The Lycanthrope Club - An American Werewolf in Japan, Chapter XV (Patreon)

Despite everything that had happened to her - being shot, transforming into a werewolf, being shot again, fighting Yakuza, traveling to Tokyo and fighting Yakuza again - Junko could not help but grimace with unease as she gazed up at the brightly lit edifice across the street. This was a different kind of challenge. 

"Seriously?" she said, looking over at Masae, who had also been staring at the building.

"Yes, seriously," said Masae. Like Junko, she had donned her school uniform - a dark-grey jacket over a white blouse and long, grey and white plaid skirt. She folded her arms. "I've had time to think about it and it makes sense. The police wouldn't raid this place unless they had a very good reason. I mean, think about the public backlash if word got out that they raided a love hotel."

Junko found herself nodding in agreement. She gazed back at the hotel. While not exactly a skyscraper it stood at least a dozen stories tall, essentially two rectangles - one flat, one upright - stacked upon one another. Its facade had been painted with gigantic cherry blossoms - some of which were clipped by windows - floating in a teal-blue watery background. The mural was illuminated by rows of pink lights arrayed along the length of the building; it glowed brightly and seductively in the cool evening. A bright red neon sign stood at the top of the hotel; it read, unimaginatively, 'Hotel' in English characters. Several other, electric signs written in kanji protruded from the corners of the building. A pair of stately Japanese maple trees growing in raised beds flanked the main entrance. Apart from a few pedestrians there wasn't anyone else around. 

"There's more to it, actually," said Taro, who was standing next to Masae. He had donned a simple black long-sleeve shirt and black pants. "I, er, I've read about this place. Apparently it's a favorite among influential businessmen and even some politicians."

"That makes even more sense," said Masae, shaking her head contemptuously. "All those high-end clients make the place practically untouchable. And, as an added bonus, the syndicate collects blackmail material on them." She looked at Taro. "Where did you hear about that?" 

"Er, I think it was an old online article," said Taro, a bit demurely.

"Whatever," said Masae. She unfolded her arms. Junko surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder and saw Masae's hand slink around her waist to grip a long, black object she had strapped to her waist behind her backpack. "The American werewolf is in there along with the scumbag who tried to kill us and my grandmother." Her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to make him regret that," she growled. 

"So...to summarize, what are we going to do?" said Taro.

"We go in, find Lily, rescue her and kill this Mr. Shen along with anyone else that gets in our way," said Masae flatly.

Taro swallowed and gave her a look that was anxious, almost disapproving. Junko stared at Masae in shock.

"We're really going to kill him?" she asked.

"We gave our word, didn't we?" said Masae.

"Yeah, but he's...some Yakuza," muttered Junko, glancing at the hotel.

"Doesn't matter," said Masae. Then she noticed Junko's expression. "Look," she sighed. "I...I don't actually WANT to kill him. But, think about it, Junko-chan, Taro-kun. This man is not just some criminal. He isn't even Yakuza. He's a...he's a demon. He's ruined thousands of lives, killed, stolen, tortured, enslaved. And now that he knows who we are he won't stop until he's killed or captured us." She paused . "And we know he'll go after our families if he can't get to us." she added meaningfully.

The three were silent for a time.

"Just promise me one thing, Masae-sempai," said Junko suddenly.

"Eh?"

"Give him a chance to surrender," she said, quietly but firmly. "Give him a chance to beg for forgiveness."

Masae gave her an odd look.

"It's...I think it's what Taichi-sama would...will want," said Taro.

Masae stared at her, her expression unreadable. Then, she nodded.

"Fine," she said. "Just don't be surprised when he tells us to go to hell."

Junko issued a nervous, humorless chuckle.

"Thank you, Masae-sempai."

Taro cleared his throat. "Er, are we sticking with the plan?"

"Yes," said Masae. "We can't sneak in. Someone like Mr. Shen will have eyes and cameras everywhere. We move quickly and hit hard before they have a chance to organize a defense."

Junko shivered - whether from fear or excitement, even she couldn't tell.

"I'm ready," she said.

Masae turned to Taro. "Taro-kun?"

Taro hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.

"Right," said Masae. Her lips curled into what might have been mistaken for a grin were it not for the fire in her eyes. She started walking across the empty street. Junko and Taro followed.

As her foot touched the asphalt a wave of lightheadedness swept over Junko. For a moment it felt as she were a passenger in her own body, as though she were being buoyed along by the momentum of the last few months. Perhaps the sheer absurdity of the situation they were in was finally starting to wear on her. Perhaps the lack of sleep had affected her more than she thought. Perhaps she was just scared. Whatever the reason, Junko just shook it off and focused on the task ahead. The strange feeling swiftly melted away. She felt strangely proud of this.

The three of them crossed the street and made their way to the hotel. They passed between the two maple trees flanking the main entrance. Junko's nose twitched as she picked up the sweet, earthy scent of bark, leaves and soil. However, as they grew closer to the building a number of other, subtle but less familiar and far less comforting smells tickled her nostrils. When they reached the entrance Masae pushed open the heavy-looking double doors with both hands and strode into the lobby. Junko and Taro hurried after her.

As soon as the doors shut behind them the ever-present sounds of the city suddenly went muted. Junko looked around. Compared with the exterior the lobby was a subdued, almost classy affair. Both the floor and the walls were black, the former being smooth black tiles and the latter being lined with slabs of black Nero Marquina marble. The ceiling was low and off-white, studded with a few small lights housed in black cylinders. There was no reception desk or indeed any staff in the lobby. Instead, guests would apparently check in using one of a dozen or so small computerized booths built into the far wall. There was a door to the right and an elevator next to it. There were no chairs or tables. To Junko's extra sensitive nose the place stank of harsh cleaning solvents. 

Masae, Junko and Taro stood there for a few seconds, taking it all in. Then, Masae turned to the other two high schoolers and nodded towards the ceiling. Junko peered up and spied a few unobtrusive cameras wedged in the corners of the walls.

"We'd better hurry," said Masae.

"Elevator or door?" asked Junko.

"Door," said Masae promptly. "They might be able to remotely hold the elevator and then we'd be trapped."

"Wait," said Junko, raising a hand.

"What is it?" said Masae impatiently.

Junko was still gazing up at the cameras. A mischievous grin formed on her face. 

"I have an idea," she said. 

* * *

Somewhere on one of the upper floors of the hotel, a stairwell door opened. Four men emerged and stepped out into the empty carpeted hall. All four wore matching heavy dark-grey jackets over simple but well-tailored collared shirts - two red, one blue, one green - and black dress pants. Each also had a small earpiece tucked in one ear. One had a scar on his left cheek. Though they were not especially tall or muscular their faces were tight and grim, their eyes hard and narrow. Saying nothing, they turned and marched down the hall, passing door after door until they reached the elevator.

One of them raised a finger to their earpiece. A voice buzzed over the radio.

"Are you there?" said a voice, speaking Cantonese. 

"Yes, sir," said the man.

"Good. We're going to redirect their elevator to your position now. Get ready."

The man reached into his voluminous jacked and pulled out a semi-automatic pistol. He took the safety off. His fellows did the same. As one they raised their weapons and trained it on the elevator. A second or so later, a soft ding emanated from the doors. Their collective gaze traveled up to the electronic screen above the door. They watched intently as the floor number steadily rose. Then, it stopped. Their eyes darted back down to the elevator door. There was another soft ding and the doors lazily slid open.

The elevator was empty. 

The four men stared at the bare red carpet inside.

"Sir, sir, there's nobody in the elevator," said one of them.

"What?"

"The elevator is empty."

There was a pause.

"They must have pushed the button and ran out before the doors could close after they destroyed all the cameras in the lobby."

"Then...where are they?"

"We're looking through the surveillance feed. Stand by."

The four men lowered their guns but did not holster them. Two of them glanced down the hall while one watched as the elevator slowly shut. Suddenly, he stepped forward and jabbed the 'open door' button.

"What?" asked one of his comrades. 

"What if they hid on top of the elevator?" he said, gesturing up at the emergency hatch. "We should check."

"Not possible," snorted another one. "Those things are nearly impossible to open from the inside by design." 

"But...they're not ordinary..."

The man who had spoken before stuck his head into the elevator and glanced up. "No sign of forced entry."

"Then...why would they..."

"It's a diversionary tactic," said one of the men. "Not a good one, either. We hold our positions and wait for Shen's orders."

The four men stood back to back, two for each side of the hallway, guns at the ready. The elevator door slowly slid shut. All was quiet. Seconds ticked by. 

Then, a creak - audible only by virtue of the near absolute silence - emanated from down the hall.

Two of the men glanced over their shoulders and two just stared ahead. The door leading to the stairwell was ajar. But the hallway was empty.

"Sir, sir," said one of the men, touching his earpiece. 

"What is it?"

"They...I think they're up here with us."

"You said the elevator was empty!"

"It is. It looks like they took the stairs."

"That quickly?"

There was silence.

"Go after them!" barked the voice over the radio.

"We don't know where they went. The...the door to the stairwell just opened. That's it."

"Then check on the door and go from there! We'll keep an eye on the video feed and let you know if we spot them. Go!"

The man lowered his hand and glanced at the others. With a momentary scowl, the man raised his gun and nodded for the other three to follow. Wordlessly, they complied. They cautiously but quickly made their way back down the hall. As they neared the open door they slowed to a walk. The lead gunman turned and slowly sidestepped - weapon ready - until he was facing the doorway. Beyond, he saw only a dimly lit concrete platform with stairs going up and down lined with iron railings. Nothing more.

"Anything?" asked one of his comrades as the man ventured a few steps in.

"No," said the man, looking around the shaft. He glanced back at his men. "I do-"

A snarl filled the air as a furry form dropped from above, crushing the man beneath its bulk. Moving with preternatural speed it shot out into the hall and knocked two of the astonished men to the ground. The fourth man screamed and fired a rapid succession of rounds that cracked like thunder in the otherwise empty hall. The creature yelped angrily as one of the bullet struck it but instead of collapsing it simply whirled around and tackled the man to the floor, taking another bullet in the chest to no apparent effect. It seized the man's gun with its oversized paws and wrested it from his hands.

Behind it, the other two men had recovered and were already scrambling to their feet. Just as they were about the level their guns a massive figure emerged from the stairwell. Its bulky, muscular body was covered from head to toe in blonde-tan fur. Its head resembled that of a wolf, or perhaps a fox, with pointed, tufted ears, glowing yellow eyes and a maw full of sharp fangs. It wore only a pair of shredded black pants that had been torn - effectively tight-fitting shorts. It seized both men by their shoulders and hurled them down the hall. They both flew a meter or two before hitting the floor, one man dropping his pistol. The beast glared down at the weapon, growled, and stomped on it - once, twice, and a third time - rendering it a warped metal frame. It then stepped forward and swatted the gun out of the other man before he could react. 

Back in the stairwell, the first gunman groaned and managed to stagger to his feet. Gripping the railing for support, he glared out the door through blurry eyes and saw the creature that had ambushed him. It was on the floor in the hallway and had pinned one of his men. More importantly, it had its back turned to him. He grinned and lifted his gun with a trembling hand. 

Then, something cold and hard slid across his neck. He looked down and gasped as he felt a sharp prick. Someone was holding a sword to his throat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," whispered a female voice, speaking Japanese. 

The man would have swallowed if he could. Screams from the other men and growls from the creatures could be heard from the hallway.

"Do you speak Japanese?" asked his captor.

"Y-Yes," said the man.

"Good. Drop it. Down the stairs."

The man reluctantly tossed his weapon down the stairwell.

"Where's your boss?"

The man was silent. The noises from the hallway had quieted suddenly. 

"If you don't want to use that tongue of yours I suppose I might as well cut it out," continued the voice, pressing the sword against his trachea. 

The man said nothing. Suddenly, his earpiece buzzed to life. 

"Report! The cameras on your floor picked up something! Have you found them? What's going on?" 

A small, pale white hand reached out, plucked the earpiece from his auricle and tossed it down the stairwell shaft. It vanished into the darkness.

"Do you have any idea what we are?" continued the woman. "I think you have some idea. And those other two aren't nearly as strong as I am. The only reason I haven't changed is because I wouldn't fit through the door. Do you really think your boss stands a chance against us?"

The man remained silent though sweat was starting to form on his brow.

"You're not even using the right weapons," said the woman, gesturing downwards at the stairwell with her free hand in an apparent reference to their semi-automatic weapons. "That means one of two things. Either your boss isn't sure how to hurt us yet or..." she paused. "He didn't think you were worth arming with the best weapons. Neither bodes well for you, no?"

The man turned his head ever so-slightly to get a better view of the woman. He spied a long leg and...a plaid grey skirt?

"If you were to just...disappear, we'd tell your boss we ripped you to shreds and kept the remains for a snack. If you left the country and kept a low profile, he'd think you were dead, if he were actually to survive, of course, which he won't. So, the smart move here is to tell us which floor he's on - that's really all we need - then run down the stairs and out of the building. It's either that or, well, we find another use for you."

"Top floor," croaked the man suddenly. "Penthouse."

"Good boy." The woman withdrew the blade.

The man reached up to clutch his throat. It was wet and warm but the cut was small and shallow - no worse than a shaving accident. He turned around and gasped. His assailant was a tall, long-haired, long-legged Japanese teenager clad in little more than a grey school uniform. She held a katana in one hand. She could have stepped out a bad action movie poster. He almost chuckled at the absurdity of it until he met her eyes.

The girl stepped to the side and gestured down the stairs in a mockingly polite fashion. The man, stunned, staggered a few steps forward before remembering his comrades. He looked back. 

"Let them go," called the girl. 

A few seconds later the other three men - limping, their clothes disheveled or torn - staggered through the doorway and then hurried down the stairs. The remaining gunman gave the girl with the katana once final look before retreating as well. Their frantic, unsteady footsteps echoed throughout the stairwell.

* * *

Junko peered out into the penthouse floor, her furry digits curling around the doorframe. Beyond the stairs she saw a small room with a pair of sofas and a small coffee table. The elevator was on the opposite wall next to a wooden door with the words 'penthouse suite' inscribed in cursive English on a metal plaque above it. She narrowed her yellow eyes and spotted a camera mounted in the corner of the wall. She sniffed the air - her leathery nostrils flaring - grunted and slunk back into the stairwell.

"I didn't see anyone," she said, addressing Taro in the stairwell - still in his werewolf form - and Masae - still human and wielding her katana. "But I could smell her - Lily, the American werewolf. She's been here before. Maybe she's still here."

"I thought I caught her scent when you opened the door, Hayashi-san," said Taro, his tone now formal and stately - archaic, even.

"There are some cameras," continued Junko. "I don't think we can sneak up on them. They must know we're coming."

"Yes," said Masae. "Like I said; we need to hit them hard and fast."

"When the strike of a hawk breaks the body of its prey, it is because of timing," quoted Taro, nodding. "Still, it will be risky. Immortal we may be, one bullet through the brain or spine could end us."

Masae gave him an odd look, but nodded.

"That's why I'm going in first," she growled, stepping forward. "Let's give them a big target."

"Final boss time," whispered Junko. 

Masae strode out into the penthouse antechamber and stopped. Junko and Taro watched as she stood there, staring at the camera. Then, her entire body tensed. It started with her hands, as it almost always did. They swelled up and reddened as though infected. Then, claws burst from her nails. Her palms hardened, turning leathery as fur sprouted along the back of hands. Yet all the while she did not lose her grip on her sword. The sound of strained fabric filled the otherwise silent room. Tortured threads clung desperately to her growing body before snapping, revealing fur the color of midnight. Now nearly a meter taller, Masae growled ominously as she flexed her arms and shoulders, which rapidly inflated to body-builder proportions in unsteady spurts. Then, her shirt practically exploded from her torso as massive furry breasts formed, bouncing slightly as they emerged. Her skull cracked as it narrowed at places and widened at others, a short muzzle replacing her nose. Her ears expanded, grew pointy and then migrated up her head. Blunt molars sharpened and canines lengthened to fangs. A long, bushy tail slithered out from her long grey skirt, which had somehow miraculously survived the metamorphosis, though it resembled a miniskirt on her oversized frame. 

Suddenly, the door to the penthouse burst open. Gunshots filled the air. Junko yelped and pressed herself against the wall adjoining the door. Taro did the same. Masae staggered back, shielding her head with her free arm. Blood dribbled down her fur. Then with a roar like an enraged lioness she grabbed one of the sofas and half-dragged half-hurled it at the open door with a single paw. Cries of surprise and alarm erupted from the other room and the shooting momentarily ceased. Masae took advantage of the confusion to duck to the side, standing next to the elevator. Meanwhile, Junko and Taro scrambled from the stairwell. Junko hurried over to the left while Taro went over next to Masae.

"So much for breaking the body of our prey with timing," snarled Masae, pounding the side of the elevator with a fist. The impact left a small crater in the wall. 

"Now what?" called Junko, wincing as a bullet whizzed past her, ears folded back.

"I'm thinking!" growled Masae angrily. "I think some of those bullets are silver; they actually hurt." 

Junko frantically scanned the room. There was no other way in or out apart from the elevators, the stairs and the door to the penthouse. 

"Can we draw them out?" she yelled over the gunfire. 

"Can't see why they'd want to leave," said Masae. She glanced at the overturned sofa and then over at Junko. She sighed. "Alright, get behind me."

"What?" said Junko, her nose burning from the accumulating gunsmoke.

Masae walked over to the sofa and stuck her katana in it. It went through all the way to the hilt. Then, standing just next the door, Masae lifted the sofa up with both paws and turned it 90 degrees. Holding the piece of furniture like a massive shield, she stepped back, moving diagonally until she was facing the penthouse door. 

"But-" said Junko.

"GO!" bellowed Masae.

Junko practically leapt from her corner and got behind Masae. Taro soon followed. Then, Masae charged the door. Bullets ripped holes in the sofa and shattered its wooden frame. One or two still struck Masae but at a much reduced velocity. Seconds later she collided with the doorframe, which was almost half a meter too narrow and too short. Though Masae hadn't picked up much speed the sheer mass of the sofa and her body smashed the surrounding wall and shattered the frame. Debris rained down upon them as they entered the room.

The penthouse suite was, unsurprisingly, luxuriously decorated with fine furniture, carpets, paintings, and even some small sculptures. Much of the furnishings, however, had been tipped over and co-opted into fortifications. Around a half-dozen men - some dressed similarly to the men from the hallway, others more casually dressed; one even wearing a Hawaiian shirt - were kneeling behind the makeshift barriers. Junko and her friends did not take much time to take in the surroundings, however. Masae rammed into a turned-over dining table with the remnants of the antechamber sofa, bowling over a pair of gunmen while Junko and Taro darted in opposite directions. 

Chaos erupted as the gunmen turned to shoot but found their fellows in the line of fire. Wild shots flew everywhere as they tried to hit the invading lycanthropes. Junko socked a stocky man who had been using a doorway leading to another room in the suite as cover. Her punch sent him and his Tec-9 tumbling to the floor. Taro scooped up a broken table leg and wielded it like a make-shift boken. He ducked low, weaving between a coffee table and broken chair to a cluster of gunmen. He kicked the broken chair into the air in front of them and then side-stepped around them. He smashed the table leg over one's shoulder then sliced upwards in an arc, knocking a pistol out of a second man's hand, probably breaking both in the process. The third man leveled a heavy black rifle at Taro and unleashed a torrent of fire. Almost simultaneously, Taro hurled the table leg at him. It struck him in the head and knocked him senseless. Unfortunately, a good number of bullets struck Taro in the abdomen. The yellow-furred werewolf hissed and hunched over, clutching his wounded side. Blood pooled on the carpet below him. Masae, meanwhile, tore through the penthouse like a maddened bull, smashing and throwing furniture, punching, swatting, and body-slamming anything that moved or didn't move, eyes glowing like twin novas. Her massive, hulking body was riddled with bullet wounds, some which didn't seem to be healing, but she seemed far too angry to notice.

Junko looked around and realized all their foes had fled or had been incapacitated - hopefully. Masae was standing in the center of the room, panting. Taro had flopped back on a chair that, miraculously, had been undamaged in the melee. Junko instinctively sniffed the air and shuddered. She smelled a lot of blood - Taro's blood. 

"Taichi-sama!" cried Junko, somewhat to her surprise. She stepped over a groaning gunman and hurried over to the wounded werewolf, who greeted her with an exhausted nod.

"H- Hayashi-san," muttered Taro. "I...I was careless. Forgive me."

Junko stared down in horror and revulsion at the sight (and smell) of his gun wound. She didn't think anyone could lose that much blood and live - even a werewolf.

"It's not healing," whimpered Junko, cupping her muzzle.

"N-No, I think it is," said Taro. "Just...too much damage. It will take time to regenerate." He lurched forward but then slunk back in the chair, which creaked but did not break under him. "I..."

"Stay here and...and watch over these men," said Junko firmly. "Make sure none of them come after us while we search the rest of the room."

Taro nodded.

"Sorry, Hayashi-san," he said. "It seems...even like this...I'm holding you and Takahashi-sempai back."

"S-Shut up," said Junko, smiling weakly. 

Junko reluctantly turned and trotted over to Masae. The gigantic werewolf was still standing in the center of the room, steadily growling. Her fur was slick with blood. As Junko approached her, Masae looked over her shoulder at glared at her with a single, baleful yellow eye. 

"M-Masae-sempai?" gasped Junko, suddenly very frightened. 

There was a long, unsettling silence. Then, Masae blinked. Her shoulders slumped and she turned to face Junko, shaking her head. 

"Sorry," said Masae, tail tucked between her legs.

Junko opened her mouth to ask a question but quickly shut it.

"Come on," she said, gesturing wildly. "Before all...this broke out I thought I smelled something down that way.

Masae nodded. She stomped over to the broken sofa to retrieve her katana and then looked down at Taro. 

"Are...you sure you're going to be alright, Tar-... Taichi-sama?" she asked.

Taro stirred in his seat and looked up, eyes-half-lidded. He was still clutching his blood-soaked fuzzy stomach. Nevertheless, he nodded solemnly. 

"Yes. Go, rescue Lily-sama"

"Are you sure? That's a lot of blood."

"My...tissue has already repaired itself," said Taro. "Not...bleeding anymore. I'll be fine."

Masae grinned at him. "You're pretty tough, you know that?"  She then turned to Junko. "Well?"

Junko took a deep breath, exhaled and nodded. With that, the two werewolves exited the room. 

A short hallway connected with the front dining area. There were four doors, two of which were ajar. Junko sniffed the air. One of the doors led to a bathroom but she wasn't sure about the others. Lily's scent was strong here, though. It had to be one of the four. Masae led the way down the hall, crouching as she walked, with Junko trailing close behind. Apart from the groans of the gunmen from down the hall and the squeak of the carpet under their feet, all was silent. 

Masae stopped suddenly.

"Look," she hissed.

Junko peered around Masae. There was a small red smear on the doorknob of the door on the far right. One whiff confirmed its identity - werewolf blood.

The two girls looked at one another. Saying nothing, Masae reached down and slowly gripped the knob with her massive paw. It was unlocked. She twisted it and nudged the door open with her furry shoulder.

The second Junko breathed air from the room she almost gagged. It reeked of blood, sweat and other, less salubrious bodily fluids. Masae appeared similarly disgusted. Fighting back the urge to vomit, Junko peered inside. The room was relatively large and dimly lit. It looked as though it had once been the master bedroom but all the furniture and furnishings had been removed. She spied a figure hunched in a chair in one corner. Plastic sheets littered the floor around it.

Then, Junko spied something lying on the plastic in a pool of what was clearly blood. It was a sort of pinkish nub around the size of a...

"Is that a finger?" gasped Junko in horror.

Masae grunted and entered the room. She hunched down and stared at the object and then at the figure in the chair. "It is," she whispered. 

Junko swallowed. She took a step into the room. 

Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind and wrapped their arm around her stomach. She yelped in surprise and then growled, already reaching down to tear free of their grip. Then, her attacker fired a gun. It was as though someone had stuck a firecracker in her ear. She screamed in pain and shock. 

"The next one will splatter your brains on the ceiling," said a voice over the ringing in her ears. 

She felt something hard and small prod the back of her neck. It was a gun.

"Don't move," hissed the voice. "It doesn't matter if it's silver or not. You'll die. She told me as much."

Junko froze. Her soul screamed in fear. Her eyes darted back and forth, trying to get a look at whoever was holding a gun to her without moving. She saw Masae whirl around and snarl when she spied the two of them. Her lupine face contorted into a visage of fury. 

"Come any closer and she dies," said the voice, now calmer, almost amused. It was male, accented, but quite comprehensible. 

"Kill her and you die - slowly," rumbled Masae, eyes gleaming in the twilight of the room. Junko saw her gaze momentarily shift to something above them.

"This is what's going to happen," said the voice. "I am going to walk out of this hotel with this...young lady. You will stay in this room for, let's say, thirty minutes. If I see you again, she dies. If I see police, she dies. If, however, I make it to the ground level and reach my vehicle, I will let her go."

There was a pause.

"You're not really going to let her live, are you?" growled Masae.

"I will," said the voice. "She is of no use to me apart from a bargaining chip. If I kill her after I escape you will no doubt pursue me to the ends of the Earth, so in fact it is in my best interest to release her once I get what I want. I have enough enemies as it is."

Junko gulped. He seemed sincere but, knowing everything she did about this man, Junko realized they couldn't trust him. Considering all the trouble he had gone through to capture or kill them he wouldn't let her go. After all, she would be able to tell the police what car he took or which way he went. A man like him wouldn't spare anyone if it meant taking a risk. 

Besides, she didn't want him to escape. She wanted to end this. She wanted him to pay for his crimes. 

Her mind raced. She realized the man was much shorter than she was by the way the barrel of the gun was angled against her neck. If she moved he would get a shot off and she wasn't entirely certain she could dodge it. If she bent or fell over she might avoid the first round but he'd feel her attempt to break free. If she could just squat or...

Junko's eyes widened. It would work. It had to work. 

"What did you do to Lily," said Masae, glancing back at the chair. "If she's dead..."

"No, but when she wakes she may wish she were," said the man. "Very resilient body. But I have my ways."

Junko's gritted her fangs. She looked in Masae's direction until she caught the enormous werewolf's attention. She winked, and then started counting down with her paws. First four digits, then three, then two...

Junko focused. A lightness enveloped her body. Her rapid heartbeat slowed. Months of training had paid dividends. She took a breath, and then released.

Her lower body...shrank. The fur along her legs receded, her muscles deflated, her tail contracted, and her legs went from digitigrade to plantigrade - all in the span of less a second. Now only a werewolf from the chest up, Junko slipped out of her captor's suddenly loose grip, simultaneously bashing him with her elbow. She fell to the floor with a gasp of relief - still one half werewolf, one half human.

The man staggered back and looked down at the bizarre chimera in shock. He recovered quickly and leveled his gun. But Masae was ready. She hurled her katana at him with frightening speed, hitting his arm. He screamed in pain as the spinning blade cut deeply into his forearm before clattering to the floor. Blood splattered on the walls. He stumbled back and fired repeatedly but only hit the ceiling. Soon the gun was just clicking. 

Junko winced as the rest of her reverted to human. Naked and exposed, she frantically crawled over to Masae, who scooped her up in her massive arms and hugged her tightly.

"That...was so stupid," snapped Masae angrily, tears in her eyes.

"Y-Yeah," said Junko, shaking, but grinning.

Masae sighed.

"You're hopeless, Junko-chan," she said.

The two girls turned back to the man, who Junko realized had to be Mr. Shen. He fit the Yakuza's description to a tee - a short, wrinkly old man with grey hair and beady black eyes. He had stepped back and was leaning against the wall clutching his wounded arm, breathing heavily. It was then that Junko noticed something odd. A large, high-definition flatscreen television had been affixed to the wall above him and it was showing an image of the full moon; it was in fact the only source of light in the room. Junko felt a familiar tingle envelop her body as she gazed upon it. 

"What...why is that TV there?" queried Junko, addressing no-one in particular. 

Suddenly, Mr. Shen gasped. Then, he chuckled.

"I...I think it's finally happening," he murmured. "My body...it's reacting...I can feel it..."

"What are you babbling about?" said Masae scornfully. 

Mr. Shen met her gaze. There was a disconcerting gleam in his obsidian eyes. 

"Did you really think I would miss this kind of opportunity?" said Mr. Shen. "A new, stronger body, virtually immortal?"

Junko's jaw dropped. Masae's eyes narrowed.

"I took some of her blood after she fell unconscious," said Mr. Shen. His formally pale face was waxing febrile. "Brought...this in here to accelerate the process. Wasn't sure it would work but..."

Saying nothing, Masae put Junko down and started walking towards Mr. Shen, absently picking up her katana.

"You don't deserve this gift," snarled Masae, raising the sword tip to his throat.

"Are you going to kill me?" said Mr. Shen dreamily. His hands were twitching. "Would you deny an old man one final experience? It must be magnificent. A true predator - a god among men. Please, let me have this."

"YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS!" roared Masae so loudly the walls trembled.

Junko saw Masae's sword arm tense. She opened her mouth to beg her to stop.

"Don't bother," said a voice from behind - in English.

Two heads turned, one head looked up. It was Lily. She had been beaten, bruised, cut, stabbed, shot and burned - repeatedly - and looked to be in about as bad a state someone could look without actually dying. Yet, if anything, her tone - her demeanor - was one of tired amusement.

"He's alrea...damn, I actually know the words for this in Japanese," continued Lily. "Err.... Omae wa mō shindeiru."

"You...are already dead?" repeated Junko, confused. 

Suddenly, Mr. Shen started to convulse. He cried out in pain. A lump formed on his forehead and slowly traveled down his face, causing it to bulge grotesquely, blood dripping from his eyes. Claws emerged from his trembling hands but then rapidly detached from his fingers. Dark red lesions erupted along his arms and neck. 

"You might want to look away. This gets...really graphic."

Forewarned and already disgusted by what she saw, Junko buried her head in Masae's thick fur. The sounds, however, were bad enough - popping, cracking, gurgling and, curiously, hissing. When all had gone silent she slowly turned around. What remained of Mr. Shen could best be described as a pile rather than a corpse. And the smell...

Junko vomited. Masae turned away in disgust.

"Er...you okay?"

"Y-Yes..." responded Junko in English after a while, wiping her mouth. Then, she gazed at Lily. "W-Wait. Am I okay? W-What about you?" she said, practically screaming. 

"This? Eh, I've been through worse. One time I got both arms amputated - half-training exercise, half-dare. Took nearly a month for them to feel right after they got reattached. Speaking of which, could you grab my finger? Normally I'd just grow a new one but... I'm a little low on energy right now."

Junko understood only about half of what she had said but nevertheless nodded.

Masae cleared her throat impatiently.

"Ask her what happened to him," she said, gesturing at the mass of offal that had been Mr. Shen.

Junko winced but complied.

"She wants to know what happened to him," she translated.

Lily sighed.

"I warned him," she said, shaking her head. "The older you are the more painful and dangerous it is to be changed into a werewolf. It helps if you're in good shape but once you're over fifty it's a real gamble. Getting his arm sliced up just before it kicked in probably didn't do him any favors and the guy was stressed as hell - neither is conducive to a successful conversion. The NALA age limit for conversion is forty-five years with some exceptions made after a physical evaluation." She paused. "A self-inflicted death if ever I saw one."

"He...was too old," summarized Junko, shrugging. "It ended up killing him."

"Ah," said Masae.

There was a long silence.

"So...about that finger." 

"Oh, sorry."