I heard footsteps approaching and I stifled a growl. No matter how much we were tortured it would not help for me to kill someone although I certainly could. I often wondered why the surgeons would mutilate us in ways that made us a threat to them, perhaps the fact they controlled people who could kill them made them feel powerful. All I knew was that it made me sick. I felt fingers poke my fur and I slowly opened my eyes. In front of me a teenage boy was surrounded by his friends. "See!" he stated<br/>"She can't hurt me!" I knew I wasn't supposed to talk to them but I couldn't help it. "Do you have a problem?" I snarled. The boys skittered backwards with looks of terror upon their faces. "Scat!" They all turned and fled simultaneously and I slowly sunk back down to the cold hard metal that was my reality.