A sober man hummed along to an off-key warble of the radio.
The city lights blurred into streaks as he drove through the late night traffic. Another soul crushing shift at the DMV was finally over.
The only thing on his mind was a cold beer and the questionable comfort of his recliner.
He glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard.
2:17 AM. His wife would be absolutely furious.
Again, he sighed. Lately, it felt like every conversation with her started with a sigh and ended with a slammed door. He really needed a new life strategy.
Or at least a new wife.
He shook his head, no—that wasn't fair. Deborah wasn't that bad. Just..intense. Like a tax audit conducted by a honey badger.
He pulled into his driveway, the headlights sweeped across the neatly manicured lawn. Deborah's car was already there, which meant she had beaten him home.
He braced himself for the inevitable onslaught. He parked the vehicle and grabbed his briefcase—which mostly contained half eaten candy bars and crossword puzzles, then trudged toward the front door.
As he fumbled with his keys, the door swung open, revealing Deborah in all her sleep deprived, righteous fury.
"Jake McMillan!" she exclaimed, her voice was tight with suppressed rage:
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
Jake winced. "Look, honey—" he began, but she cut him off.
"Don't 'honey' me, Jake! You promised you'd be home by midnight! I had to call your mother! Again! She thinks we're having marital problems! Which, thanks to your complete disregard for my time and sanity, we might actually be having!"
Jake opened his mouth to retort, but she wasn't finished:
"And another thing! Where were you last night? Out gallivanting with your..friends? Drinking cheap beer and dispensing your 'wisdom' to unsuspecting pizza delivery guys?"
Jake's eyes widened slightly. How did she know about that?
Before he could answer, a figure emerged from the shadows of the porch. They were tall and well built, with a charming smile and eyes that gleamed a little too brightly in the dim light.
He placed a hand on Deborah's arm, his voice was reassuring:
"Deborah, my dear, is this..gentleman bothering you?"
Deborah who was usually impervious to such advances, seemed flustered. "I..I.."
Jake felt a surge of rage, a red haze descended over his vision.
Something about the man's smile—the way his eyes seemed to glow set off alarm bells in his mind.
He knew with a certainty that defied logic, that this man was not what he seemed.
"Get your damn hands off my wife," Jake growled.
The man grinned with a sound that was too laid back:
"Now, now," he said. "There's no need to be aggressive. I'm just offering your lovely wife a little...comfort."
Jake lunged forward, his briefcase flew across the lawn as he tackled the man to the ground.
"Jake! Stop it!" Deborah yelled.
They wrestled in a tangle of limbs and grunts, Jake's fury was fueled by a protective instinct he didn't know he even possessed until now.
He saw a flash of fur and a glint of sharp teeth, and then his fist connected with the man's jaw with a sickening crunch.
The man laid still. And Jake stood over him panting, his chest was heaving. He looked down at his hands, surprised by his own strength—his own savagery.
Deborah stared at him with wide eyes in shock:
"Jake..what did you do?"
He looked at her, then back at the still form on the ground. He didn't know what to say. He didn't understand what had just happened.
A low growl resounded from within his chest. He looked down at his hands again.
They were changing, the skin was thickening, the nails were lengthening into sharp claws. His teeth was aching, with a pressure building behind his gums.
He looked back at Deborah.
< You have slain a Lycanthrope. Acquired Alpha Lineage. >
[ Vitriol: 1/1000 ]
[ Path: Somatic: I ]
-
Flashing blue and red lights sliced through the pre-dawn darkness, bathing the quiet suburban street in an unsettling strobe effect.
The wails of sirens grew louder and closer. Panic was clawing at Jake's throat.
He stood frozen, his transformed hands were still curled into claws, they hanged limply at his sides.
Deborah remained silent, her eyes were still fixed on the still form at their feet, her face was a mix of shock and..was that fear?
Two police cruisers screeched to a halt in front of the house, their doors burst open as officers spilled out with their guns drawn.
"Police! Freeze!" A voice barked.
Jake didn't move. He couldn't. His mind was a maelstrom of confusion, terror, and the lingering thrill of the fight. He vaguely registered the officers approaching cautiously, their weapons were trained on him.
He felt the cold steel of handcuffs clicking around his wrists, the pressure was a stark contrast to the burning sensation still coursing through his veins.
"Sir, you're under arrest for the murder of.." an officer paused, shining his flashlight on the body, his voice was trailing off in disbelief.
"What..what is that?"
Jake followed the beam of light. The body..it was changing. The clothes were ripping; the skin was shifting, the bones were contorting. The handsome face the charming smile were gone, replaced by a snarling muzzle; a thick coat of brown fur, and eyes that glowed with an eerie unnatural light.
It wasn't a man he had killed it. It was something else.
Something monstrous.
The officers exchanged uneasy glances, their grips tightened on their weapons.
"Get him out of here," one muttered, his voice was tight with apprehension.
"And call animal control..or something."
Jake was led away, the flashing lights and the wail of sirens faded into the background as he was shoved into the back of a police car.
He sat in silence, his mind was still reeling. He was a killer, and he was going to jail.
And he was pretty sure he was also turning into a Werewolf. Or something. He glanced down at his hands again. The claws were receding and his skin was returning to normal. But the burning sensation still remained.
His old life..the one with the soul crushing DMV job and the honey badger wife, was over.
He just didn't know what was coming next.
The ride to the station was a blur of flashing lights and silence. Jake sat hunched in the back of the cruiser.
He tried to piece together the events of the night, but the memories were fragmented and distorted by the surge of rage and the..transformation?
He still wasn't sure what to call it. He glanced at the two officers in the front seat. They hadn't spoken a word since leaving his house.
Their faces were grim, and their eyes were fixed on the road ahead. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be easy.
At the station he was processed with a perfunctory efficiency that suggested this wasn't their first rodeo.
His fingerprints were taken, his mugshot was snapped—he was pretty sure that he looked like a rabid raccoon. His blonde hair was messy from the fight that had occurred.
He was led to a small, sterile interrogation room.
Two different officers that were older and more...seasoned entered the room.
One was a burly man with a handlebar mustache and a sneer that could curdle milk. He sat down across from Jake. His eyes narrowed.
The other was a lean woman with a casual smile, and eyes that seemed to pierce him. She leaned against the wall nearby with her arms crossed.
"So, Mr. McMillan," the mustached officer started to speak, his voice was filled with cynicism:
"You seem to have..misplaced your memory of the events leading up to.. let's call it an 'altercation'."
Jake hesitated. He could tell these weren't the type of officers who would be swayed by a tearful confession of a plea or self defense.
"I...I don't remember everything," he admitted, choosing his words carefully:
"I..blacked out."
The woman chuckled. "Blacked out, did you? Convenient. Too bad we have a witness who says otherwise. Your..wife claims you brutally attacked an unarmed man on your front porch."
Jake's eyes widened. Deborah? Lying? He couldn't believe it! Or maybe he could, their marriage had been circling the drain for awhile now but this..this was a new low.
"She's lying!" He said, his voice was shaking with anger. "That thing.. wasn't human."
The mustached officer leaned forward, his sneer widened:
"Oh, really? And what, pray tell—was it? A space alien? A rabid squirrel?"
Jake knew he was in trouble. Deep trouble. These officers weren't interested in the truth. They were interested in closing the case, and he was the easiest target.
After hours of pointless questioning and threats, Jake was finally led to a cell. The heavy steel door clanged shut behind him.
He sank onto the narrow bunk, the thin mattress offered a modicum of comfort to him. He was alone and utterly terrified.
As the hours crawled by, the boredom and the growing anxiety became almost unbearable.
He paced the confines of his cell, his mind replayed the events of the night, searching for answers. He remembered the flash of fur, the glint of teeth, the surge of rage...and the voice.
The voice that had whispered in his mind after he killed the..thing.
< You have slain a Lycanthrope. Acquired Alpha Lineage. >
He closed his eyes, focusing on the memory of the voice, the words echoed in the silence of his cell.
Alpha Lineage.
What did it mean? He concentrated, trying to access the voice again, to understand the change that was happening within him.
[ Vitriol: 1/1000 ]
[ Path: Somatic: I ]
He focused on the dark display. Vitriol? Somatic? It was like a foreign language, like code he couldn't decipher.
It was the key to understanding what he was becoming.