The Good Intentions of a Cyborg Werewolf

Prognosis - IV

"Please hold still," Mercer said as Erin squirmed, "I can't reset it properly if you don't."

"I'd really rather just go to a hospital!" She said as he held her damaged hand. Two of the fingers bent painfully to the side, but Mercer had assured her they weren't broken, merely dislocated. How he knew she wasn't quite convinced, but as he held her hand beneath his desk lamp he carefully gripped her fingers together.

"This will hurt," he said immediately before yanking them. Erin bit her sleeve as she screamed into it from the pain, pulling her injured hand back in a mix of anger and agony. Mercer took it back, feeling it over once more, not even letting her recover from the shock. It somehow hurt more than the scratches on her back, which still itched even after being treated.

"Just let me see a doctor!" She shouted, "a real doctor!"

"Given your current state that'd be too much of a risk," Mercer said, fetching some things from the first aid kit he placed on the desk next to him. He began to splint and wrap her hand, "if CB got wind you wouldn't be safe."

"What the hell is CB?" Erin asked with frustration, "you guys just keep using codes and words like I know what the hell it means."

"Celestial Biotics," Mercer explained without looking up.

"The Pharmaceutical developer?" Erin asked.

"Let's just say they make more than saline and gauze at that lab," Mercer said as he finished wrapping her hand. The pain had begun to subside, but the awkward sensation remained in her knuckles, like stiff muscles after a long sleep. The thought drew her eyes towards Luke, who laid on the couch. He wore a fresh shirt over bandages, and seemed to be sleeping soundly despite everything that happened.

"What about him?" She asked, "I know he's a... you-know-what, but getting shot looked like it hurt."

"It most certainly did," Mercer said, packing up the first aid kit. "The transformation process temporarily boosts his natural healing, so he should be fine with rest. You said he pulled the bullets out right away?"

"Yeah," Erin nodded as she held her hand, "the first one for sure, the last two took a couple of seconds."

"Silver is poisonous to them," Mercer explained. "It burns on contact, and if it enters the bloodstream it can be fatal, especially if it pierces the heart."

"So you're not one of them?" Erin looked at Mercer. He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

"No," he said with a chuckle, then turned to her. "You really don't want to admit it, don't you?"

"It's just too much," Erin looked down as she held her still throbbing hand. "Werewolves. It's folklore and fantasy, after all."

"Reality can often be stranger than fiction," Mercer stood up from his desk and headed towards the kitchen. "Do you drink coffee?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Erin gave a polite smile. Mercer nodded, and her gaze drifted from him to the ring on the counter. She approached it, feeling that same aversion as before. She felt it when looking for the bullet, but overcame it easily. It was like she knew it would hurt her, but reached out to touch it anyway. She gently grazed the edge of it with the tip of her index finger, and predictably felt a hot pain, like touching a boiling kettle.

"Am I really going to become one?" She asked, "A... werewolf?"

"Technically you'd be classified as a 'wolfman,'" he replied as he filled the coffee maker with grounds. "Pardon the gender-insensitive nomenclature, but a werewolf is only created by the consummation of two other werewolves. Humans who are scratched, bit, or otherwise physically assaulted and survive become wolfmen."