Stepping into the enclosure was a scene out of a horror movie.  A dark sci-fi film playing on television late at night, half-watched but buried into the subconscious.  Something about a dead spaceship and a rescue team doomed to die.

The portal sealed behind them like an airlock.  The hazmat gear was as thick and bulky as any spacesuit.  The only sound was breathing and the echo of the ventilator valve, whooshing in response.  The suit cut off all sensations except for the uncomfortable warmth of the recycled air within it.  The view of the room through the plastic visor was foggy – motes of space dust suspended in zero gravity.

The team enters the derelict craft completely oblivious to the danger.  They blunder through its passageways, never anticipating the alien monster lurking in the dark, preparing to kill them all.  Except in real life, the monster is right fucking in front of me, Emily Kendrick thought. 

She took another step almost expecting that gravity would fail, and her boot wouldn't land with a thud.  Her heart rattled in her chest.  The sensation was like an old fire alarm. The ones her elementary school had, with a red metal dome and a hammer beating against it in a panicked tattoo.  The alarm inside of her was telling each one of her muscles to flee.  The impulse sucked the strength out of her.

The suit was slightly too big.  The heavy material dragged roughly across her knees with each step, making it feel like her feet were going to slip out of the boots.  They said the fabric could withstand punctures, tearing, and distress.  But Emily had seen the creature in action, and she doubted it would provide any more protection than a chocolate bar wrapper.

The creature was on its side in the far corner of the pen.  It was supposed to be asleep.  They had pumped the room full of gas fifteen minutes ago, and a fine mist of the potent knockout drug still hovered in the air.  It gave Emily no sense of comfort whatsoever.

Tray bumped into her, sending her stumbling.  She struggled to stay upright, her balance thrown off by the weight of the air tank.  The straps of its harness dug deeply into her shoulders as she twisted to regain her footing. 

"Sorry."  His voice sounded deep and almost manly, over the suit's intercom system.

Her mind planned on screaming at him.  She wanted to tell him to stop being such a fucking klutz.  But the only sound to make it out of her pavement dry throat was a startled eh sound.  Her knees begged to crumple, so she could curl up on the floor.

For a second, she hoped that the beast would wake up.  It would be worth it if it went straight for Tray.  It would be a small justice, payback for his volunteering the two of them for a suicidal mission. 

Why would the biggest coward in the bunker want anything to do with this assignment?  She couldn't figure it out.  She had even less of a clue why he had involved her.

Perhaps the sorry son-of-a-bitch thought he could impress her.

At the beginning of the nightshift, R.J. had called everyone together in the OC.  Emily was beginning to wonder if he ever slept.  He seemed to live down there, always busy, constantly the move between the labs and offices.

"Tonight, we will be sending a team in to collect samples from the Subject."  He made the announcement as though proclaiming the end to world hunger.

"Um, with all due respect— are you fucking crazy?"  Aikman seemed to be speaking for the entire group.  He'd certainly taken the words out of Emily's mouth.

"The Subject will be tranquilized first with an airborne sedative.  No one will be in any danger.  The exposure time will be brief – you should only be in there for ten minutes, no more.  I need two people."

Emily leaned against a console with her arms folded.  What kind of idiot would go in there with that thing?

Everyone looked around at the others or stared at the floor.  No one spoke, until Gracie said, "I'll go."

Of course, she wouldn't be afraid.  She'd probably go in there without the tranquilizer, so long as she had a whip and a chair.

"Sorry."  R.J. scratched the faint stubble along his jawline and looked in the general direction of Gracie's knees.  "Wiley has already vetoed that.  You are deemed too high value to be allowed in the enclosure during one of the transformations."

Lovely.  She's high value.  I guess that makes the rest of us disposable.

"Look..."  R.J. ran his fingers through his hair. 

If Emily was into older men, she might have found herself drawn to him, with his wavy, dark hair, defined cheekbones, and eyes the color of faded denim.  His looks would certainly make it easier to fake interest if she ever needed to work him.  Easier than some of the marks she'd cozied up to.

"Look," he repeated after taking a deep breath.  "I understand that after last night there is some trepidation about approaching her – the Subject.  But we're scientists.  We can't let our emotions interfere with our work.  Every safety measure will be taken.  That last thing we want is for any of you to be injured."

Injured?  Torn limb from limb is more like it.

"This is the most significant scientific discovery of the twenty-first century.  Behind that wall, we have a creature that is known to us only by the ignorance of superstition.  This is a unique opportunity.  Having her is like being given the Hubble telescope in the middle of the Dark Ages.  She is not a werewolf.  A werewolf is something of make-believe – born out the fear of the unknown.  The creature we are studying is a unique and undiscovered form of evolution.  It is our duty to find out as much about her as we can for the enlightenment of the whole world.  It is not just our duty, it is our obligation to science and to humanity.  We cannot succumb to our fears and remain in the dark."

Nice speech.  But I'd rather be in the dark than be a stain on the floor.

No one else seemed to be buying it either.  There was an awkward silence that stretched on – it was painful in its duration.  She watched the tips of her shoes, silently chanting for the meeting to come to an end, like some magic spell.  Then Tray stepped forward – literally stepped forward striding into the middle of the room.

"Emily and I will do it."

The bizarreness of the words seemed to take a very long time to penetrate the synapses in her brain.

Fuck me. What did he just say?

She wasn't even given the chance to protest after that.  R.J. immediately pulled them aside and started going over safety protocols and the list of samples that we're required.  Then they were off for training on the ballistic grade BSL4 hazmat suit.

At no point did the freaking idiot apologize to her or even look her in the eye.  Tray even let her walk into the cage first.  She was going to get him for this.  He would pay.

Although, the truth was she was just as mad at herself as she was with him.  She'd kept quiet and gone along with it, and now she was closer to her own death than ever before.  The betrayal had been her own – the gambler in her head decided to roll the dice without fully weighing the consequences.  The first rule should always be self-preservation.  But between the time she was volunteered to the moment she entered the cage, she had deluded herself.

"Five years was the agreement."  Wiley had told her, with an apologetic smile that only underscored his smugness.  He leaned forward in his swivel chair, faking concern.

"What?  When I signed up you didn't say anything about that.  You said you'd get him back."

"And we will.  But we need you here for the next five years.  We retrieve him now, what's to stop you from disappearing in the middle of the night."

He had her M.O. down pat.  Play the mark and then vanish, usually pulling up roots and leaving town in the wee hours of the morning.

"You son-of-a-bitch."  She screamed and flung the papers off of his desk.  Her nails scraping against the metal surface.  The loose sheets floated through the air, the files dropped to the ground spilling their contents across the floor.  She was screwed.  She'd been played.

"Five years will be too late.  If you're not going to do it, I'll leave here right now and do it myself."

He smiled at her – not one of his usual fake grins.  This one seemed sad.  Did he pity her?  She didn't want his pity, but perhaps she could use it.

"I can't allow that.  Just be patient."

Emily dropped to the ground, her knees meeting the vinyl tiles a little too hard.  She pressed her face into her arms that were sprawled in front of her on the desk and let the sobs pour out.  They came far more naturally than she cared to admit.

"My hands are tied."  He was out of his seat and by her side, patting her shoulder.  "If I were to help you sooner, I would need to prove to my superiors that you were committed."

"Committed?"  The word was weak, sputtered out over the raw hitch in her throat.

"Committed to the project.  To the agreement."

If walking into the lair of the beast wasn't committed, what was?  She just hoped if this thing ate her, Wiley would still hold up his end and get Aaron out of Venezuela.

Exhausted from the effort, she reached the sleeping giant.  But it didn't look so gigantic.  It was about as large as a St. Bernard.  Although it didn't look very dog-like.  There was nothing tame or cuddly about this creature.  

Under a mat of coarse fur, its muscles pulled tight with each rise and fall of its chest.  The long neck stretched out along the floor, where the head lolled with bared teeth.  It didn't look asleep.  It looked pissed.

"It's breathing heavily.  Are you sure it's out?"

Gracie's voice came in over the intercom.  "Positive."

Okay, and why is that, Doctor Woman?  Tell me how you used enough gas to knock out an elephant – a herd of elephants.  Tell me something to make me feel better.

"If it was conscious it would be more aggressive as it tried to fight the effects of the drug."

Great!  More aggressive.  Nothing like having a more aggressive monster lying at your feet.

"I'm concerned about her respiration."  R.J. cut in on the channel.  "We're having a hard time locking in with the sensors.  Do you two think you could drag her toward the center of the room?"

"Hell no!"

"What was that?"

"No, sir."  Well, you finally said no.  Now you need an excuse, other than being scared shitless.  "I don't think we can lift it.  We may injure her if we try."

"Alright then."  Even with the sharp overlay of electronic reproduction, the disappointment in his voice was clear.  "Start collecting those samples."

Emily looked into Tray's visor.  He seemed to be muttering a prayer to himself.

"Get that kit open, already.  I don't want to be in here a second longer than I have to."

Tray kneeled on the floor and opened up the black vinyl case with their equipment.  His hands fumbled with the latches.  It seemed to take forever for him to get them open and lift the lid.  Then he dug around inside for what felt like another fifteen minutes looking for something.  His trembling fingers produced a syringe and reached over to hand it to Emily.

"Uh-huh.  You're the nurse.  I'm just here to assist."

The look of terror in his eyes was priceless.  It almost made this all worth it.  Almost.

The front of his 210-degree viewport started to fog as his breath picked up.  He tried to open the wrapping but was unable to rip it with the gloves on.  The idiot even brought it up to his mouth to tear it open with his teeth, only to smack his helmet back with both hands.

"Give that stupid thing to me."  Emily snatched it from him.  Tore the paper off, popped the cap letting it fall to the floor, and handed it back to him.

Reluctantly he took it.  Still, on his knees, he scooted closer to the creature and started probing for a vein on its right front leg.  He pressed the needle to the skin and hesitated.

Tray looked up at Emily.  She wasn't sure if it was some kind of silent plea, or if he was hoping for guidance.

The beast hadn't moved since they entered.  If it weren't for its breathing, it might be dead.

"Do it!"  She hadn't intended to scream, but her impatience expelled the words like a slap across his face.

His hand jerked, and he jammed the needle into the monster's vein.

Its back leg kicked out in response, and Tray flew several feet across the room.  When his hand drew back, the syringe pulled away and rattled along the floor.  For a second, Emily thought that it had actually kicked him even though she hadn't seen the creature touch him.  Full-on terror gripped her and shook her, sending a tremble through every nerve ending.  She desperately hoped she wouldn't vomit, as briny acid hit the back of her throat and her stomach folded in on itself.

Not in the suit.  Christ, not in the damn suit.  

She took deep breaths sucking in the oxygen faster than the respirator could supply it. 

"Is everything alright in there?"  R.J.'s voice locked things back to reality.  There was a reassurance in its presence.  It was like a message from Ground Control letting her know whatever might happen, she wasn't utterly alone in the void of the universe.

Emily got herself under control.  "Everything's fine."    

It didn't kick him.  He just scooted backward.

"There was just a muscle spasm." She looked over at Tray, who hadn't moved since his retreat. 

Useless fuck.  I hope you wet yourself.

Emily pulled out another needle from the kit.  She was going to have to do this herself.  She wasn't going to wait around in here for it to wake up and make a breakfast out of her.  She would have to step up.  Besides, if she wanted to have any self-respect at the end of the day, she couldn't allow herself to be as paralyzed by fear like him.

Do it for Aaron, she whispered to herself.