"You are inside Borealis, Howl," a man said through an invisible loud speaker. "Killer." He chuckled.
It was just another white room that lacked all depth and definition after the sudden flurry of images had dissipated. Silent tears trickled down Howl's cheeks. His brain was in pieces, and his heart had beat itself into submission. The boy tried to speak again but could only produce squeaks.
Another chuckle through the loud speaker. "I'm surprised you don't recognize my voice," the man said. His voice was smug. "No matter, though. You're a smart boy. You'll figure it out before too long."
Howl blinked, severing a stream of tear drops from their source.
"You're physical condition is astounding. So much vitality for a boy your age. Do you know how many bone fractures you've suffered in the past three years? Twenty-nine. They've all healed rather well. So... you are lucky in that regard." The man paused. "However, the index of your muscle mass and the rate of its growth, or fluctuation, indicate that you may experience some amount of height irregularity, i.e. you're growth will be stunted. So, get used to your current stature."
The boy held his breath. He was trying very hard to locate the source of the man's voice. It was difficult, given the acoustics of the room, however large it was.
"Not that it will be a problem. Your height is perfect for the conditions you've been forced to live in." Howl could almost hear a smile curving the meaning of the man's words. "You know, I was the one who selected you to become a Riser Dog, both you and your father."
Had Howl not already been holding his breath, he would have stopped breathing just then. The information he was being fed made little sense to him. What did the man mean? Everyone in Howl's pack could say that they had been present at Howl's birth, that Howl's father had been the alpha of their pack for nearly twenty years.
"I can see the look on your face. Incredulous. Now, don't go believing everything you remember. The human brain is very insufficient in terms of recording witnessed history. There are so many inaccuracies over time. Your mind reconstructs or removes people from your memories whenever it wants. You have no control. Their clothes change. Their actions. Their motivations. People say one thing. You thought they meant another. What's true is the present. It cannot lie. It's fresh the second you experience it. The second after, unfortunately, is of little to no use. It's become past. Yet we cling to it... For, what else do we have?" The man was talking in circles to confuse the boy. "So, listen to me. I am not here to lie to you. I am here to enlighten you, Howl... Killer." More chuckles.
The room went dark again in order to subject Howl to more crazy images, but Howl had located the source of the man's voice while the man had been talking. And, when the lights had gone out, Howl had seen, for a split second before the images had blocked his field of vision, a man standing behind a high-up window, inside of a small room, leaning over a microphone, his back arched and his arms braced against whatever it was that was supporting the microphone.
Images of men and women in long, white coats creating balls and blocks of oranges, reds, and yellows contorted around Howl's body as he thought about what he had just seen. The boy raised a hand to see if he could touch one of the images circling around him. His fingers cut right through, and he felt nothing. The images, however, flushed red and changed over to flashes of violence and death the instant his fingers made contact. It was disturbing, but Howl had seen worse.
Unsure of what else to do, the boy took a deep breath and shrugged. "They don't call me 'Killer' for nothing," he said to himself.
The next thing he knew, he was running, the images were behind him, and before long, he could make out the features on the man's face.
The man laughed. "Good. Very good," he said.
