WDOG - Chapter EIGHT: Rabid (Patreon)

Rabid

Sunlight dimly filtered through the drawn curtains, casting eerie shadows on the blood-splattered walls. The stench of gunpowder lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the sweet, metallic tang of spilt blood. The once plush carpeting was stained crimson; bullet holes riddled the walls, windows and ceilings, and furniture lay overturned, their surfaces marred by flames and claw marks. 

Amidst the wreckage, figures lay motionless, their lifeless forms stiffening with each passing moment. Some were clad in suits, now torn and bloodied. Others wore uniforms, the radios that hung from their belts crackling with intermittent transmissions

Outside, the district bustled on, oblivious to—or rather, unphased by—the turmoil that had unfolded in this isolated pocket of chaos. 

Amid this desolation, a lone, towering figure stood, silent as sirens wailed in the distance. Chris’ gaze panned to his sister curled up on the floor behind him; a growl reverbed in his chest when he realised she was bleeding—a stray bullet, perhaps.

Without thinking much of it, he turned to the shattered window beside him and smashed it off its attachments with a single blow. The cracked glass pane came off with a traumatic whine before tumbling down to the ground below. Acrid air blew in through the opening, ruffling Chris’ clothes and irritating his nostrils. 

Then, effortlessly, he picked Evelyn up, slinging her across his shoulder before unhesitantly leaping out of the building. Behind him, the corporal could hear the heavy footfall of more armed men entering the room followed by a burst of automatic fire.

For a few scant seconds, the wind whipped at Chris’ face as he fell. Then, abruptly. He reached out to grab a ledge jutting out the side of the building. The concrete slab crumbled on contact, but still slowed his descent enough that he could comfortably dig his claws into the wall and rake his way down.

Chris’ bare feet hit the concrete floor with a dull smack. Rising from his crouch, the corporal looked down at the stunned pedestrians before him. A misty exhale escaped his maw as the first man turned to flee, screaming, followed quickly by the rest of the crowd. Ignoring them, Chris turned his attention to his car parked in the distance. 

“Roadman,” he said, gently laying Evelyn in the backseat. “Put me through to the chief.”

“Sure thing, boss,” the auto replied, its tone solemn in response to Chris’ mood. 

“Chris,” came Mr Anderson’s voice from the car speakers as Chris quickly applied first aid to Evelyn’s bleeding thigh. “What’s the problem? Your call was flagged as an emergency.”

“My sister was shot, sir,” Chris replied. “I believe her right deep femoral artery has been punctured and she has lost a lot of blood. Her kidnappers are still on the loose and I cannot trust the hospitals to keep her safe while I go after them.”

A pause. “...I understand. Send her to the station; I will transfer her to the witness protection division and have our medics check on her.”

A sigh of relief escaped Chris’ maw. “Thank you, sir.”

“Reinforcements are en route, Chris. Be smart; don’t go get yourself killed, ok?”

“...Understood, sir.”

***

Nikos was panicking. His palms were sweaty. His hands trembled as he clutched at his bathrobe, fingers fumbling for a sense of security that eluded him. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow and his breath came in shallow gasps, chest heaving with effort.

It's been years since Nikos last felt the way he did. This thundering in his chest… it was such an unfamiliar feeling.

“...What was that?” Adea, his surviving paranormal guard whispered beneath his breath. The other fellow, Rupert, was killed before he even had the chance to use the ability Nikos had hired him for. Not that it was much of a waste. Nikos failed to see how “Bullet Bending” would have been against someone impervious to small arms fire.

“What’s what,” the troubled man asked as he leaned over to see what Adea was pointing at. Atop one of the high-rises, silhouetted by the mid-day sun was a figure perched on the side of the concrete building. 

“...It’s him,” Adea muttered worriedly. “I think he’s looking for us.”

“Fuck!” Nikos punched the side of his SUV’s cabin. Beside him, Amelia whimpered and he turned a baleful glare on the woman, hate blooming in his eyes. 

‘It’s all her fucking fault.’

Amelia was not the first of his employees blinded by ambition to crawl into his bed. Most did it for a pay raise, others for some promotion or the other. Some simply did so out of base lust; the fact that he was easy on the eyes made things easier for most. At first, Nikos had assumed she was one of the first two, desperate for a higher standard of living that they would do anything. 

However, Nikos was mistaken about her. Amelia was more ambitious than most. Many a night she had spent in his arms, she regaled to him how much she despised the fact that her husband, as unambitious as he was, still seemed to loom above her, out of reach. The man, apparently, was well-connected and well-liked by a handful of influential people in the district. She had spoken of dinners she had been forced to attend, where her inferiority compared to the other ladies in attendance had been laid bare. Amelia hated it. She hated who she was around them.

...Hence, Nikos should have seen her ploy coming miles away.

She didn’t ask for anything, not money or promotions like the other women were wont to do. Nikos had imagined her different, blind to the fact that she simply thought far ahead of her lesser kin. Then, out of the blue, she sprung her trap.

Amelia came to him some months ago, with terrible news: She was pregnant and the child might be his. She spoke of her willingness to divorce her husband if he would have her. She spoke, reminding him of his hidden desire to have children of his own. She spoke promises of the family they could've together...

If only he would leave his wife for her as she would her husband.

At the time, it was tempting. Nikos had been married for five years already without a child and he longed to have one of his own. But there were a few problems with her dreams and delusion. Besides the fact that Amelia would make a poor replacement for his wife in almost all ramifications, Nikos truly feared his beloved. Onir, or Goldilocks as the public knew her, was a spiteful woman.

A spiteful, well-connected woman.

So, out of his feeling of self-preservation, Nikos had refused her.  Amelia, however, was not happy. Threats were exchanged and vile words were said, but eventually, they settled on a compromise. She was granted a status within his organisation far beyond the extent that Nikos would usually permit to assuage her ego, and she kept the secret of his child with her a secret. 

That should been the end of it. They both got what they wanted; somewhat. Everyone was content and the status quo was restored. However, they got careless. Her husband discovered this little secret and in his bumbling rage threatened to spill it.

Taking his sister hostage should have been a minor, inconsequential thing. The soft-spoken man Amelia described should have been sufficiently cowed and everything restored to how they were meant to be.

So why was a hairy, seven-foot-tall monster hunting them down?

Nikos shivered in fright. Challenges for him had always been dealt with civilly. Negotiations and bribes tended to make most problems go away. Should one issue prove stubborn, his men had always been enough to smoothen things out while he observed from a distance. Never before had Nikos been so embroiled in the thick of things.

The SUV turned at an intersection, breaking Nikos’ line of sight with the super hunting them. Hopefully, they would make it to the condo before the monster found them. 

The next fifteen minutes were very tense, but eventually, the vehicle pulled up outside his building. Nikos stumbled out first, racing towards the safety of his home when he heard the whine of crushed metal behind him. 

Nikos turned to see two long pairs of sinewy limbs moving with predatory grace on the crushed roof of his car. Closer now, he could make out the supe's features: Upright ears, and sharp, gleaming fangs protruded from its snarling maw, dripping with viscous saliva. A pair of piercing eyes stained with unnatural hues—irises the colour of rust and a blackened sclera—fixed upon him. Coarse fur, mottled with patches of black and brown, covered its hulking frame and blackened claws extended from its gnarled hands. 

The thing growled, its muscles tensing for a moment before it leapt.

Nikos stumbled, falling onto his buttocks with a pained yelp as the paranormal crashed into Adea’s forcefield. 

“RUN!” his bodyguard screamed. Nikos scrambled to his feet after Amelia into the building. There was a shout followed by a pained yelp as the doors shut close behind him. Stumbling into the elevator, he had just enough time to see the werewolf burst through the panes of reinforced glass before the elevator doors closed. A moment later, the sounds of servos whirring in protest reached his ears. 

“....What the fuck is going on, sir?” the receptionist who had stumbled into the elevator after them screamed. Nikos’ pin-pricked eyes panned to regard the man for a moment before turning back to the slowly changing numbers on the console. 

“...I think the madman is trying to force his way in after us,” Nikos stammered as he inwardly prayed for the elevator to climb faster.  No luck. There was a groan from somewhere beneath him and a shudder, but the elevator continued unimpeded.

…Fifty-two

Fifty-three

*ping*

The elevator opened with a ding and Nikos raced out, desperate to put the shuddering thing behind him. 

“What is going on?” his wife, Onir, asked as she peeked out of their apartment with a frown. “Who are they?

“Onir—”

A loud bang came from the elevator behind him. Nikos, wisely raced ahead to take shelter behind his wife before turning around to see what was going on. She was a supe after all; dealing with matters like this was her forte, not his.

A guttural growl rumbled behind the elevator’s shut doors. There was another loud bang, followed by another. A third created a gap in the door’s centreline seam and a cluster of claw-tipped fingers pushed their way through, folding the lips apart before simply pulling the metal door open with a distressing whine. The next moment, Amelia's enraged husband crawled out, eyes fixed upon Nikos.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Onir hissed warily as her gold-tinted hair grew out by several meters to hover menacingly in front of her.

“...Give. Me. The. Man,” the monster enunciated with much difficulty.

“...Fuck that!” came Onir’s response.

The other paranormal didn’t like that. 

Growling, he bounded forward towards them, marble tiles cracking beneath his feet with each stride. In response, Onir’s floating mane shot forward, filling the air in front of them. The werewolf bulled past, slowed down but not halted entirely like Nikos had expected. 

A clawed arm reached out to grab his head, but a cord of his wife's hair wrapped around his waist pulled him away. The werewolf, persistent as he was, did not relent, pulling against the growing mass of hair restraining him for one final lunge. Fanged jaws clamped down on Nikos’ left ankle and in an instant, a blinding surge of pain exploded in his head, engulfing everything in white.

***

“NO!” Onir screamed as she yanked her husband and the brute hell-bent on ending his life apart. The bastard continued to fight against his restraints, not even paying her any mind. Desperately, she pulled with all she had, yet, somehow, the supe was still inching closer to Nikos’ unconscious form. 

“You two!” she screamed at the pair huddled beside her. “Drag him inside and lock the doors! Now!” Hesitantly, the strangers complied dragging Nikos, who was still bleeding into the apartment before locking the door behind them. 

With her husband no longer at risk of being pulped by the rabid supe, Onir was able to focus the bulk of her attention on the hostile. Snarling, she willed her hair to grow longer, ignoring the pain and the fuzziness forming at the edge of her vision. Slowly, she cocooned the bastard, depriving him of the leverage needed to put his terrifying strength to use. 

For a full minute, the supe fought back, breaking strands of her hyper-durable mane. Then abruptly, he stopped struggling, turning to hold her gaze with a disturbing intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. A few moments later she realised the reason for his forced calm. The faint thud of approaching boots reached her ears and seconds later the barrel of a rifle peaked around the corner, swivelling from the bound supe to her before aiming back at the felon.

A team of SWAT operatives spearheaded by a pair of Special Police Utility Robots poured into the hallway a moment later. “Everyone, freeze!” one of the operatives ordered. “No one makes any sudden movements!”

Onir’s gaze panned from the officers to the supe sitting languidly in front of her. “...I am not letting him go,” Onir hissed, as she glared at the bastard before her. “He just tried to murder my husband.”

For a moment, the operative who spoke earlier didn’t respond. Seconds ticked on before he turned his attention to the homicidal paranormal. 

“Corporal,” the operative said, much to Onir’s surprise and concern. “Chief Anderson has ordered you to stand down. Will you comply?”

Seconds ticked by as the room awaited the werewolf’s reply. Then...

“Understood,” the supe rumbled. His body convulsed as muscles rippled beneath his skin, contorting and reshaping. Bones cracked and stretched, accompanied by low, guttural groans of pain. Fur receded, retreating into pores as his skin reclaimed its human hue. Claws withdrew, shrinking back into ordinary fingertips, while his snout receded into a human nose.

Gradually, the convulsions ceased, and Onir stared suspiciously at the supe where he sat, his breaths now coming in shallow gasps. Slowly, even his eyes regained their natural appearance and all that remained was a haggard-looking fellow clad in rags. 

Hesitantly, Onir allowed her mane to unfurl. The strands hung tense in the air around the bastard as he rose to his feet; should he make any sudden moves they would ensure he didn't go far.

And so, with unnatural precision, one of the SPURs whirred forward to apprehend the paranormal: Heavy restraints clasped down on the fellow’s wrists with a click, securing them in place behind his back with an unmistakable finality.

A sigh of relief escaped Onir’s chest as the bastard was escorted out of the building and a CASEVAC team marched in to attend to her injured husband and the pair with him.

Her gaze panned between the plush rug soaked with blood from her unconscious husband, the receptionist from the lobby downstairs and the unfamiliar woman huddling in the corner of her living room.

“...What the fuck was that about?”