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Maker grins. It's the smile of a person who doesn't know how to smile. "Exactly! I like your attitude, Holstein. It's pragmatic. The dead have no use for their bodies, but we do! Rather than waste all this raw material in some barbaric pyre or burial ritual, we've utilized it to evolve and make certain that something like this will never happen to us again! The legacy of these poor wolves will allow us to be free again. It's a worthy sacrifice. I've prepared many key wolves with the ingredients for survival, and by answering my summons you've shown me that you can be trusted with my gifts. Which, then, would you avail yourself of? Strength? An acceleration of intellect? Agility? The raw components that compose our gifts are laid bare before me. Choose wisely; more than one serum at a time can cause side effects, so I will only administer a single dose today."

"Thanks, but I'd rather not take an enhancement. I'll rely on my own natural gifts."

"I'll need as much strength as I can get to make it out of here alive."

"Strength isn't required by a great strategist. I'll enhance my intellect."

"Escaping this place will require more than brute strength. Enhanced agility will aid me greatly."

Next

"Intellect it is," Maker says with a firm nod. If your answer surprised her, she certainly doesn't show it. She reaches into the voluminous pockets of her lab coat to procure a jet injector and screws a small vial of clear fluid into a hole on the top. "Give me your arm, please."

You do as she asks, hesitant despite having already given your permission.

"This will sting."

She wasn't kidding. The injector fires the contents of the vial into your body with a sharp "tak." You grit your teeth to keep from crying out as a fire spreads beneath your skin and up your arm. As it reaches your torso the sensation spreads and dilutes itself. It takes several seconds, but when you can finally breathe again you feel better than you have in months. You flex your arm and gingerly prod at the bruised injection site.

"How do you feel?" Maker asks. "And don't worry about the bruise. It will fade the first time you shift to wolf form."

"I feel amazing," you say truthfully. "How many wolves have you given these to?"

Maker smiles teasingly. "Now, now, Holstein, my business with individuals is strictly confidential. I perform counseling services as well as enhancements, and the sensibilities of one profession have bled into the other." You suppose you can't argue with that. At least for the moment while your body is bathing in a sense of slowly-dimming euphoria. "Now then," Maker says. "To proceed to the main reason you're here—I had a few questions to ask of you. They might seem odd, but bear with me for the moment. Would it be safe to say that you are a creature of duty? That you put the well-being of your pack first?"

"The pack always comes first. What am I without my brothers and sisters?"

"The pack is important to me, but I also value my own personal freedom."

"My own personal interests always come first. It's only natural."

Next

"Hmm," Maker hums as she considers your response. "Not the expected answer, although not an altogether negative one. All living creatures are selfish to a degree; it's a base instinct, but a powerful one. I've often found it to be true that the most altruistic act out of selfishness, subconscious or otherwise. After all, what greater means exists for ensuring your own survival than ingratiating yourself with others? Warrior wolves will fight and die for a leader they view as something greater than themselves.

"You've traveled an interesting road. You nearly became the youngest packleader ever formally elected. By all accounts you might have won had it not been for the extraordinary circumstances and Haken's call to war. You've killed, but in the service of a greater good. You worked with the human activists, but your commitment was not absolute. This is good. It shows that you're willing to ask for help, but slow to trust. Am I correct on all counts so far? Your accomplishments precede you."

"Correct on all counts."

"You're missing some key details, but it's more or less correct."

"You don't know anything about me. That's all wrong."

"I think you already know the answer to that."

Next

Maker nods. "I've asked around. I know you in broad strokes if not minute detail. I realize that my knowledge might come off as 'creepy,' but I assure you I look into most new arrivals with an interesting history. In the past I did it to keep myself occupied, but these days I do it to help prepare for the trying days ahead. You may not trust me now, and that's okay. I'm willing to take the time to build that trust." She quiets for a moment, and you can see the mask of calm on her face flutter, falling away briefly before she reassembles it again. She looks away from you, out through the window and into her lab. "I've talked with Sonoma," she says, following it with an awkward pause. "She says you're the son of Colonel Williams. Is she mistaken?"

You consider how to respond, but Maker reads the answer from your face before you can open your mouth.

"I'd hoped she was wrong. No one outside Haven knew you existed, or if they did they kept unusually quiet about it." She falls silent again for several seconds. "I hope you understand—I needed to know for sure. I had to see your face."

"What does it matter if I'm Williams's son?"

"Well now you've seen me. Does that change something?"

"I'm tired of living in my father's shadow. I'm not responsible for his actions."

"My father was a monster, but I'm not him."

"He meant well, you know. He thought he was curing us. Saving us."

Next