It had only been four months since his 'retraining' had begun, but it felt like it was years. He thought it would be easy; a special program, for people with special abilities, to infiltrate and destroy the 'enemy'. Had he known what he was signing up for, he never would have considered it.<br/><br/>It started simple enough; learning about their enemy, their culture, their language, their society; basic infiltration and diplomacy. Micheal was good at tricky diplomatic situations; with an ability to see just slightly into the future, he could avoid dangerous faux pas, and had a bit of a reputation as a lady's man. However, once the experiments began...<br/><br/>They started small, almost unnoticeable; they called the injections 'immunizations' and 'vaccines', and promised they'd be valuable for the harsh environment they would be facing. Then 'minor' surgeries, again, to help 'prepare' them for the environment. When the fur started to sprout over their bodies, most of the participants were concerned, but they were reassured it was to assist in the diplomacy. The last straw for Micheal, though, was the major surgery, when they grafted the ears and tail onto him, without warning, and let him see the results of some of the others he'd grown to know, over the months. Terrified, and no longer wanting to participate in this horrific mockery... he ran.<br/><br/>He barely remembers the escape; two hours of running, while warning lights and alarms wailed, his sixth sense keeping him just one step ahead of the guards trying to capture him, until he finally escaped the compound. They'd even shot at him, mostly rounds designed to disable, but he'd taken a fragment of shrapnel to his left arm, before he escaped.<br/><br/>That was six days ago. Since then, he'd never stopped running, couldn't stop for more than a few hours at a time, because he knew they were always pursuing him. He'd had little to eat, less to drink, and his crude attempts to bandage his wound hadn't gone well. Not to mention, he'd lost his shoes, at some point, while crossing a stream. Finally, his exhaustion caught up with him, and, unbeknownst to him, he collapsed near the one person who might be willing to help him...<br/><br/>When he finally awoke, he knew he wasn't where he'd passed out; he could see he was inside, could feel that his wounds were taken care of. That means he'd either be captured by his pursuers... or rescued by the enemy. Neither of which would be good. For the moment, however, he'd remain quiet, and just listen.