Handel had once been sure of many things, but now he was only sure of one: humans were not meant to have wings. His new appendages barely fit in his cage. Handel could feel every tendon and muscle and ligament in his wings as they ached in protest from being put in the tiny cage. And his wing itched, but every time he tried to scratch it, his talons would pierce his skin. His once crisp white feathers were sticky with dried blood.
They told him that there would be no side effects. Handel chose to believe them, even as he heard the observation room’s doors lock behind the scientists. His belief had only started to waiver when his back roared in agony and his fingernails grew and hardened into heavy claws before his eyes. He felt heavier.
The scientists had shuttled him from the observation room to his current…
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