The road to hell snakes in twists and turns through a facade of verdant paradise. As your convoy weaves its way ever northward, you can't help but wonder how so rich an Eden could cloak such a terrible truth. Through a thin window you watch rolling green peaks rise and fall, punctuated by alpine bluffs of craggy, windswept rock. In the distance you can see the outline of a mountain range. You might have gaped in awe if it weren't for the constricting leather bands of a muzzle clenching your jaws shut.
Five heavily-armed guards sit across from you warily, fingers tense, ready to flick the safeties off and suppress any werewolf that dares to twitch so much as a muscle. The military had forced you and the other wolves to transform into your feral selves and then injected you with a drug designed to prohibit returning to human state for up to twenty-four hours. You'd received no food or drink since then, and with the heightened metabolism of your wolf form eating away at your insides, you're left feeling weak and sickened. The more innocent among your party might call it torture, but in Haven you'd witnessed true torment, and your current condition pales by comparison.
Dozens of werewolves had been lined up and led into long-haul animal trailers one by one, each of you fastened to the wall by a thick set of chains. Thin window-slits line the trailer's metal walls to let in light and air, though you assume the accommodations were made with your guards in mind, not for the comfort of their cargo. You thought you'd known dehumanization in your earlier life, but while not as physically painful as what you experienced in Haven, this is certainly more humiliating. Perhaps that was their intention all along. You pull back from the grim reality and play through memories of the path that brought you here. It seems like so long ago….
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