North pack Territory :
A zombie was strapped tightly to a reinforced metal chair, its limbs bound with thick restraints bolted into the floor. The creature snarled and twisted violently, the muscles in its body jerking in unnatural spasms.
Thick saliva dripped from its mouth, sliding down its chin and onto the front of the restraint harness. Its teeth snapped at the air, trying to bite something that wasn’t there.
Various wires ran across its grayish skin. Sensors clung to its temples, chest, and arms, feeding readings to a row of glowing monitors.
A doctor in a white coat approached the creature cautiously, clutching a syringe filled with a pale blue liquid. His expression was tight with discomfort. Even after days of exposure to the infected, the sight still made his stomach turn.
The zombie lunged suddenly, its jaws snapping. But the thick strap across its forehead jerked its head back violently, keeping it locked in place.
"I hate this job," the doctor muttered, before driving the needle into the zombie’s arm and pushed the plunger down.
The creature shrieked, releasing a guttural, inhuman sound that reveberated through the sterile room.
The doctor immediately stepped back, wiping his gloved hands against his coat in disgust.
The infected subject was contained inside a sealed cubicle made of reinforced transparent glass, allowing those in the observation room to watch safely from the other side.
Behind the glass wall stood a group of observers. Among them were Alpha Caspian and several members of his medical team.
And standing slightly apart from the others was Patrick.
Yes, Patrick was among them.
But unlike the rest of the doctors, a thick metal collar encircled his neck. One of the guards nearby held a small remote in his hand. With a single press of a button, the collar would release a shock powerful enough to incapacitate him. It had been designed to make sure Patrick behaved.
Caspian folded his arms as he stared at the struggling zombie.
"This will be our fortieth attempt," he said pointedly. "If this doesn’t work..."
Patrick kept his gaze fixed on the glass cubicle.
"We’ll see then," he replied.
No one else spoke. All eyes turned toward the infected man, and for several long seconds, nothing happened.
Then suddenly, the monitors began screaming.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
One of the assistant doctors leaned forward.
"Heart rate spiking!" he called out.
Inside the cubicle, the zombie began thrashing violently. Its body convulsed as the injected chemical raced through its system.
The restraints rattled as the creature fought against them.
"Hold the readings steady," Caspian ordered.
The zombie let out a monstrous roar.
Then something changed. Thin streams of blood began leaking from the corners of its eyes. Another line of dark red trickled from its nose. Its body spasmed harder. The creature suddenly went still.
The monitors emitted one long, flat sound.
The zombie slumped forward in the restraints. He was dead. For real.
For a full minute, no one spoke.
Caspian stared through the glass, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled slowly.
"It still didn’t work."
Patrick lowered his gaze to the floor, guilt written heavily across his face.
"We’ll keep experimenting," he said hopefully. "Eventually we’ll reach a breakthrough."
Before Caspian could respond, the door to the laboratory opened as one of the pack guards stepped inside.
"Alpha Caspian," he said, bowing his head slightly. "The Alpha King is here."
Caspian frowned.
"Elijah?"
He hadn’t called earlier.
His eyes slid toward Patrick, a pitiful look on his face.

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