Chapter 9: Wolf

- Gabriel

The logistics were becoming a nightmare. Three days of isolation had stretched our resources thin, and my frustration was mounting with each passing hour. "We need more hands," I said, gesturing to the scattered equipment. "I can't keep shuttling supplies while maintaining operational security. The rest of Echelon is starting to ask questions I can't answer. Barrett cornered me this morning wanting to know why the MRI suite is suddenly off-limits."

Ramona didn't look up from her microscope. "And I've told you, Gabriel, we can't risk exposure until we understand the programming parameters." Her voice carried that clinical detachment I'd come to recognize as her defense mechanism when overwhelmed. "For all we know, infected women could be waiting for a code phrase or signal to act in ways we haven't anticipated. Until we understand what we're dealing with, we can't trust anyone."

"That's pure speculation," I countered, pacing the limited floor space. "We're burning precious time while—"

"While what?" Ramona finally looked up, dark circles prominent beneath her eyes. "While I try to reverse-engineer a neurological virus that rewrites human consciousness? I understand your frustration, but this isn't like scheduling lab time for Tristan and Portia."

Phoebe snorted from her workstation. "God, could you imagine those two in here? We'd be doomed." Despite her attempt at humor, the strain showed in her hunched shoulders and the way her fingers tapped nervously against her keyboard.

"I understand we need to be cautious," I said, moderating my tone. "But we need more expertise. We need—"

"Selena, Dr. Abbott... Lenore..." Ramona admitted with a sigh. "Among others. Her electromagnetic expertise would be invaluable right now." She glanced at her notes with visible frustration. "But until we know exactly what we're dealing with, bringing anyone else in is a risk I'm not prepared to take."

The heavy door to the MRI room suddenly swung open with a pneumatic hiss. Duncan Mercer burst in, slamming it shut behind him. His lean frame seemed even more taut than usual, his bald head beaded with sweat. The building systems engineer rarely showed emotion, but now his eyes were wide with barely contained panic.

"For Christ's sake, Duncan!" Phoebe shouted, jumping to her feet. "We established protocols! You're supposed to warn us so we can move to the signal-null zone!" She pointed to the corner of the room she'd determined was safest from potential signal leakage when the door opened.

"Sorry, sorry," Duncan muttered, but his usual methodical demeanor had clearly been shattered by something more urgent. "You need to see this. Now." He pulled his phone from one of his many cargo pockets, his hand visibly shaking.

He started to approach me, but Ramona intercepted him, snatching the device from his hand. Her eyes scanned the screen, her expression shifting from annoyance to horror in seconds. Phoebe abandoned her workstation to read over Ramona's shoulder, her usual energetic fidgeting freezing as she absorbed whatever was on the screen.

"Jesus Christ," Phoebe whispered, her face draining of color.

Duncan paced the room, checking his watch compulsively. "Everyone received it..."

"What?" I demanded, my stomach knotting with dread. "What's happening?"

Ramona finally handed me the phone, her movements deliberate and controlled despite the disgust evident in her expression. As I took it, I noticed her immediately turn to the lab bench, grabbing a pencil and paper. She began writing with intense focus, her hand moving rapidly across the page.

The message on the screen was from something calling itself "The Source." My blood ran cold as I read through the announcement: a grotesque manifesto explaining that men could now "claim" women through touch and verbal declaration. The clinical description of the process, the smug certainty of the language, the dehumanizing implications… it was revolting.

My thoughts immediately flew to Wendy. She was supposed to be in town today, meeting Elaine, Lenore and Cedric at that café she loved. Out in the open.

"I need to go," I said, already moving toward the door. "Wendy's in town. I have to find her before—"

"Gabriel, stop." Ramona's voice cut through my panic with unexpected authority. She stood between me and the door, holding the paper she'd been writing on. "You can't leave now."

"The hell I can't!" I shouted, something I rarely did. "My wife is out there while men are being told they can—"

"Listen to me, Gabriel. What's the point of finding your wife if we can't undo what's been done to her? If some man has already claimed her, what then? Our priority must be finding a countermeasure."

"Get out of my way, Ramona," I growled.

"We need help," she insisted, thrusting the paper into my hands. "Here's who we need."

I glanced down at the list – about twenty names, all female scientists from Echelon. I recognized every one of them. Specialists in virology, neuroscience, computer modeling, electromagnetic physics…

"I don't understand," I said, looking up at her in confusion. "You said we couldn't trust women. That we needed to keep this contained."

"That was before men were given the power to enslave us," Ramona replied coldly. "Now I certainly wouldn't trust most men, but that's not the point. If you claim these women, Gabriel, they'll work for you. And by extension, for us. For our cause."

Phoebe's jaw dropped. "You want him to… to claim them? Like property?"

Duncan stopped pacing, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"The chaos I suspect is happening out there will actually provide us cover to work more discreetly," Ramona continued, her voice clinical and detached. "And we no longer have the luxury of caution. The situation is too dire."

I stared at the list again, bile rising in my throat as I realized what she was asking. "You're asking me to enslave our colleagues?"

"I'm asking you to save them," Ramona countered, her eyes flashing. "And to save everyone else. Do you think the men out there will hesitate? Our window is closing, Gabriel. If other men claim the women we need, they'll be forever unable to help us. Forever unable to save themselves, their daughters, all women."

I looked from Ramona to Phoebe, who seemed torn between horror and recognition of the terrible logic, to Duncan, who looked as sickened as I felt.

"There has to be another way," I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew we were out of options.

"There isn't," Ramona said simply. "Not in time."

I stared at the list in my hand, the names of my colleagues, brilliant women I respected, now reduced to targets. The weight of what Ramona was asking settled on my shoulders like a physical burden.

"This is complete bullshit," Phoebe muttered, running her hands through her already disheveled hair. Her eyes met mine, filled with disgust, but she didn't argue further. The pragmatic scientist in her recognized the terrible logic, even as the human in her recoiled.

My thoughts turned to Wendy again. Was she safe? Was someone already trying to claim her? The image of my wife's consciousness being hijacked, her will subjugated to some stranger's desires, made my stomach churn. But Ramona was right, finding her wouldn't help if we couldn't reverse what had been done.

"Duncan," I said, turning to the engineer who still looked shell-shocked. "Take the biology wing. Claim the women on this list who work there." The word 'claim' tasted like ash in my mouth. I tore the list in half and handed him his portion. "I'll handle computing and physics."

Duncan's weathered face contorted with revulsion. "Gabriel, I can't just—"

"Would you rather leave them to chance?" I snapped, harsher than I intended. "To whoever gets to them first?"

He fell silent, his moral compass visibly struggling against our new reality.

I glanced at Ramona, seeking confirmation that I could trust Duncan with this task. After a moment's hesitation, she gave a **** nod.

"Go," I told him. "We'll reconvene in the MRI room in one hour."

We left together, the heavy door sealing Ramona and Phoebe back into their protected environment. As we reached the central atrium of Echelon, Duncan and I exchanged one last look, a silent acknowledgment of the line we were about to cross, before turning in opposite directions.

The institute was unnaturally quiet. Researchers stood in small clusters, some staring at their phones with expressions ranging from confusion to horror. Two women from accounting hurried past me, their faces tight with fear, clearly heading for the exits. So far, it seemed no one had acted on The Source's message, but the tension in the air was palpable, like the stillness before a storm.

"Gabriel!"

I turned to see Alva Tanner approaching, her usual efficient stride now hesitant. Her rectangular glasses couldn't hide the concern in her eyes.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she said, lowering her voice. "Have you seen the message everyone received? People are saying it's connected to the Blackout. Is this… is this real?"

I hesitated, studying my assistant's face. Alva had been with me for three years, organized, perceptive, unflappable. She wasn't on Ramona's list, but if I were making my own, she'd be at the top. The thought chilled me even as I calculated how valuable she would be in the coming days.

It's for the greater good, I told myself, the justification hollow even as I reached for her arm.

"Gabriel?" Confusion flashed across her face as my fingers closed around her wrist. She tried to pull away, her professional demeanor slipping. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, Alva," I said, tightening my grip. "You're mine now."

The transformation was immediate and unsettling. The resistance in her arm vanished. Her expression shifted from confusion to something else entirely, a look of intense focus and… complicity. It was as though we'd suddenly become partners in some shared secret.

"Of course I am," she said, her voice unchanged yet somehow fundamentally different. She straightened her glasses with her free hand. "What do you need me to do?"

I released her wrist, horrified by what I'd just done, and disturbed by the small flicker of arousal that accompanied the power I now held over her. This woman who had always maintained professional boundaries now looked at me like I was the center of her universe, her purpose realigned to serve my needs.

"Follow me," I managed, swallowing hard and showing her the list. "We need to find these specific women from computing and physics before anyone else does."

"Claiming them for you?" she asked with an efficiency that was pure Alva, yet now tinged with an eagerness to please that had never been there before. She pulled out her tablet. "I can help you locate them. Dr. Foster was in Lab 4 this morning, and I believe Dr. Renton is her office."

As we turned to leave, I noticed several people had witnessed what had just happened. A lab technician whose name I couldn't remember backed away, her eyes wide with fear. Dr. Mendez from Neurobiology, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman I'd always admired for her work on Alzheimer's, hurried in the opposite direction, casting a horrified glance over her shoulder. The reality of what I'd done, what I was about to do more of, hit me with fresh ****.

The flash of recognition hit me like a physical blow—Dr. Mendez was on Ramona's list. Without conscious thought, I was moving, my feet carrying me after her retreating form. The primal urgency of the chase sent a disturbing thrill through me; I felt like a predator, a wolf pursuing prey. The metaphor sickened me even as I quickened my pace.

"Dr. Mendez! Wait!" I called out, aware of Alva's footsteps behind me.

The central atrium erupted into chaos. A research assistant dropped her coffee, the ceramic mug shattering on the marble floor. Two women who had witnessed me claim Alva scrambled toward the exit, their lab coats flapping behind them. A postdoc I recognized from Tristan's team flattened himself against the wall, eyes wide with horror.

Dr. Mendez, Renata, reached the circular arrangement of benches surrounding the central fountain, using them as barriers between us. Her dark eyes were wild with fear, her usually composed demeanor shattered.

"Someone help me!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Please!"

Her plea cut through me like a knife. I had interviewed her three years ago, had championed her research on neural regeneration. Now I was hunting her like an animal.

Alva, ever efficient, had circled around the opposite way, cutting off Renata's escape route. The two women locked eyes across the fountain, one claimed, one free. Alva's expression held no malice, just the focused determination of someone executing a task for her… master. The word made me want to vomit.

"I'm sorry," Alva said to Renata, her voice almost gentle as she lunged forward, catching the neuroscientist by her lab coat.

Renata struggled, but Alva held firm just long enough for me to close the distance. Cornered between a pillar and the fountain, Renata pressed herself against the wall, hands raised defensively.

"Please, Gabriel," she begged. "I have a husband. Two children. Don't do this."

"I have to," I said, the words hollow even to my own ears. "It's the only way to—"

The distinctive click of a gun being cocked froze me in place. Cold metal pressed against the back of my head.

"Step away from her, Gabriel." The voice belonged to Edward Barrett, our head of security, using my first name for the first time ever. "Now."

I raised my hands slowly, my heart hammering in my chest. "Edward—"

"I don't know what the hell's gotten into you," he growled, "but I never figured you for one of the bad ones." He glanced at Alva with undisguised disgust. "And you. What are you doing helping him?"

"Mr. Ritter needs these women," Alva stated simply, as though explaining a scheduling change. "It's important."

A small crowd had gathered at a safe distance, mostly male researchers at this point, observing with expressions ranging from confusion to horror. Tristan Grimaud stood at the front, his thin face alight with fascinated curiosity, like he was observing a particularly interesting experiment. Beside him stood Bernard Smith, his usual expression of mild disapproval deepening to something akin to fascination.

"I can explain," I said, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Really?" Edward pressed the gun harder against my skull. "Because it looks like you're hunting down women in my facility."

"I have a list," I said desperately, slowly reaching into my pocket.

"A shopping list?" Edward spat, his voice dripping with contempt. "The hottest women in the institute, ripe for the taking?"

I groaned. "These specific women... they're the only ones who can help us reverse this. Whatever that fucking Source has done, these scientists can undo it. But only if we claim them first, before someone else does."

Edward gave a harsh laugh. "That's convenient. 'I need to enslave these particular women to save everyone.'"

"He's telling the truth," Alva insisted, stepping forward. "Mr. Ritter would never—"

"Be quiet," Edward snapped. "You're not yourself anymore."

I pulled out the folded paper, my hands shaking. "Look at the list. It's in Dr. Quinn's handwriting. She's the one who asked me to do this."

Edward didn't take the list, but he didn't stop me from unfolding it either.

"I don't know Dr. Quinn's handwriting," he pointed out, his voice slightly less certain.

"For God's sake, Edward, you know me," I pleaded, desperation making my voice crack. "I have a wife I love more than anything. I'm doing this for her. For all women." I swallowed hard. "You've seen us working in the MRI room. I asked you to increase security around it. You know something's been happening since before the Blackout. This is connected."

A long, tense moment passed. Then, slowly, the pressure of the gun eased.

"If you're lying to me…" Edward left the threat unfinished.

"I'm not," I said, relief flooding through me. "But we need to hurry. These women... if someone else claims them first, they'll be lost to us. Lost to themselves."

Edward holstered his weapon and took the list, scanning it with a professional eye. "Dr. Quinn wrote this? She believes these women can fix this?"

"Yes. But we need help. We need to claim them before anyone else does."

I turned to the small gathering of men, suddenly aware that I was at a crossroads not just for myself, but for everyone in this room. For everyone, period.

I didn't know who I could trust, but I knew I was probably running out of time. I couldn't do this alone. "Listen to me," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "What's happening right now is an atrocity. But we have a chance to fight back. The women on this list are our best hope for undoing whatever The Source has done. Either help us claim them, to protect them, to give them a chance to use their brilliance to save themselves and others, or stay and help us yourself. Otherwise, get the hell out of our way. But make no mistake: we are going to save them."

Dr. Smith stepped forward, adjusting his glasses as he examined the list. "I recognize several names from my department," he said, his voice strangely neutral despite the circumstances. "I'll help."

Edward holstered his weapon with a sigh. "I'll lock down the building and gather my team." His eyes met mine, still wary. "You have an hour. After that, I'll let anyone who wants to leave."

I nodded, acutely aware of Dr. Mendez still pressed against the wall, watching us with wide, terrified eyes. I'd always found her beautiful in a distant, professional way: her high cheekbones and warm brown skin, the graceful way she moved through the lab, the intensity of her focus when explaining her research. Now, seeing her **** and terrified because of me, that beauty twisted into something painful to witness.

Most of the men began to disperse, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen. Tristan lingered a moment longer, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a nervous gesture.

"I'll help," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, and he was gone before I could respond.

Edward moved swiftly to the main entrance, the keys jangling in his hand as he locked the heavy doors. The sound echoed through the atrium like a prison gate closing.

Dr. Mendez's breathing came in short, panicked gasps. "Please, Gabriel," she whispered, her voice breaking. "This isn't you. You're a good man. I've always respected you."

Alva watched impassively, her head tilted slightly as though observing an interesting but ultimately routine procedure. The contrast between her calm acceptance and Renata's terror was jarring.

"I'm sorry," I said, reaching for her hand. Her fingers were cold and trembling as I gently took them in mine. "I truly am."

She shook her head, a tear spilling down her cheek. "My children—"

"I claim you," I said quietly, the words like poison on my tongue.

The transformation was immediate and profound. The fear drained from her face, replaced by a strange clarity. Her posture straightened, her breathing steadied. She looked at me with new eyes, not vacant or mindless, but focused, as though I had suddenly become the fixed point around which her world revolved.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping away the tear with her free hand, seemingly embarrassed by her previous distress. "What do you need me to do?"

SHE was sorry? The absurdity of it hit me like a blow. Her familiar personality was still there: the precise diction, the slight tilt of her head when she asked a question, but now directed toward serving my interests with an unsettling eagerness.

"Go to my office," I instructed, releasing her hand. "Lock the door behind you and only let in other women. Stay there until I come for you."

She nodded, accepting the instruction without question. "Should I begin summarizing my recent research? It might be relevant to whatever you're working on."

"Yes," I said, impressed despite myself by how quickly her brilliant mind had reoriented itself to be useful to me. "That's a good idea."

"Do you still need my help locating others or..." Alva asked, stepping forward.

"No, go with her," I insisted. "Keep her safe."

Alva nodded, though I could see she was disappointed not to be of more direct service. The two women walked away together, their heads already bent in conversation, like colleagues embarking on an exciting new project rather than victims of a catastrophic violation.

I turned and sprinted toward the physics department, my footsteps echoing in the now-emptying corridors. As I rounded the corner near the quantum computing lab, I skidded to a halt. Dr. Melissa Foster, brilliant, young, with the kind of conventional beauty that had made her the subject of too many break room comments, was following a male researcher I vaguely recognized. She was smiling, her hand clasped in his, looking up at him with that same focused devotion I'd just seen in Renata's eyes.

The man... Daniels? Davidson? ...caught sight of me and froze, his expression that of someone caught in a shameful act. He hadn't been present for my speech; he'd been busy claiming one of our most valuable physicists for himself.

"Hey!" I shouted, lunging forward to grab him. "She's needed for—"

He twisted away from my grasp with surprising agility, backing up several steps. "Stay away from us!"

"You don't understand," I insisted, advancing on them. "We need her expertise to reverse this. To free women from—"

"Fuck off!" Dr. Foster snapped, stepping between us. The fire in her eyes was pure Foster—she'd always been outspoken—but now that passion was directed toward protecting her new "master." "He claimed me fair and square. Find your own."

"Melissa, please," I tried again. "You're on the list. Dr. Quinn needs—"

But they were already retreating down the hallway, Foster shooting me a middle finger over her shoulder before they disappeared around a corner.

"Damn it!" I slammed my fist against the wall, the pain barely registering through my frustration. They wouldn't go far with the building locked down but what could I do? No point chasing after them... She would fight like hell to protect her "owner" now, and even if I managed to separate them, she would probably just refuse to help.

I hurried down the corridor, mentally checking off Ramona's list against the faces I knew. How many could we still save? How many had already been claimed by men with far less noble intentions?

"Gabriel! Wait!"

The voice stopped me in my tracks, worried but strong, with a distinctive musical lilt. I turned to see Dr. Imani Ral striding toward me with purpose. Her dark curls bounced with each determined step, her lab coat open over a fitted blouse that accentuated her curves. At thirty-eight, she carried herself with the confidence of someone comfortable in her skin, her warm brown eyes usually dancing with humor. The neurolinguist was known for bringing laughter to even the most serious meetings, her brilliant mind wrapped in a disarmingly approachable package.

Now, however, there was no humor in her expression, only resolve.

I froze, suddenly acutely aware that her name was on my list. Did she know what I was doing? What I had already done to Alva and Renata? What I planned to do to her?

She stopped a few feet away, her usual easy confidence now tinged with visible unease. "I heard your speech in the atrium," she said, her voice lower than usual. "I was on the mezzanine level. Saw everything."

I stared at her, unable to comprehend why she would approach me if she knew what I was capable of—what I intended. "Then why are you here?"

To my astonishment, she extended her hand toward me, palm up, like an offering. "You need to claim me," she said, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her eyes. "Right now."

"What?" I managed, staring at her outstretched hand as though it might burn me.

"I want to help," she said simply.

"If you want to help, why do I need to claim you?" I asked, bewildered by her request.

She gave me a look that, even in these circumstances, managed to convey a touch of her characteristic 'isn't it obvious?' expression. "I would have expected Ramona to have made it clear when she gave you her list. Because we can't risk someone else claiming me first and steering me away from the vital work," she explained. "Look, I don't know exactly what Ramona and Phoebe are working on, but if I can help—and hello, mind control is literally about the brain, which is kinda my specialty—I need to be claimed by someone who'll point me in the right direction." She took a deep breath. "Plus, I suspect I'll be a lot more productive if I'm, you know, programmed to be dedicated to the cause."

Her attempt at casual humor couldn't quite mask her fear, but her logic was sound. I hesitated, my hand halfway to hers.

"I know it's weird," she said, her voice softening. "And scary as hell. But seriously, I'd rather it be you than some random dude who wants me to make him sandwiches for the rest of my life." She wiggled her fingers, still extended toward me. "So come on. Do your thing before I lose my nerve."

I took her hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers. "I claim you," I said, the words still bitter on my tongue despite her consent.

The change swept over her like a wave. Her posture shifted subtly, her eyes widened, then focused on me with that now-familiar intensity. But unlike with Alva and Renata, I could see her analytical mind observing the transformation even as it happened.

"Whoa," she said, blinking rapidly. "That's… fascinating. There's a definite shift in priority. I don't think I've been changed in terms of personality, but there's this new… framework? Like suddenly everything is organized around you." She tilted her head, examining her own thoughts. "I still care about the same things, but now helping you is just… obviously the most important thing. Weird." She smiled, and it was still Imani's smile—warm and genuine—but now directed at me with an eagerness to please that had never been there before.

"You should join the others in my office," I told her, releasing her hand.

"Your office. Got it." She nodded, her curls bouncing. "If I run into any other women on your list, should I text you or something?"

"Yes, text me if you run into anyone on the list," I replied, retrieving the teared paper and showing it to her, taken aback by her initiative. "And be careful."

Imani nodded and headed toward my office, her usual bouncy stride now somehow more purposeful. As she disappeared around the corner, I suddenly remembered I hadn't checked my phone since entering the MRI room hours ago. I pulled it from my pocket, surprised to find three notifications.

The first was the emergency alert—that repulsive message from The Source that had started this nightmare. The second was just a random app requesting an update. But the third made my heart skip: a text from Wendy from ten minutes ago.

"Safe with Cedric. Looking for Olivia. Don't worry."

Relief flooded through me, followed immediately by fresh anxiety. She was safe—for now—but out there with Cedric, looking for his daughter. The image of them moving through the chaos of Chantwell, Wendy **** to any man who might decide to claim her, sent a chill through me. Cedric would protect her, I knew that, but in this new reality, good intentions might not be enough.

I quickly typed a response:

"Thank God. Come to Echelon ASAP. Gathering team here. Locking down building. Stay safe."

I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send, suddenly aware of what awaited Wendy when she arrived. How would I explain what I'd done? The women gathered in my office, all claimed, all now devoted to me? How could I possibly look her in the eyes and justify turning our colleagues into—what? My harem of brilliant scientists?

And then a more disturbing thought surfaced: would I need to claim Wendy too? The idea made me physically ill. To take my wife's autonomy, to **** her into the same state as Alva and the others—to make her obey me not through choice but compulsion—it was obscene. Yet if Ramona was right, the only way to protect these women was to claim them before someone else did…

I pocketed my phone and leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted. In the space of an hour, I had become everything I despised. A man who took women's freedom. A man who used power he shouldn't have. And now I was contemplating doing the same to the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

For the greater good, I told myself again. To save everyone.

But as I pushed away from the wall and continued my grim task, I wondered if there would be anything left of the man Wendy loved when this was over—or if he had already disappeared, replaced by someone she would never recognize.

---

Alright! This was chapter 9 out of 67. I'll post one or more chapters daily. If you wish to support my work, or want exclusive access to the rest of the story, feel free to purchase it on Kindle or Smashwords, and do not hesitate to check out the rest of my published work there. As always, feedback is highly appreciated, good or bad.

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