The guard roughly shoved me into the squalid den that was the Warden’s office. My wrists were squeezed into cold metal restraints, making my fingers go numb.

“33089,” said the Warden, his thick German accent echoing off the slimy walls. “It seems you are a new prisoner here…”

He looked me over with disdain, though his grimy face and putrid, sweat-stained clothes made him no better than I.

“Therefore,” he continued, “you should have to go through our procedures.”

I gulped. Whatever procedures they had here were unimaginable, I was sure. It didn’t help when a burly gentleman plowed in with a pair of worn (bloody?) pliers. Usually blood was a welcome sight, but not now.

“It is time for you to become…human,” the Warden said, waving the pliers in front of my protruding canines.