The Many Regrets of a Cyborg Werewolf

Justification - VII

It was a particularly slow night at the convenience store. They were open twenty four hours a day at the small family-owned shop, though the young man on shift was not related. He was simply earning a part time wage, taking the shifts no one else wanted, reading a comic book behind the counter as Belinda Carlisle played on the radio next to him. The most recent patron was a scruffy looking man who headed straight for the alcohol, but it had been over an hour since the customer before him. This made it only slightly surprising when another person entered. They were a younger man, hardly older than the cashier himself, clad in a hoodie and jeans. The cashier bid a cordial "hello" that went unreciprocated, and so he went back to his comic as the newcomer shopped around, occasionally glancing at the bulbous mirrors to keep an eye on him. The man in the alcohol section noticed the boy in the hoodie, though didn't pay him much mind, especially as he was soon at the counter ready to pay. His few items were rung up, and the boy in the hoodie fidgeted with his back pocket.

"Three-fifty," the cashier muttered.

"Throw in a lighter, too," the boy in the hoodie said as he picked a plastic lighter from the stand next to him. The cashier amended the total, took the boy's money, and opened the register just as the boy knocked over a stand of confections reaching for his items.

"Shit!" The cashier said as he bent over, foolishly leaving the open register unattended. As he bent down to pick up the spill the boy in the hoodie reached over the counter. He grabbed the cash in the register by the handfuls, stuffing his pockets without the young till worker even noticing. By the time the employee noticed what had happened the boy in the hoodie was out of the store, leaving the worker to gawk at the emptied register.

"Fuck!" He said, holding his hands to his head, "come on, man!"

"He just rip you off?" The shaggy man asked as he approached, fully aware of what had transpired.

"I'm gonna get fired for sure," the young man moaned, "what was I thinking? God damn it."

"That's fucked," the shaggy man placed his chosen bottle on the counter. He reached for his own wallet and pulled out a single hundred dollar bill, handing it to the distressed young cashier.

"I don't got any change, man," he motioned to the still open and empty register.

"Keep it," the scruffy individual said as the young man accepted the note. "It'll help."

"You don't have to-" he began, but before he could finish the first customer was gone, the door slowly closing behind him. The dishevelled man stuffed his bottle into his coat, not that he was entirely concerned with anyone seeing it, but he would soon need his hands free. The boy in the hoodie who robbed the store stunk of drugs and unwashed clothes, an easy scent to track. Easier still was the perspiration mixed in as he ran, the over-abundance of his breath as he heaved, and the cacophony of his footsteps and panting. It was as if he was lit up against a dark wall in the mostly sleeping city. The shaggy man didn't need to give chase, at least not yet. The young boy would burn himself out soon, confident he had given any tails the slip as soon as he sank into whatever hole he crawled out of. Sure enough his scent and sounds brought the man to a particular alley. It was dark, empty save for a few vagabonds, and led into the seedier, dirtier backs of the buildings. The streets behind the streets that normal people, decent people, avoided. The areas the man seldom explored yet knew all too well, and eventually he found the boy huddled behind a dumpster. He counted his cash in a corner, huddling like a rodent, and the shaggy man kept his presence a secret until the boy's heart rate started to slow. Just as his body started to come out of its adrenal rush. Right as the sense of complacency and safety started to eek in.

"Hey," the dishevelled man said, causing the boy in the hoodie to jump. He scrambled to his feet, pulling a knife from his pocket. Without a word he thrust it towards the man, who casually held out his hand as the blade pierced his skin. The sharpened edge cut clean through down to the handle, deep enough that the shaggy man's fingers could wrap around the boy's hand even as he gripped the knife.

"Stealing is wrong, didn't you know?" The shaggy man closed the fingers of his stabbed hand around the boy's, crushing them. The boy screamed, only for the man to jab him in the chest with a single finger. This simple motion had enough force to expel the air from the boy's lungs, robbing him of his scream, and sending him into a daze so sudden he hadn't even noticed the sudden change of surroundings. They were now on a rooftop, the boy on his back, clutching his mangled hand with no sign of his knife. It was just him and the man with the scruffy hair.

"I'm gonna ask you something," the shaggy man said as he knelt down to the boy's level, "and you're not gonna lie. I mean, you are, but you're still going to answer me honestly."

"Please..." the boy could only muster a faint rasp, shaking as he seethed from the pain and fear.

"Why did you steal?" The man asked. "That boy at the counter is just trying to make his way, same as you, but unlike you he's actually doing the decent thing and earning it. Is that so hard?"

"Take the money!" The boy could barely speak, both from being winded and the terror as he tossed the bills from his pockets. The man didn't even glance at them as they fell near his boots.

"You stink of meth and cheap reefer," he said as he stood up, removing his jacket. "Is that all you wanted? Money to smoke, shoot up, or otherwise fry your brain with?" He walked over to a nearby duct, taking the bottle he purchased out of its pocket before tossing his coat on it. He twisted off the cap as he took a long gulp. The boy started to shuffle away, but the panic he felt kept him almost frozen. Something about this man was so intimidating, so unnatural, it almost shut the boy down entirely. The man then turned to him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "you didn't answer my question."

"I don't know!" The boy uttered, still hardly able to speak, "I'm sorry! I promise I won't do it again-!"

"Two lies, one truth," the man shrugged. He placed the bottle down next to his coat, "honestly more than I expected." He looked at the boy and began to remove his shirt. "But you do know, and you aren't sorry. That much I've come to know. Humans lie, all the time. To themselves or others, it doesn't matter why or for what gain, they just do. But you were right about one thing..." The man began to undo his belt. Now the young man was starting to panic more, screaming a hoarse whisper as he tried to stand. He finally willed himself to get to his feet, taking off in a panic, only to find the dishevelled man was already behind him.

"Take a seat," he said, and pushed the boy with one hand, sending him flying back. He collided with another vent, the corner jabbing into his back. The shaggy man stepped towards him. He was completely naked except for a small necklace around his neck. It was a simple thin rope attached to a small green gemstone that flickered an iridescent blue in the light of the full moon, and was quite small on a man like him. So small it seemed to only get lost on him, as if it were constantly shrinking. But it wasn't shrinking, but it was getting smaller against his chest. A chest covered in a thick mat of hair, yet still bulging with muscle, just like his arms. It was like the hair was growing to cover every inch of his body, the nails on his fingers likewise elongating to disgusting extremes.

"You were truthful about one thing, I'll give you that," the hulking man said, his voice dropping to a chilling, guttural baritone, "you'll never steal anything again."