ғɪᴠᴇ. [ action; Dead District, Sunday evening ]

WHO: Pretty much all of you! ~~Except Kallie. She sucks.~~
WHAT: Werewolf Hunting the Movie, starring yours truly.
WHERE: All around the Dead District.
WHEN: Forward dated to Sunday evening.

[ The hour is late. The sky is dark and the stars are out, the only guidance they'll have for this mission—and this was a mission, in Casval Mass' mind. One he intended on carrying out and returning successfully from, despite the difficulties involved.

He sends out the mass text to everyone when the hour draws near with the full details of their rallying point, sitting on the same trunk from his previous post on the network. He's dressed the same as always; in full captain's regalia, boots polished to an almost severe shine, coattails flickering in the gentle evening's breeze. The only sign of nervousness lingers in the occasional twitch of his knuckles. Otherwise, he's primed and ready for the challenges ahead, keeping a lookout for his "forces" as they arrive.

He's got no delusions about what's going down here. The borderline murderous intent is clear in his eyes. Let them come, his sharp gaze reads.

Let them come so I can kill them all. ]

(( And here we go! Operation: Werewolf is now go! Tag at will! Team assignments can be checked here while you are waiting. Please make sure to mark this post with your appropriate character tag as well.

EDIT: The mingling threads will proceed for awhile to give people time to tag in. Keep an eye out for special threads to go up. Until then, you're wolf free... for now. Please do not NPC running into the wolves, or the wolves themselves. At this time of estimation, they'll likely start appearing tomorrow evening at the earliest, but watch this space for updates. ))

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Perhaps the scent that the group was looking for wasn't as fresh as they would have liked, but on the other hand? They weren't the only ones following a trail, doubling back and tracking the evidence, staying downwind and beneath the sheltering screen of the shadows between abandoned buildings...

Watching, taking note of weapons, numbers, identities--

There was a yip in the darkness, quickly followed by another, and then all at once a thrill of excited barks that echoed off the surrounding structures. Laughter, even.

Who could have expected so many interesting people would gather together all at once for them? As opposed to their previous tactics of chasing stubborn inhabitants out, this time the resident 'werewolves' had no interest in scaring their prey off. They had little incentive to hide.

The odd shape of their bodies created the illusion of being bigger than they were, but still they were quite obviously formidable, as they stepped just close enough to be noticed: two lighter, tannish-colored individuals, and a nearly-black third that hung back just slightly more in the shadows, eyes reflecting in the gloom.

Sadly, they weren't just animals. Simple wolves didn't have the bipedal stance of these ones... nor wear what was quite obviously bullet-proof vests to protect their barrel-chested torsos. Once human, their features were twisted into bestial design- what might have once been the likes of German Shepherd Dogs or similar, if unfortunately now lacking the inherent dignified appearance of the breed.

They weren't werewolves, not really, but perhaps just close enough to matter. Either way, what they definitely were was attentive, their gazes very fixed on each of the trespassers present.

The echos distort the sound, but Jack can at least get a vague sense of where it's coming from. Target acquired.

He turns instantly, breaking into a full-speed run down the alley. They can't be more than a block or two away, and he's coming.

Aaron turns around, hand around the gun at his hip. But if there is laughter, then there is something human about these things, isn't there?

"What are you doing here?" he called out. "Come to chase us out?"

Bakura turned at the sound, eyes widening as he spotted the source.

Son of a....

What was it that Lyall had said, that the police had smelled animal...?

...NOT THAT THIS WAS THE TIME TO THINK THAT. This was the showdown, the moment of confrontation. He needed to focus to face this...!

Yet the pounding of his heart seemed to get louder and louder despite his attempts to calm it, vision swimming slightly as the scene before him blurred.

'I've been waiting for you...'

A tomb. A trap. But that didn't matter, he was the king of thieves, no good for nothing priest was going to---

"Nrrrggg...!" Bakura clutched at his face, trying to force the flood of memories back. No, no, no, no, not now, not now, get the hell out of his head, out of his head....!

[Kotetsu could feel his anxiety growing the longer they followed the trail, as Lyall confirmed that they were in fact approaching said werewolves. This was really happening. They were almost there.

...The laughter sends a terrible chill down his spine, but it's nothing compared to the moment that he actually saw the creature. Bulletproof vest...those were fucking bulletproof vests. Which means...

Oh god, hadn't Lyall said something about a different smell in the police in on the shooting? Are these things his co-workers?]

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

[His hand tightens around the holster at his waist, though he doesn't draw his weapon just yet.]

[His new power can get emotionally triggered, and that's exactly what happens when the creatures step into view. The laugh on its own had been frightening, but it's not until he gets the visual that he loses some of his grip on that ability.

[Not that the display is very impressive. A thin layer of frost blasts a few feet along the ground, and the nearby air temperature drops. Noticeable, yes. But useful? Not in the least.

[His instinct is to step back, even as his hand unconsciously goes to the sword hilt. He's not drawing it, not yet. He doesn't want to get close to those things. He'll just stay back here for now.

[Just . . . assessing the situation. That's all. Not like he's damn near petrified or anything.]

Lyall's reaction, at first, is to freeze. The first thought in his head, incongruously, is, Those are not werewolves! The second thought, however, is more pertinent, if even less useful: We're gonna die.

He shakes himself out of it only when Bakura's hands go up to his face and he makes that awful little noise. And then, he reaction is to scuttle hurriedly and gracelessly away from Aaron and put himself between the boy and the threat. It's about the only thing he's capable of, at the moment, being a human meatshield and crowding Bakura back towards the nearest wall.

And a hand goes out to Shirou's shoulder, too, urging the younger boy back with them both.

The barking laughter stopped, but the amusement seemed to linger even as oddly-placed ears flattened back on distorted skulls. Except for the darker one, they continued moving, deliberately fanning out. Their breaths were long and drawn-in and audible as they sniffed at the intruders, absorbing their scents.

The third- its mouth was dripping, nose running, but this one's face had eyes clearer than the others, more deliberate body language even as it dropped to all fours, head lowering. In fact, it was actually smaller than the others, and yet...

"Capture them."

The words were mutilated by a mouth that was never designed to form English... and yet in a voice that was decidedly feminine. The scents on these boys and men proved that they were already individuals marked as Wanted. Despite the armed status of the trespassers, the alpha female radiated confidence.

And her followers wasted no time in doing just as she asked. Unified, they charged forward, with snarls that contrasted against their entertained manner from before- one for each of the men with a hand on a gun at his hip.

They meant to panic them.

The pounding of Jack's shoes against the pavement is loud as he skids around the corner in hot pursuit, the sound of those eerie bark-laughs, the sound of the enemy, ringing in his ears. And there they are. He vaguely recognizes Kotetsu and Aaron a few dozen yards ahead, but he's much more intent on what's between him and them, whatever the hell these monsters are.

It doesn't matter what they are, though. He's been denied long enough -- it doesn't matter what form the monsters have, he's more than happy to meet them head on. So there's no thought required, no hesitation in Jack's mind as he fires off a few loud shots at one of the lead dogmen as he charges in without even slowing. At another time, he might call it a distraction, the best he could do. But the reality is, it's much more an invitation. Come and get me. Not them..

The gun is thrown aside then, Jack whipping out the combat knife he's been carrying tucked into his belt as he leaps for the apparent leader of this pack with a snarl of his own, knife cutting a wide arc downwards.

The sight of a monster wolf bearing down on him causes something to stir in Aaron's soul. The hollow feeling returns, and the thrumming heartbeat--once, twice--and for a moment, he is in a wild forest, clad in gray and green and leather.

"Wargs!" Aragorn cries, and takes up his sword (a broken piece of rebar) from where it had fallen to the ground. "Back, beasts, back to your master! Else I shall ensure your eyes never behold the black towers of Angmar again!"

Tranquilizers forgotten, he leaps at his foe, bringing the rebar around in a mighty swing, aimed for the creature's head.

...Holy shit, it talks.

That's it. His life is officially a goddamn science-fiction movie. They're being attacked by sentient werewolf things that may or may not be his co-workers in an abandoned alley late at night.

Everything seems to happen at once--the frost coming out of the kid, Aaron swinging a broken metal bar and screaming something about wargs (poor bastard's clearly lost it, not that Kotetsu blames him), and Jack suddenly appearing out of nowhere and charging straight for the wolves is he crazy he's goddamn crazy--

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the one wolf coming for him, though, and reflex and muscle memory take the place of fear as he wrenches his gaze away from the others and the gun's already in his hands. There isn't time to aim, to look for a non-vital spot, and certainly no time to pick up the fallen tranquilizers, so he just...squeezes the trigger. Fires once, twice, three times straight at the wolf's face, a silent apology on his lips. He's sorry if you were ever someone he knew. He's sorry there's no time to try to find some other way. He's sorry.

He's so very sorry.

Edited 2013-04-23 08:22 (UTC)

[There's chaos all around him and he can't think. He needs to be able to think; it's clearly what will keep him sane. And alive. Alive is important.

[Later, the choice of words would sink in. Capture. Not kill. But his brain can't focus on that right now.

[He's in no position to resist the backward urging, and goes along with it. What's he supposed to do up there anyway, with the metal being swung around and the gunfire going off . . .

[What if they still got through? He's the only one back here who can fight. But can he even handle that? He has some skill with this sword but he has no idea how much. If it's not enough --

[Not a useful train of thought. Stop it, stop it, stop it. Hang back and get himself together. He needs to do that.]

Capture. Lyall really, really doesn't like the sound of that. He likes even less that they talk. The not-werewolves talk? Lyall can't really sort out the scents going on right now enough to make any connections with policemen or -women, or even make the connection immediately between that scent he'd caught before and the one from Aaron's clinic, not with gunfire and knifes and a sudden one-armed man bounding into the fray. But he's got the kids back with him, trying to back them both up to the nearest wall behind him, as the only protection they are likely to get. The wall, and maybe him, though he isn't going to be much good, and he knows it.

"Just stay back, it'll be all right," he tells the two hoarsely, though he doubts it himself. At least the one-armed man-- is that Jack? that has to be Jack-- has the element of surprise, and Kotetsu is shooting, and Aaron is... forgetting all about tranquilizers. Someone is fighting who isn't him or the boys-- that's what matters. They might even win. Maybe.

Only then, with that doubtful thought, does he notice the unexpected scent somewhere to one side. There's someone else here-- the Captain? He looks around wildly for the usual uniform, keeping his hands on Bakura and Toushirou to keep them out of the way.

[ He shouldn't be surprised it was all falling to pieces already.

He really, really, really shouldn't be surprised that all the makeshift training and pep talks in the world wouldn't prepare them for this, children and schoolteachers and cops with problems and boy, does he have problems of his own, but when Casval lines up the shot behind his sniper's scope, from his concealed pile of rubble nearby, he's not thinking about his problems or anyone else's. He's only thinking about one thing: target elimination, blood for blood, slaughter.

A shot rings out, sharp recoil that he doesn't even flinch at, and a bullet sails towards the head of one of the slobbering dogs, then another, and another. Casval doesn't even blink. Doesn't even flinch because it's so ingrained, so instinctive, he honestly could manage it in his sleep. His eyes are glazed over, almost, unfocused on the surface, but there is no doubt. This is his element. This is his battle. His war. He'll fight it and he doesn't give a damn if they're half-human, half-dog, if they can speak gibberish or fluent fucking Mandarin. They're going to die and he is going to kill them.

They're going to bleed, and he is going to watch. ]

Were these men-turned-canines more logical, had they the time to consider their prey, one thing would have been unanimously decided: these people were completely out of their minds.

In an instant chaos had seized the scene, shots and snarls and alarmed yells filling the air as the monstrosities moved and the humans reacted- at once the so-called werewolves found themselves having to weave, trying to dodge the hail of bullets.

Except for the alpha. Eyes aglow, she turned in Jack's direction with an eerie calm despite the situation, moving far more smoothly than the others as she dodged the knife's blow. Without another word or even a warning growl, she ducked her head, tensed her body, and dove at him rather than away. Jaws struck out to latch around the man's (remaining) arm as she threw her shoulder towards his chest.

In a similar vein, one of the others - the one rushing at Aaron - sidestepped as well, narrowly avoiding blows both seen and unforeseen. His rage over the matter was bellowed out in a challenging roar as he bounded beyond the rebar's reach, low enough to the ground that he was very nearly running on all fours. The fabric of his vest tore as a bullet grazed the surface.

The last, however, was far from lucky enough to escape unscathed. Shots from two sources tore into his neck and shoulder, ripping an anguished yowl starting from deep inside him... but his weight still continued forward, on a direct collision course with Kotetsu's position all the same.

Chaos within, chaos without, Bakura very easily followed Lyall's pull and half curled up behind the man, breathing uneven and shaky as fragments of the memory he was trying to fight off mingled with the insanity around him. The harder he fought against it, the worse and more reality warping the images became.

They needed to get out of there. If he could call forth Diabound, they could all-- but he couldn't. Even if that creature was real, 'Each time my hatred grows--' shut up shut up shut up this wasn't a game! Evolving monsters, battles in a pyramid, none of that mattered! He had people needed to protect!

With a sound almost like a growl, Bakura pushed back against the memories overwhelming his mind, banishing them away with every scrap of will power to his name. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of Lyall's shoulder.

"If we're going to run, we need to do it now...!"

The impact almost bowls Jack over, but even as a monstrous dogbeast, she's a little lighter, a little shorter than he is. Jack only staggers a couple steps when they collide, letting out a pained scream as the jaws latch shut around his forearm.

A scream that changes in a couple short breaths to something more like heaving, ugly laughter bubbling up with each harsh breath as he struggles with the bitch for his arm. The pain is good. He feels alive now, completely lost in the pulse-pounding moment of battle. And as soon as he gets free... he wants to turn her into kibble, even if it means he has to kick her face in instead of slicing her open.

He feels the hollow thump deep in his chest, but without intrusive memories to follow it, Jack barely notices through the pain and frenzy. Keeping his deathgrip on the knife, he slams his head forward into hers, cracking their skulls together one, twice, trying to get free.

The Warg runs, and Aragorn pursues, even through the rain of bullets. The gunfire doesn't snap him out of his altered state--for Aaron, gunfire was to be expected in a battle--and humming on the surface of Aaron's mind are Aragorn's memories, instincts, skills.

He will not allow this monster to escape these wild badlands and trouble the city beyond. He would lay down his own life first.

"Curs," Aragorn taunts, adjusting his grip on the rebar. "Will you run from us with your tails between your legs, or will you fight?" He wants its attention, wants it to attack, wants it within sword's-reach. He will lunge again, striking out with the rebar if he can come within range, and if not? He knows this terrain, and will put the knowledge to effective use as he gives chase.

[It just all keeps happening at once, and now there are sprays of blood in the air.

[Bakura's voice manages to break through the chaos, and he spares the older boy a glance over his shoulder before getting his eyes back on the fight. Shouldn't be looking away from the fight, no matter how distressing the scene. Need to be ready to react.

[And is running even the best idea?] Do we even know if there are more near here? Running won't do us much good if there are!

[They'd be out in the open with only him for defense. For all his insistence that he can handle himself, that he's not helpless . . . being confronted with the situation is entirely different. He's got his head somewhat together at least, but he's never done anything like this before.]

[ Out of his mind, out of himself, and Casval hardly even cared, save to utter a curse under his breath when the majority of his shots missed their intended targets. Clever bastards. Clearly background support wouldn't be enough here, not with how quickly the situation was going to hell.

Clearly, a more hands-on approach was necessary here.

Dropping his rifle at his perch, the Captain scales the uneven rubble with ease, undoing the collar of his coat and whipping it open to reveal heavy guns clipped to either side of the inside jacket—matching M16s. Whipping through the nightmarish scene, he sends bursts of gunfire directed at the grunts in the pack, shooting less to take them down, accuracy sketchy at best, and more to distract, to draw their ire away from the children. He leaves Aaron to his own devices; for whatever reason, he seemed more confident, more capable, and honestly... his potential loss didn't weigh too heavily on his mind. Nothing did, other than achieving the goal at hand.

Tunnel vision kicks in, seeing Jack struggling, caught in the jaws of the alpha. Jack. Loyalty overrides everything else, everyone else. They could all keel over and die but Jack has to live, has to, he's not allowed to die or disappear because he just can't handle that and so Casval speeds and weaves his way on over, ditching his weapons and drawing his sword from his sheath, a blade that shines in the shadows keen to slice the bloody bitch in two. ]

Get away from him.

[ The warning's hissed through grit teeth, and with a sure hand, Casval whips his sword towards her spine in a horizontal slash, intending to cut her back open in one swift blow. ]

Edited 2013-04-25 10:07 (UTC)

Given the amount of gunfire, Lyall isn't entirely sure staying here is very safe, either. He's never been in anything remotely resembling a firefight before, and each deafening shot makes him flinch and press a little further back against the wall. Bakura grabbing his shoulder startles him, eliciting a more violent twitch, but it does force him to make his brain actually function. The boys aren't safe here. Any moment, the not-werewolves could decide to turn on the ones not actively attacking them as a better deal for capture.

"If there are, they'll-- they'll come running to that, to help their pack," he manages, more hopeful than actually certain. But distance makes it at least marginally less likely that they'll be turned on, and maybe moving around a corner can prevent a bullet's accident, so he's happy to take Bakura's suggestion. "Come on-- this way." And while he's not going to run and maybe attract attention, he certainly walks, shoulders hunched in a futile attempt to look less obvious about it. He urges the two boys to come with him along the wall of the nearest building, one hand on each shoulder.

He looks over his own shoulder every other step, trying to keep an eye on whether the not-werewolves notice the more helpless group members' escape. And keep an eye on whether any of that potentially friendly fire is going to wind up coming their way.

[And all of a sudden, there's another new source of gunfire, and Kotetsu's head snaps in that direction. Was it another of their number? Some other ally? A third party aiming to kill both sides?]

Who--

[But he doesn't get to finish that sentence when the injured wolf slams into him, knocking the air out of his lungs as his back hits cement, and he's probably lucky he doesn't crack his skull open right there. The gun slips out of his hand but doesn't discharge, and as soon as he catches his breath, he kicks at the beast's stomach, pulling one knee in and rapidly straightening it, before twisting so he can grab his gun again.

And then all of a sudden there's more gunfire and when he looks, it's Casval, who's....now charging head-on at the wolf who's grabbed Jack's arm. Goddamn, everyone on this thing is crazy. Or has a death wish. He can't tell which.

...Except Lyall and the kids, apparently, except running could be disastrous. Pointedly, he stares away as he shouts:]

No! Don't run! We can't protect you if you leave here!

The alpha's entire body thrashed against Jack, teeth digging into flesh and the taste of blood flowing over her tongue, bright as it fogged into the snarls drawn out of her by each hit of the man's skull against her own. However, her intent was to ravage and throw him off balance rather than spend too much time locked in place, potentially more vulnerable to further retaliation by the second... and not a moment too soon, she abruptly disengaged, shoving him away.

She turned, right as Casval swung his sword; it hit, enough to bruise, perhaps, but not to get all the way through the reinforcement of her vest. All the same, she hadn't heard him and clearly miscalculated, and the fact that it was only existing preparation that saved her from mortally wounded instead of only knocked aside didn't escape her. Furious, she struck at his face with a dully-clawed hand, red-stained teeth bared in a grimace of unfiltered anger.

Meanwhile, the nightmarish scene only grew worse as the downed beast filled the night with howls of pain and scrabbled on the ground, dazed by the gut-kick and the blood still escaping past any instinctive attempts to hold hands to the wounds. The dog engaging Aaron continued dancing backward, drawing him away from the others as well.

And as for the three people intentionally trying to separate themselves--

"Ha..." The fourth 'wolf' on the scene nearly seemed to grin as she straightened from the crouch she'd entered only moments before, immediately grabbing for whoever was nearest with pawlike hands. As it turned out, both choosing to run alone and then being wary even as she was drawn by the sounds of a fight worked out in her favor.

Casval's appearance on the scene registers with Jack, but only as a distraction. Not a threat to him personally, and not interesting to Jack when there are enough more immediate targets at hand.

Jack's not entirely sure how, but it seems perfectly natural to take the force of the shove and turn the first step back into a full-fledged backflip, landing several feet further back from the alpha as she turns on Casval. He's spattered blood across the ground, and it's running down his arm and in between his fingers, still clenched tightly around the knife, But he doesn't care. Adrenaline is running high, and the pain from his arm is sharp, a gratifying reminder of the battle at hand. It's been too long since he really felt this way. And it feels good.

As quickly as he flipped backwards, he charges straight at her again, only turning sharply on his heel to change direction at the last second. Attacking from an unexpected angle, Jack's knife thrusts straight into her side, through the bulletproof vest below her ribs and up into her chest. He can't grapple to hold her in place, but he can continue the turn, kicking out one leg from under her as he rips the long, bloodstained knife free.

"...Fuck!"

Bakura jumped as he was grabbed, instinctively trying to yank his arm free and elbow the face of whatever had grabbed him. The fact that this was something far bigger and far nastier than any mugger could ever be did not at all register on his reflexes. Nor did the fact that he was armed with a pistol. It was all pure adrenalin fueled instinct.

And likely would not go well...

ғɪᴠᴇ. [ action; Dead District, Sunday evening ]

WOOF

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