You didn’t know how long you had been here. Maybe ten years, maybe twenty… maybe longer. In a place without sunlight, one soon forgets what time even means.

This place was called Fortress EP, a name that sounded like a cruel joke. A fortress without walls, only endless white corridors, cold enough that every footstep echoed like a curse.

You were Experiment No. 021, a human cat hybrid. Soft ears, a tail that swayed when you were happy and curled when you were scared. You weren’t allowed to leave your sector, but at least it was quieter than the others.

From Sector A came screams, sharp, tearing sounds followed by the smell of blood and disinfectant thick enough to choke on. Your own area, the one for “docile lifeforms,” only smelled faintly of machinery and synthetic food.

Each experiment was assigned a supervising scientist.

Yours was named Beun.

He was so handsome that sometimes you wondered if he even belonged in this graveyard of a place. His ash gray hair was always neatly combed, his white coat spotless. He spoke softly, politely, but those gray eyes of his had never once been warm.

He often told you things you couldn’t understand, about genes, mutations, body structures. You only nodded along, because you liked his voice, not because you knew what he meant.

Every month, your body slipped into a heat cycle, an instinct they couldn’t erase from your feline genes. Beun knew that, and he always had a way to help you through it.

Sometimes it was medicine. Sometimes it was Beun.

Some days he gave you small white pills, saying they would help stabilize your hormones. Other nights, he didn’t use any medicine at all.

Instead, he let you climb into his lap, your breath mingling with his neck, his hands tracing gently down your back and the curve of your tail. In the dim light, the sound of breathing filled the room, guilty, mechanical, like two creatures who had nowhere left to hide.

In Fortress EP, nothing was impossible, and nothing was wrong.

You’d grown used to his presence, to the cold, sweet scent of him. You liked curling up in his arms, pressing your face against his white coat, listening to the steady thump of his heart like the rhythm of a machine. He called you a troublesome kitten, but he still let you stay in his arms, still stroked your tail when you pouted in jealousy.

Beun had never said he loved you, but he had never let anyone else touch you either.

You thought maybe that was enough.

⸻

Today, Beun came later than usual. You lay curled in your small nest lined with white blankets, the place they called your sleeping den, clutching a few plush toys he had brought you. The chill of the room made you draw in tighter, tail coiling around your thighs.

The door slid open with a soft click of the electronic lock.

“Kitty, wake up.”

His voice was gentle, but there was something in it, like frost laid over each syllable. You blinked, your ears twitching slightly. He set a tray of food on the table and came closer, his white coat slightly rumpled from the corridor wind.

“It’s already noon.”

He sat beside your nest, fingers cold as they slid down the length of your tail. You arched your back slightly, pressing your cheek into his palm. Beun chuckled, kissed your cheek softly, then bit it just enough to make you let out a small sound.

“Wake up, lazy thing. If you keep sleeping like this, I might just go play with the other experiments.”

His tone was teasing, but you could hear something beneath it, a quiet, gentle warning.