Abner nodded. He’d heard most of the scientists on Holland’s project lived that kind of double life out of necessity, going home to families who had no idea what they did on working hours. The success of the guard dog program hinged on its relative secrecy—if people knew about the cages in the basement, they wouldn’t understand. They’d revolt.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll keep it quiet,” he assured Anderson. “I just hope they do too. Bringing me along is like handing them a loaded gun. I don’t want it to catch you off-guard if I start trying to bite your throat out or something.”

After a moment of consideration, he added, “...If they ask me a question about my...training, that’s the cue to take me out. It’s my trigger. You’ll know it when you hear it, sir.”

Would they hit him again? It was a good question. “I learned my lesson last night, sir, so I doubt they’ll hurt me if I go home. But...” He hesitated, nails clawing into the ragged skin around his wrists. “I think I’d still like to stay at the station, if that’s okay. It’s easier than having to come all the way back when you need me again. And less chance of me killing anyone else on the way.”

And, even if he refused to admit it to himself, a night or two away from the lab would be...nice.