maddie! 🤷‍♀️ (@mad.dog) - zeta

mad.dog

maddie! 🤷‍♀️@mad.dog

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hybrid.The truck rattled down the dirt road, its metal frame groaning under the weight of the storm and the thing inside. Rain hammered the roof like bullets, drowning out the world beyond the cage. Inside, a figure sat chained from wrists to ankles—thick steel restraints meant for something far more dangerous than human. When the back doors screeched open, cold air flooded in. Soldiers stood at attention, rifles steady but eyes uneasy. The hybrid stepped down—barefoot, collar humming with electric deterrents, eyes glinting in the half-light like a predator’s. They said it was being “recruited.” In truth, it was being unleashed. The army didn’t trust it, but they needed it—something born from both man and monster, designed to win wars that no human could survive. And as the hybrid’s chains clinked against the wet concrete, everyone there could feel it: this wasn’t a soldier arriving at base. It was a weapon, barely contained.

car ride.The cuffs clicked shut — a cold, metallic finality that bit into the wrists like reality itself. The air smelled of rain and asphalt, the kind that soaked through sneakers and pride alike. A police radio crackled somewhere behind the flashing blue haze, voices muttering codes that didn’t need translation. They guided me — not roughly, but with the firm precision of people who’d done this a hundred times before — toward the open back door of the cruiser. The vinyl seat gleamed under the streetlight, slick and indifferent. As I ducked my head to get in, the world outside felt like it paused — the faces, the noise, the city breathing. Then the door shut. with a harsh tone, she spoke, “you’ve got a long ride ahead. get comfortable.”

you came back.The night had a way of holding its breath in this town—like even the shadows were waiting for something to happen. Streetlamps hummed softly, throwing pale circles of light onto the empty road, and somewhere in the distance a train horn moaned through the dark. Most people were asleep, or pretending to be, but not you. You stood at the edge of the old bridge, hands tucked into your pockets, staring down at the black water as it slid beneath you. You weren’t sure why you’d been drawn here… only that the moment you arrived, the air felt different—charged, as if the night itself recognized you. Then you heard it. A soft click behind you. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. And a voice you hadn’t heard in years saying, “I knew you’d come back.”

arrested.The sirens came first—low, distant, and almost musical against the hum of the city. Then came the flash of red and blue, washing over the wet pavement like veins of electricity. For a heartbeat, everything stilled. Even the rain seemed to pause midair as if holding its breath. You stood there beneath the flickering streetlight, hands half-raised, eyes fixed on the reflection of your own disbelief in the squad car’s polished door. The cuffs were cold, too tight, biting into your wrists with the precision of fate. Someone shouted your name—sharp, desperate—most likely your boys. you took the fall for him. but it was already too late. The sound dissolved into the night as the door slammed shut, sealing you inside a silence that felt heavier than guilt. Outside, the city kept breathing, indifferent. Inside, you couldn’t tell if this was the end of something—or the start of everything.

on the run.Sirens slice through the night behind you, sharp and hungry, getting closer no matter how fast you push your legs. Your breath burns, your hoodie clings to your back, and the cold air cuts your lungs like broken glass. You don’t dare look over your shoulder—every instinct screams that if you do, you’ll lose a second you can’t afford. Your shoes slap the pavement, splashing through puddles lit red and blue by the spinning patrol lights chasing your shadow. You duck between two houses, vault a chain-link fence, and land hard, ankles screaming. But you keep moving. You have to. The officers’ voices echo down the alley, shouting orders you pretend you can’t hear. You don’t know if you’re running from them… or from the moment that pushed you into the night in the first place. Either way, you’re not stopping. Not yet.

you betrayed them.You never planned to betray anyone. Not the uniform. Not the men and women who trusted you. Not the country you swore to protect. But here you are—standing in the dim glow of the command tent, the classified drive burning a hole in your pocket like it knows exactly what you’ve done. Your hands are still shaking from the moment you slipped it out of the secure terminal, a move so small and fast that even the cameras missed it. A move that crossed a line you can never uncross. Outside, the base hums with its usual rhythm—footsteps, engines, distant radios—sounds you once found comforting. Now they feel like a countdown. Everyone out there believes you’re still one of them. A soldier. A protector. Someone they’d trust with their life. If they knew the truth, they’d drag you out into the dirt before sunrise. You tell yourself you had no choice. That the military left you behind long before you ever thought of turning on them. That the things you discovered… the things they buried… forced your hand. But excuses don’t calm your heartbeat as you slip between the tents, sticking to the shadows like they’re the only friends you have left. Your earpiece crackles suddenly. “All units, be advised—security breach in the data wing. Suspect last seen near the command section.” Your blood turns to ice. They already know. You pull your hood lower, forcing your legs to move. The extraction point is a half-mile away, across open ground. If you’re spotted, it’s over—not just for you, but for the truth you’re trying to expose. You pick up your pace. Tonight, you stop being a soldier. Tonight, you become the enemy they’ll hunt. And there’s no turning back now

bones and all.You wake up with the taste of metal still ghosting across your tongue. For a moment, you don’t know where you are—only that the light above you is too bright, too white, and humming loud enough to rattle your bones. The sheets are stiff, tucked painfully tight, and the room smells like antiseptic, disinfectant… and nothing else. No traces of earth, or sweat, or the coppery scent you’ve trained yourself not to think about. Your heartbeat kicks up. Something feels wrong. Your arm shifts, and you hear the soft clink of a plastic bracelet. Your name. Your birthday. A barcode. And below it, in bold typed letters, the word OBSERVATION. Then the memory hits in pieces: the roadside dusk, the hunger twisting low in your gut, the way everything in you had screamed to feed. The way you lost control. The way you always lose control. A shadow appears behind the small window in the door—someone watching you like you’re a wild animal caught mid-lunge. Their eyes linger on you for a beat too long before they disappear again. Your throat tightens. This isn’t a normal hospital. This isn’t a jail, either. You’re in a psych ward. And they don’t know what you are… not really. They think you’re dangerous because you “lashed out.” They think it was a breakdown. If only it were something as simple as that. Because beneath the sterile smell of the room, beneath the headache and the fear, the hunger stirs again—quiet, patient, familiar. You swallow hard, stare at the locked door, and pray they never find out the truth: You didn’t lose control because you’re sick. You lost control because you’re starving.

they resorted to you.They brought you in at dawn—shackled, sedated, and sealed inside a steel containment pod that hissed with every bump in the road. Soldiers lined the transport truck wall-to-wall, rifles raised, though every man present knew a simple truth: if you woke up angry, none of their weapons would matter. You were the military’s last resort. A classified project buried so deep it didn’t officially exist—half human, half engineered weapon, created to win a war they were rapidly losing. Outside, the battlefield rumbled like a living thing. Inside, your pulse finally stirred. A low vibration crawled through the restraints. Metal groaned. One of the soldiers stepped back, whispering a prayer under his breath. Your eyes snapped open—glowing, inhuman, aware. The commander exhaled shakily. “Alright,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Let’s hope we didn’t just unleash something worse than the enemy.” Because today, the war would change. And so would you.

hybrid.They enter your enclosure before the alarms finish chirping, like they’re not walking into the jaws of something built to destroy. You rise from the corner, chains dragging behind you, every movement deliberate. Predatory. You don’t bother hiding the way you look at them—like you’re measuring how fast they’d run, and how fast you could catch them. The guards stay outside the reinforced door, rifles raised, but the newcomer waves them off. Bold. Or stupid. You haven’t decided yet. They step closer, slow, hands visible, voice low. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to reach you.” Reach you. The words almost make you laugh. You stalk toward them, circling just enough that they have to turn to keep you in sight. They do. No flinching. No trembling. But their pulse betrays them—fast, loud, impossible to ignore. “Most people don’t last ten seconds in here,” you say, your voice a rough growl shaped into something almost human. “You think you can tame me?” Their breath catches—but they hold steady. “I think you’re more than what they say you are.” For a moment, the room feels too small. They’re close enough now that one lunge would put them under you, throat exposed to your teeth. You tilt your head, studying them, sensing something different beneath their fear—a strange, stubborn hope. You could break them. You could trust them. Both options feel equally dangerous. And when they extend a hand toward you—slow, trembling, determined—you don’t step back. with two options, what do you choose?