Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

Chapter 3

    A stream of hot piss splashed against a brick wall, its vapor wafting in the brisk night air. Dogs barked in the far distance, but they were of no concern to the group of people currently spreading their scent along the streets and alleys. There was a bird chirping rather loudly nearby, though its calls didn't suggest distressed at all; if anything, it was probably confused of the time, thinking the streetlights meant that it was day. Kona rolled his eyes, digging a pinky into his ear canal to ease the twitching inside at the irritation of the bird's obnoxious singing. Did his team wake it up or something? "Marked," he announced to the five scattered members, giving his dick a shake before tucking it back into his pants. He turned around, halfhazardly pulling the zipper back up with the knowledge that it'll be back down again within minutes.
    As anyone's guess, werewolves stained their territories with the scent of urine. It was impotent against human gangs, but other werewolves easily detected the unique scent. If a human gang chose to ignore the graffiti symbols accompanying the strong piss odor, then any dogs they brought along knew better than to tread anywhere within a werewolf's wake. Anything a gang dog whimpered at was surely a reason to retreat from.
    Mina worked her magic on an old Nisus logo, touching up faded and marred spots with artistic skill. This particular one was intricate with textures and colored with gradients in the same fashion as the gang's signature tattoo, which was always located on the lower backside of their neck - a Bevor style. Mina darkened the lines of the brush-stroke circle that represented the moon, which encircled a wolf's pawprint. These symbols peaked a blood-stained mountain top, which blended into the gang's name: N-I-S-U-S; the second "s" was drawn backwards for flair. Taking one last step back to observe her work, Mina jostled the spray can for a few seconds. A look of satisfaction graced her face. Mina tucked the can into her backpack, shrugging the carrier over her shoulders to rejoin the group. "Marked," she stated.
    Vince, Mike, and Tobbs soon followed suit, rounding their respective corners of buildings from whence they pissed. Curtis was stuck at headquarters, helping Mizou and the other Techies with a task that only Kona was vaguely aware of. The odor of marajuana radiated from Mike and Tobbs. The two exchanged what little that remained of a blunt. "I'm running out of piss, Captain," Tobbs whined before taking his last drag of weed. The team had been marking territory for a couple hours now, breaking to chug water when they failed to produce quickly enough. At this point, everyone but Mina had a faint layer of urine splashback on the front of their legs.
    Kona looked to his Lieutenant, who hadn't made eye contact with him for the past four days since their last mission, "How much paint do you have left?"
    "Maybe one or two more touch-ups," Mina replied, picking at her thick, black nails with disinterest.
    It was decided that the team would patrol without marking for the rest of their shift. They walked their route, chatting among themselves with a mixture of enthusiasm. Patrols were typically boring, especially if a team was assigned to a route with few pedestrians. So far, Kona and his team had managed to shake down $243 from what little of humanity they bore witness to since Mizou reassigned them. It was barely enough to feed them and profit, which was beginning to irritate most of the team.
    Vince wasn't intereted in drugs, and he did his best to be a decent person, despite his gang life. If it wasn't for his incident in the military, Vince would still be serving the public, rather than mugging it. Regardless, he did what he had to in order to survive; and being part of Nisus wasn't the worst outcome he had imagined. "Maybe we should loot a jewelry store or something," he suggested to Kona, hoping to break the monotony of listening to Mike and Tobbs go on another one of their philosophical discussions. "Shit, I'd even be happy with an ATM at this point," Vince added as soon as he overheard Tobbs mention that people have a tolerance ratio of corpses to water that they would swim in.
    It didn't take any further convincing for Kona to agree. He led his unit through their assigned route, keeping an eye out for the nearest possible target. Coincidentally, they encountered an ATM lodged into a brick wall that wrapped around a dingy convenience store. The lights were on, and a single homeless man sat, wasted, on the concrete pathing that trimmed the storefront. Other shops lined the street, their extinguished lights and barred glass a stark contrast to their illuminated neighbor. The check-out counter looked to be void of human occupancy. Kona postulated that the attendant was most likely at the lavatory, and bided his time for about ten minutes to confirm. Sure enough, the human returned in five minutes.
    A plan was concocted; one that was probably far more convoluted than necessary, but this was primarily for the team's entertainment - the cash was the bonus. Tobbs and Mike would go into the store, pretending to purchase whatever goods they chose. One of them would go into the bathroom, stuff the toilet with paper, take a shit, wait roughly fifteen minutes before flushing the inevitable clog, and cause a scene that would require the cashier's attention. During all of this, Mina was tasked with using the remainder of her paint to blot out the security cameras, and keep the homeless man quiet if he woke up. The two events should line up in time for Kona and Vince to muscle the ATM out of the wall and escape to their rendevous point.
    Surprisingly, the first half of the scheme was executed perfectly; Tobbs offered to be the "destroyer of toilets", claiming to have one hell of a load in the chamber, and he certainly delivered. The panicked wails of disgust rattling through the storefront windows reached exterior ears. Mike provided extra noise as he yelled at his gunman and partner in crime for being so inconsiderate, to which Tobbs argued back, creating a rather convincing display of quarrels. Mina stealthily skirted around the store, coalescing with the shadows in her dark-furred werewolf form. She had stripped nude in the alley with Kona and Vince, which was a common occurence in the lycanthropy lifestyle - for many reasons. Using her nimble body, Mina dashed to the first camera, which covered the storefront's exterior, and spritzed the lens with the black paint. The last thing it was able to record was a rush of matted fur. Like a shadowy figure in a social media ghost video, Mina dipped into the darkness again, and made her way to the second storefront camera, which covered from a different angle to catch the blind spots of its twin. Her last target was the camera mounted on the front of the ATM. That wasn't so much of a problem, as Mina simply had to stay flat against the building wall until she was able to spray the camera lens from outside of its view. She sprinted off to the side of the store, watching the homeless man's slumped form.
    Vince and Kona darted from separate alleys in their lycan forms; two massive, bipedal canines with thick tails. Kona's body was mostly covered in the same layer of pure snow that adorned his head, but it did thin out at his shoulders, dark-clawed hands, and the sides of his torso, which thickened again at his hips. Vince had a similar pattern of fur, but the disparity of its color was an indistinct shade of chocolate that was barely noticable, even under the luminance of the streetlight. Both werewolves - notibly, all werewolves - had thickened necks, dense with muscle to carry their powerful canine heads, and digitrade feet that were an obscure amalgamation of beast and human that managed to still function.
    Using their cogent hands of steely claws and overwhelming strength, Vince and Kona ripped away at the bricks that surrounded their quarry. They pulled away enough to squeeze their hands between the machine and the wall, digging their claws into the metal and pulling with their combined superhuman strength. The metal gave way for but a moment before it haulted in its looters' grasps. There seemed to be an added secruity measure to the machine: an anchor of some sort that neither werewolf could find furhter evidence of from the small gap they had made. Whatever the humans had equipped to the ATM, they made sure it wasn't going anywhere without one hell of a struggle. The men tried once more to heave the machine free, hearing a whine from its frame. Vince cursed and suggested they simply rip the damned thing open and get away with the money inside.
    Leaving too much evidence of werewolf activity was a risk to human retaliation. Sure, the humans knew that cryptids lived among them, but they weren't aware of just how many. If the humans learned of the large quantities of cryptids within their cities, they would surely do their best to irradicate the elusive races with merciless force. Ripping open an ATM would leave damning evidence, such as claw marks - and no one was going to be convinced that a bear snuck into town to raid a money dispenser.
    "Third time's the charm, right?" Kona flashed a grin to Vince, filling his lungs with air for one last attempt at pulling the machine free. He reached deep into the wall, feeling some sort of bars attached to the back. Kona dug his claws into a new spot on the ATM, finding it reinforced with some sort of plating. "Ready?" He waited for Vince's nod, then pulled with a deep grunt. The metal groaned, barking as it relinquished in short bursts, until it finally loosed from its hold with a sudden snap.
    Glancing into the newly opened gap, Kona and Vince ensured that all of the ATM had come with them. They saw nothing but a mangled mess of steel and ripped wiring. The two darted off down a different alley than they originated, weaving around corners and dumpsters until they reached a dilapidated building that was once a quaint restraunt. Mina barked twice as soon as the muscleheads were out of sight, signalling for Mike and Tobbs to get out of the store. When she saw begin to exit the store, still pretending to argue with each other, Mina left them to gather the pile of clothes and meet up with everyone at their selected temporary hideout.
    Vince ripped open the ATM, peeling its metal shell back to see the loot he and Kona escaped with. He scoffed, cursing up a storm when he smelled the tell-tale perfume of paint stinging his sensitive nostrils. Kona joined him, and kicked the useless clump of metal with his padded foot. Mike, Mina, and Tobbs soon arrived from various directions, sneaking into the building through broken windows and doors. They were equally as disappointed with the waste of their efforts, but swiftly came to accept what they were dealt.
    "It's getting a lot harder to rob banks, man," Tobbs kicked a broken tile corner from the warped restraunt floor, sending it skittering a few feet away.
    "They're sure as shit good at robbing everyone else, though," Mike grumbled in response.
    "Let's get this to an incinerator," Kona sighed, slowly shrinking back into his human appearance as he grabbed his clothes from the pile Mina had dumped onto a wobbly table. She and Vince joined him, dropping werewolf form and redressing with haste. They needed to destroy the ATM soon. No doubt, there was a silent alarm sending the police a tracking signal as they spoke. Luckily, there was a steel yard within Nisus territory that was frequently used for their antics. Dumping the dirty money and its container into the molten melting pot was a simple task that went as smoothely as the beginning of the team's antics. At least Kona and his cohorts were able to cure their boredom of patrol by spending the remainder of their shift contriving some way around the paint canister issue.
   
    Over the course of the next seven days, reports of wild animals within the city limits began to unfold into a baffling cacaphony of howls, whines, chirps, and other clamor of disquietude. These animals weren't the typical vermin that rummaged through trash or skittered along wall corners; deer, rabbits, snakes, coyotes, and even bears were sighted deep with the streets of Neo Atlas. They ignored onlookers, and notably chose to wander to together in unlikely company as though coordinating for a mutual goal. Something was amiss, and the animals were all connected to it in some way.
    Ocassionally, Kona would detect phantom voices while on patrol. He assumed it was one of his teammates, at first, but after some questioning, they all denied having said anything out of the ordinary. In the beginning of the phenomenon, Kona wasn't able to discern whispers' content. Only after they became incessent with the increasing numbers of fauna did Kona eventually catch snippets of the seemingly disembodied voices; some small, some deep, others low or high in tone, crying out similar phrases:
    "Where...?"
    "...find her..."
    "...our Lady..."
    They were all that Kona repeatedly heard throughout the patrols; day and night, no matter the hour. It became apparent to Kona that only he could hear these voices, and the isolation of his experience was driving him into a spiral of hysteria. His cravings for a hit of cocaine intensified, fueled by the voices only he could auscultate, but never put a mouth to. Kona's single location of peace was within the walls of the Nisus base; that is, until vermin found their way through the dilapidated structure, which wasn't entirely uncommon, but had become a concern for everyone as of late.
    When the relentless whispers awoke him from a nap, Kona broke. He rolled over in his bed, gritting his teeth and screaming for the voices to cease their onslaught of cryptic nonsense. He ripped the nightstand drawer open and sent it tumbling to the floor. Scrambling to reach the small, plastic bag filled with his comfort drug, Kona collapsed on the floor and loudly cursed to the voices. He pried open the baggy, then tossed it back over his nose with a deep inhale. Kona's usual style of ingesting cocaine wouldn't work fast enough for him; he needed the hit now. The sting of the powdery chemical caused him to flinch away, coughing and baring his teeth with a grimace as a small cloud puffed from his nostrils. He finished the bag by tossing the remainder of its contents into his mouth like a shot of sugar. The bitter flavor twisted his face, and he stumbled to the bathroom for some water to wash the dry powder down. Kona imbibed from the sink faucet, gasping for breath when he was confident that his vice was fully ingested. The aftertaste had already begun to disappear from the numbness caressing his tastebuds and gums.
    A slew of curses flew from Kona's lips as he begged the whispers to stop. He was no longer certain if they were tangible or cerebral. No one else could hear them; what made Kona so special?
    That damned unicorn; she said he wouldn't have withdrawal symptoms, but here Kona was with a severe case of paranoia and auditory hallucinations. She fucking lied to him, and Kona was livid that he was forced to endure this mess that she caused.
    "Kona?" Mizou's voice called from the doorway. At some point during Kona's tantrum, he had barged into the room.
    Silence swelled, void of even the whispers that Kona had come to loathe. There was no way his drug had already affected his mind. Why had they stopped this time?
    Mizou called out to the younger man again, this time with a firm expression. When their eyes met in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, Mizou noticed a manic gaze coating Kona's eyes. He knew about Kona's predicament with the strange whispers, and he had comforting news, "Other members of Nisus are hearing them, too; one or two of them at the sub-bases. It's not in your head."
    "Then where are they coming from," Kona hissed, uncertain that he can trust his own thoughts at this point.
    "We think it's the animals," Mizou said, reluctant to give such inplausible hope to Kona, but it was the only thing that made sense, correlating with the recent events. Somehow, only a select few werewolves could hear these mysterious whispers. From what little they can understand, it matches with the behavior of the wayward creatures: searching.
    Kona shuddered as he braced himself on the vanity counter; relief, regret, and renege all intermingling in the pit of his stomach. Numbness creeped from his mouth, and branched throughout his face like a fungus network - a sensation Kona hadn't felt in years. He quickly realized that he hadn't eaten in several hours, which might be part of the mild discomfort in his abdomen. The muffled voice of Mizou's incessant beckoning melded with the ambient hum in Kona's ears. He could hear them again - those damned whispers - just beyond the rushing lava that pulsed through his veins. His jaw clenched, matching his destructive grip on the vanity as wood and tile crumbled under his strength. Kona's body grew; neck thickening, body bulking, and stature rising. His face distorted and lengthened into a lupine head. Kona was growing breathless, his heart pounding uncontrollably as he let out a roar, "Shut up!"
    Seeing the beginnings of Kona's transformation, Mizou recalled the drawer that had been tossed askew on the floor. He knew Kona kept his stash there, and glanced behind himself to see an empty baggy laying atop the foot of the bed. Werewolf metabolism was much higher than the average human, and Kona could put down much more cocaine by ratio, thus typically keeping ounces worth of the stuff, rather than mere grams - but that was when he had built up years of tolerance. Kona's desperate attempt to stop the voices he heard had now made him a danger to everyone, including himself.
    "Someone go get Bran or - " Mizou couldn't complete his order to the witnesses standing outside of the room. A massive, white wolf slammed into him, sending the two toppling on Kona's mess of a bed. Paws and jaws swept over Mizou as he strained to overpower the beast atop him. Two of the onlookers rushed into the room, and began their attempt at pulling Kona's quadrupedal form off of their General. Kona snarled and snapped at them, latching onto one younger man's shoulder with his powerful teeth. The room was soon decorated wth crimson splatters, speckles, and smears.
    Slithering his way from under Kona, the raven-haired General snatched up the silken bed sheets and wrapped them around Kona's head and neck - effectively blinding him. Mizou skillfully tied a knot to keep the sheet fastened snug around the beast's neck, shortly before being shoved into the dresser. Wood splintered and shattered under their force, adding to the commotion as more and more voices added to the shouting and snarling.
    Some of the others assumed their bipedal forms, baffled by Kona's four-legged appearance that hadn't been caused by a full moon. They used their increased strength and weight to pile onto Kona in hopes of overwhelming him, but the cocaine-fueled werewolf twisted and rolled them off with feral ferocity. Some flew into walls, creating jagged holes, while others collapsed on the floor and scrambled to get back into the action.
    White fur stained red; some of it being his own blood. Kona took a moment to try scratching the sheet from his neck. His breathing was growing labored, rapid, and shallow; his heart was pounding harder and faster than before. Kona's chest ached with an unfamiliar pain. His limbs were starting to feel numb as though the bloodflow had ceased. Surely, it was the sheet's fault - Mizou's fault. Mizou was trying to kill him! He was the one causing these voices, and if Kona revealed that secret, Mizou would surely have to kill anyone who knew!
    But his limbs weakened with each pant of his maw; Kona stumbled over himself, wheezing and coughing. Tobbs peered through the doorway, having rushed to the scene when word reached him of Kona's outburst. He arrived in time to see his Captain fold under his own weight much like a marionette robbed of its strings. Mizou placed his ear against Kona's furry chest, listening for some sort of heartbeat, yet heard only the settling of fluids and organs. He cursed, fearing the worst, and looked up to the crowded doorway, "Where the fuck is Bran?"
    An effiminate, familiar voice piped up as a short, burgundy head of loose curls waved and bounced beneath the shoulders of the taller men and women at the doorway, "He's not at base right now! I'm here!" Mizou knew this woman intimately; his mate, Meady. She was a fair-skinned, freckled woman just shy of five-and-a-half feet tall. Her shamrock green eyes were trimmed by eyelashes the shade of fallen leaves. Despite the stereotype of red-heads having firecracker personalities, Meady was nothing of the sort. She was a gentle soul, who was far more wise than most gave her credit for, and, in Mizou's opinion, desereved so much better than him. Her attire was a contrast to her personality, flavored with metal band graphic shirts, black cargo pants, black combat boots, a barbell piercing through her left eyebrow, and a steel chain necklace that ran through a jade claw. Meady was a breath of fresh air each time Mizou caught wind of her.
    "The idiot took his whole eight-ball," Mizou informed his mate, who crouched down on the opposite side of Kona's lifeless form. He looked up, seeing the crowd that watched with bated breath; those who had tried to help him were already healing of their wounds without any issue. "Clear a path," he ordered. "We'll be moving him to the infirmary soon."
    Meady had been aware of Kona's sober state; Mizou told her everything. Hearing that the distressed man had taken so much cocaine with a clean slate, she switfly determined what had happened, "His heart exploded." Her petite hand brushed over Kona's eyes, forcing the eyelids closed as best she could. Through her time with Mizou, Meady had grown to care for Kona like a little brother as well - sometimes a son. She had always wanted a child to share with Mizou, yet the low fertility rate of werewolves made conception a rare occurence. Seeing Kona's body this way, knowing his past and how he chose to treat his problems, Meady felt a wave of sorrow and pity wash over her. She sharply inhaled, gathering her wits when Mizou layed a tender hand over her's. Parting her quivering, charm pink lips, Meady softly suggested, "Let's get him moved so we can purge his stomach."