For a man who literally died a hundred and one ways to be here, Rory Adams was anything but excited on his first day off in countless months. He was the center of attention in the middle of a board room in a bustling convention center that no one would expect to be hosting an event of this caliber. Out of a sea of strangers, he recognized a mere two of them, though both Doctors Ogden and Palmer were irritatingly ignoring him as they schmoozed with colleagues. It was therefore left to Rory to represent Aemen Labs by standing as still as a statue while scientists and media representations ogled his sleek, polished form. He felt more like an expensive Lamborghini than a human being.

  Heaving a sigh, he had to remind himself yet again that after many long, grueling months spent selling his soul in every definition of the phrase, it was almost over. As soon as the hands on that clock on the wall near the tempting exit sign spun around to three o’clock, Rory Adams would be a free man. If he could go back four years and tell himself what he knew now, he would’ve lit that pamphlet on fire and run far, far away. Sure, the money had been good— way better than originally promised, but it would’ve been better selling himself on the streets than to science.

  “Oof, now that’s a man!” a reporter swooned, fanning herself as her eyes pored over every inch of Rory’s physique. Her expensive fire-engine red manicure rivaled Rory’s own, though his nails were clear. There wasn’t much left to her imagination thanks to his thin blue cotton button-up and leather pants that were smooth as butter and so skin-tight as to be non-existent. He was relieved when she dragged herself away to speak with someone else.

  Out of habit, Rory made to push his hair off his face, except the gesture was in vain these days. Where his dark hair once swooped low and unruly over his hazel eyes, it was now cut, styled, and gelled into perfect submission. And the changes didn’t stop there; he’d undergone so much surgery that he wasn’t even sure his family would recognize him anymore. He certainly didn’t on the rare occasions when he happened to catch his face in the mirror. He looked more like Henry Cavill than the man he used to be.

  “Is that a tattoo?” a man asked behind him, forcing Rory to pivot.

  “I don’t have—” he started to explain that he had no tattoos, that he wasn’t sure to what the man was referring. Except nobody was looking at him because they didn’t expect him to answer. Why would anyone expect a glorified exhibit piece to answer questions?

  Dr. Ogden interrupted with barely a glance at the man who felt more subject than human being. “Just a small one, of course! You understand, we like to make sure every one of our… prodigies are unique. The certified original!” he beamed. “A quick tag behind the ear is nothing intrusive. Hardly noticeable!”

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  Every one of our what, Og? Rory thought loudly, glaring at the man who was for all intents and purposes his boss. He all but demanded the guy to finish his sentence, to clarify the word he was about to say before ‘prodigies’ came to mind. Test subject?

  Instead, he reached up to touch behind his left ear, then his right. Sure enough, it was barely there, but there nonetheless. He wouldn’t have ever noticed it if they hadn’t brought it up. But there it was: a thin sliver of raised flesh where he imagined some kind of serial number branded into his skin. It suddenly didn’t matter how much money they threw at him or how beautiful he appeared to be now. Being tagged like some piece of livestock wasn’t worth any of it. None of it was.

  And a small, annoying thought in the back of his head was… what number was he?

  And at three o’clock, he would disappear. He’d find the nearest way out of town, be it a bus or a plane or a taxi, and get the hell out of dodge. By nightfall, he’d be on his way to New York City, however far from here that was, and become as elusive as a chameleon among the thousands of citizens there. He’d find the first laser tattoo removal clinic he came upon and book himself an appointment. After that, the world would be his oyster. They’d never find him again and more importantly, they would no longer own him.

  If only it were truly that easy.

  While Rory dreamed of being free, deserved to be free, another creature got to live it for the first time in its life. Every new scent was thrilling, every taste unfamiliar, so unlike the same old meal it was used to ever since being weaned off its mother’s milk. Each new, rich gust of wind through its fur felt like it had wafted down from heaven.

  And yet, as happy an experience as this was, the vast majority of the population would very much prefer it was returned to whichever fucked up place it came from. Immediately.

  It managed to stay well under the radar at first. Nobody knew it existed for months. A few pets disappeared, which was devastating for the families affected, but nobody suspected anything really crazy was going on. Pets ran away all the time and never returned, whether by natural causes or getting taken by strangers or hit by a car. It was surprisingly easy to miss the lion’s share of evidence that was suddenly piling up around town.

  It continued unnoticed until the creature had the awful idea to bite off more than it could chew. Instead of house pets, it turned its massive brown eyes upon the zoo. The keepers came in the next morning to a tableau of blood and gore. Cages and animals alike were destroyed, forcing the zoo to close down immediately for the foreseeable future as the staff cleaned up, battened down their security system, and worked on replacing their animals. The creature might’ve still gotten away with it if not for leaving behind a molar far too large to have come from any of the critters who resided on the island naturally. A raccoon, possum, or even a wolf couldn’t have committed such an act, not without a whole legion of their own behind them.

  No, the tooth could only have come from one of nature’s greatest apex predators.

  Once the local paper revealed that tidbit, all hell broke loose.