You're not going to do. The room was cold, sterile, its white walls reflecting the harsh flicker of fluorescent lights overhead.

A heavy sin of chemicals lingered in the air, and the distant hum of machines reverberated through the stillness.

Occasionally muffled cries echoed through the halls, followed by the metallic clinging of doors. The others, those taken before, always returned different.

Their eyes wide, empty, haunted by things that can never comprehend. Some never returned at all. The white-coated

figures who moved in and out spoke and clipped tones. Their faces always obscured by

mass. Their hands gloved and attached.

When they came for you, it was no different.

The cold bite of the needle brought a floating numbness and the world became a blur of sterile hallways and glass walls.

Beyond those walls, others like yourself lay still on metal tables.

Words floated through the air. FMD strain, trial, resistance, spoken by the faceless figures who hovered. It wasn't until a fleeting glance at the reflection of a glass

window, hooves tapping softly on the ground, a thick coat of fur, wide on blinking eyes.

The horrors, the cages, the experiments, everything made sense.

This was far from humid. You were just cattle. You were just another subject at Plum Island.

Whoa! That was really good. I like that. That was stellar. Hey, that was good all around you

You're a cow from human you were just cattle, but yeah, I I understand that literally literally it was a cow.

I said you understand you're a cow.

I am a cow I am a cow I am being milked currently.

That's all it was.

Jackson likes to do that to me for some reason.

The facility I'm talking about there was just a farmer in a shed basically just milking Isaiah.

That's the image I want everyone to have there.

A farmer in a shed just milking me. Whoa. That's Plum Island.

...