Clueless

*Ben's point of view*

How long had I been there? All that lingered in my ears were the few sounds I'd had access to- the unpleasant sliding of a metal door, the heavy boot-clad footsteps, my own heartbeat, my breath. There used to be screams, and protests. There used to be shouts, but... Had that even been me? I... didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore, except the blackness behind the blindfold and the IV in my arm, feeding me the bare minimum of nutrients I needed to survive along with some type of- no doubt, illegal- drugs.

What was my name?

What was... his name?

I heard a voice, it was always there, in my head. It was familiar, oh so familiar, but I didn't know who it was. My brain hurt, I spent hours, days, trying to remember. Just... remember. I needed to.

For the life of me, I couldn't.

Where was I?

My name is Benjamin Bruce. My name is Benjamin Bruce.

That was all I had, that was all I needed. It was my sanity, it was my identity. All I knew was my name, which was hardly enough.

Was there a god? If there was, why was I like this? Why was this happening to me? I wasn't the best person, far from it in fact, but no one deserved this. What had I done to deserve this?

Then the voice was back, along with the clanking of chains as I heard the door being unlocked and opened.

Your name is Benjamin Bruce.

My name is Benjamin Bruce.

You're nineteen.

I'm nineteen.

There's nothing wrong with you.

There's... everything wrong with me.

Where the fuck am I?

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*Danny's point of view*

It was hard, to find the will to live, especially since I spent most of my days trying to assure my boyfriend that didn't remember me of who he was. Who he was. Me? I was nothing, not anymore. I was numbers, the days and weeks, the conversations I'd had with Ben in his head. More than that, I was a wolf being turned into a lapdog against my will.

I'd come up with many theories about Gilds, most of them concluding with the fact that Mitchell Tony had collected as many mythical creatures as possible in order to conduct his own research. The Gilds Mental Hospital... It was a joke, a lie. Just a way to reach a selfish destination.

And because of the people that had managed to heard me up, I was living in hell. Metaphorically, of course, but to me there was no difference. The injections did things- horrible things. They made my hair itch, my skin burn. But I wasn't being held in rooms, hung by my ankles and wrists to the ceiling anymore, was I? No, I had a much worse fate.

My dignity was stripped. I had to walk on my hands and feet, I wore a collar. I wasn't allowed to speak.

It wasn't that bad, I suppose, since I looked like a dog in almost every aspect. The meds I was routinely given, though- instead of losing myself, as I usually would upon shifting, was gone. There was no seperate wolf, there was no lonesome Daniel. My wolf and I were somehow combined, and Mitchell was "training" me. To be a good dog, to do as I was told.

I'd fought back at first, of course, but it had been nearly six months, and escape seemed less and less likely. The people we'd trusted- Austin, Valerie- they didn't so much as glance at me anymore. They, too, were lap dogs; trained to attend to their owner's every whim.

I wanted to be free. I wanted my friends, my boyfriend, even my family...