiliation, the helplessness as the Director's grip choked him. All of sudden, there was no holding it back. The animal side within him broke free. The wolf was no longer the disciplined fighter of mere moments before. Once more, he was the wild wolf that dwelled somewhere deep down inside him, and no amount of discipline could stop it.

The trainer's hand didn't even get halfway to its target before the human found his wrist trapped in the iron hard grip of the wolf. Giving the limb in his grasp a brutal twist, he yanked it straight, his other hand in motion. With a lightning swift strike, the wolf's open hand hit the trainer's elbow, then his ribs, the bones in both places shattering with a satisfying crack. The wolf was still in motion, stepping in close, kicking out hard at the man's uninjured leg. The knee joint locked when the wolf's leg was only half way extended, but he had no intention of stopping. Continuing the kick until his leg was extended all the way, he added a broken leg to the list of injuries he had heaped on his newest tormentor. Two quick blows to either side of his chest robbed the trainer of his breath as his remaining ribs shattered under artificially increased strength and the man started to go down. Now it was the trainer that was helpless, and for an instant, only an instant, the wolf saw Director Archer before him, helpless before the boy he had beaten. Before he could stop himself, the wolf boy's head darted forward as the man sank to the right height. Before he could think about what he was doing, the wolf boy's jaws closed about the trainer's throat, his sharp teeth digging deep enough to draw blood, sinking in almost to the bone. For a moment, his normal, conscious mind rose back to prominence, the horror of what was about to happen rising in him, but, tasting blood, the triumph of a victory over his foe, there was no way he could stop the instinctual motion of his neck. And, as he jerked his head to the side and back, he wondered, truthfully, if he even wanted to stop it. Ripping his sharp teeth free of the man's flesh, taking most of the horrible trainer's throat with them, the wolf sealed the man's fate.

Spitting the flesh in his jaws out onto the dying man at his feet, the wolf tilted his head back and loosed a ferocious howl into the dojo, a sound of both triumph and horror as both sides of himself understood what he had done...

***

"Holy Mary, Mother of God..." the technician manning the console exclaimed, crossing himself as the howl echoed over the communications circuit. The howl lasted for a long few seconds, long enough for the medics and injured trainers to scramble as far away from the prototype as they could. The guards who had come in with the medics already had their weapons up, aimed at the wolf boy, but he wasn't looking at them, wasn't moving at all. Instead, he looked down at the body at his feet, the expression on his face shifting rapidly from feral anger, to disbelief and horror, as if he couldn't quite believe what had happened. Then he looked quickly away, looking rather sick, but to the boy's credit, he didn't throw up.

"Well Director," The Gunnery sergeant began after a moment, shaking his head, unable to look away from the scene below him. "You wanted to know if he could kill. You have your answer."

"Excellent." Director Archer commented, a smile crossing his face, his eyes excited. "I think he is finally ready. Schedule him for jump training immediately, including HALO. I will find the perfect field assignment for him. Have the guards take him back to his room. And clean up this mess." With that, the Director turned his back on the window, walking from the observation room without another word, leaving the gunnery sergeant and the technician looking at each other with looks that spoke only of surprise and horror. The trainer had pushed the wolvish boy right to the brink, but the ferocity of his reply had been shocking. But still, with the sole exception of the bite that had killed Sergeant Cross, the strikes and tactics had been perfect...

End of "Crossing the line..."