It was supposed to be a routine examination.
Oh, supposed to be. Supposed to be. Dr. Kinney couldn’t remember the last time anything had gone off as it was supposed to at the Facility.
At first, everything seemed alright. X-23 (seven years old) was brought in and secured properly, the machines were working well, the others were talking quietly in the background and leaving her alone, exactly as she preferred it. For once, everything was fine.
(She really should have seen it coming.)
The first indication that they had were the machines. Prone to overreactions and oversensitivity, Dr. Kinney had never paid much attention to them, nor to the people who commanded such. But today, even she noticed them malfunction, each setting off a series of ear splitting beeps that made X-23 cringe.
(Enhanced hearing, Dr. Kinney noted, stopping herself from putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.)
The next thing she saw were the shadows, moving together independent of light source and objects, massing like an oily cloud around the table’s legs. None of the other scientists seemed to notice, but Dr. Kinney watched, breathless and speechless, as a tendril snaked out and up to touch the back of X-23’s left hand.
After that, everything happened very quickly. The lights flickered out, several of the scientists believing that they’d finally been sniffed out by the X-Men and reacting accordingly (grabbing files and at least one scream), but nothing would have prepared them for what they saw when the lights stopped and everything was thrown into sharp contrast.
X-23 had freed himself (or been freed?) and now he sat up on the table, staring into the eyes of the biggest wolf Dr. Kinney had ever laid eyes on, taller than she was even though it was sitting down. A hush fell over the room as the scientists looked at the experiment, the experiment looked at the wolf, and the wolf looked at the experiment before raising its head and staring evenly at them.
Rice was the first to speak. “Kill it.”
“We don’t even know what it is!” protested Dr. Kinney.
“Kill it anyways.”
“We should really call a specialist for this,” muttered one of the other scientists. The others nodded in agreement, each looking very much like they would not like to fight what appeared to be the living embodiment of death.
“With all due respect, sir-” the unlucky lab tech quailed before Rice but pressed forward, “-I’ve heard of mutants having animals born from their souls, some say, like a -- a witch’s familiar, in the stories-”
“Impossible,” Rice sneered. “It doesn’t have a soul.”
“We don’t know that.” Rice’s head whipped around and Dr. Kinney met his glare, straightening up. “Souls are not, to my knowledge, easily measurable or identifiable in any scientific way.”
“Many things aren’t to your knowledge.” Rice scowled. “Just -- just put the animal back in its cage and we’ll get a specialist later.”
“Er-- which animal, sir?”
“X-23. Back in its cage.”
The wolf growled at him and and Rice flinched, though he waved a hand at it (him?) and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible. “And get that mutt away from here. Find something that will hold it down and secure it somewhere away from X-23.”
The lab techs (all seemingly resigned to their fate) approached the beast warily, each ready to flinch away, but Dr. Kinney paid no attention to them -- instead, she turned on her heel and swept out, her lab coat flaring out behind her like a hero’s cape.
And maybe it was her imagination, but her coat felt heavy, as if it had been weighed down by blood.