Fireleaf: Chapter 1
"What's a mutt like you doing around here?" a scratchy voice called out through the rain. A white werewolf walking past an old man on the street watched him with disgust. Because he didn't stop, the old man continued, "Not going to answer? Typical." He muttered, "It probably can't even talk."
The werewolf stopped and lifted the dark fedora from his head, revealing his ears. He threw it onto the ground and slowly stiffened himself to appear more intimidating, puffing out his fur through the openings of his ragged trench coat. While his slacks made no emphasis on his stance, it was enough. The man, who had the deep wrinkles of a persistent frown on his face, softened his expression from disrespect to pure fear. He dropped the cigarette from his hand and grasped the wall of the house behind him, attempting to scan the neighborhood for anyone who might save him. But, the houses were sedated and the street was silent. He reached for his younger counterpart in an attempt to wake him.
Taking his hands out of the pockets of his trench coat, the werewolf advanced on the panicking figure and took him by the shoulder, pulling him away from the wall and turning him around. Before the man was able to yell out, the wolf wrapped his hands around the man's neck and squeezed until he was unconscious. He set the man down and whispered venomously, "I try not to waste my breath on humans."
After checking his bearings for any other possible annoyances, he stood up and retrieved his fedora. Heading down the street in the dark, he scoffed, "Humans." He had hated them ever since he was born, twenty-five years earlier. It was strictly illegal for werewolves to have children together - their offspring would be "too powerful to control." When he was born, the government did not hesitate to take him and leave him stranded at the foot of a mountain. He was unable to fend for himself because his parents were thousands of miles away. Because he was born as a werewolf, he was unable to change between forms. Forever locked in a shifted state, he did what he could to conceal what humanity had brought him to believe was his shame.
Again, the werewolf checked his surroundings. Upon noticing that all of the houses had iron bars bolted into the windows, he chuckled, remembering that _he_was one of the reasons they were so afraid. Their houses resembled cages, which sparked some pleasure within him. It was as if they were some form of payback for past misdeeds against him. In the less-than-noteworthy neighborhoods of Chicago, it was the standard.
When he reached the end of the street, he looked across the next for any incoming cars or people. On the other side was his destination. There were several garages, and one of the doors was left cracked open. Seeing no one else around, he crossed the intersection nonchalantly. He looked behind him again when he got to the garage, and upon seeing nothing, lifted the door just enough for him to duck under. In one fast move, he got down, rolled under, and was back up on his feet again.
The garage had a strange stench to it that he could not pinpoint. There was a car parked in the center with a few cardboard boxes scattered along the wall, but he knew that they didn't produce those smells. Seeing no one inside, he walked around the car and into the backroom but covered his nose when a pungent odor filled his lungs. Flipping the light switch, he found a table filled with loads of bread, vegetables and meat as promised. Approaching it, he noticed that something was off.
No sooner had he picked up the first package of bread, he dropped it like a stone. The odor coming from the white mass protruding from the side of the package nearly caused him to vomit. Noticing that the rest of the food was spoiled as well, he looked down at it in anger, realizing his mistake. Shouting in a bout of rage, he swept all the food off the table and then pounded the surface with his fist, snapping it in half. Trying to blink away the tears, he turned the light off in the room and stepped back out into the garage. The car was gone. He was hit suddenly with a strobe light that sent him sprawling on the ground.
The light turned off just as fast as it had assaulted him. As he stumbled back to his feet, he heard several people walking around him. He could not see them, still blinded from the light. He turned when one of them spoke. "What do you think about this one, Viz?"
"I dunno man, he looks too good for Fireleaf."
"Nah... They wouldn't hire an animal like this."
"If it meant protecting their assets, why not?"
"This hobo would probably take all their assets the first chance he got." They all chuckled.
As his vision slowly returned, he saw four men and one woman walking around him. His eyes jumped from face to face, confused. They wore sleazy, unprofessional clothing typical of the slums. He thought, "Perhaps they're members of another gang?" For some reason, he could not detect their scent. He shook his head, trying to get them out of his mind. His gaze darted to the garage door - it was still cracked open. Before making a run for it, he spoke. "Who are you guys?"
One of them spoke out, "We're scouting people out for...testing..." He drew out the last word a little too long.
"What kind of testing? And what's Fireleaf?"
They all laughed at this. "What, do you live under a rock?"
He snarled back, "No."
"Well then you should know."
He could feel the pleasure in their voice as another said, "I hope you have a high pain tolerance, 'cause this is gonna hurt..."
When he heard their feet begin to shuffle along with a whooshing sound disturbing the air, he crouched and reached up, catching the handle of a metal shovel. He grew angry again. Pulling the shovel down, he yanked it out of its owner's hands. With it in hand, he swung it back and landed it firmly on their face. Dropping the shovel when a punch came his way, he grabbed the arm and twisted it, then sent them sailing through the air into another one of the men. As he let the man fly, he realized that he made an oversight and was hit square in the stomach with a fist. He reeled back until he hit the garage door. Looking up, he saw another attacker approaching him with a buzz saw. His pupils dilated briefly, but upon realizing his location, he dropped to the floor and rolled under the door. He jumped to his feet and then ran away from the garage.
When he got back onto the street, he noticed that some people had gathered. They were looking at him with suspicion, but uttering no words. Several of the houses' doors were open with still more people watching him. He looked back at the garage briefly and saw one of the guys aiming something at him, then swore in pain loudly as he felt something penetrate his foot. His voice echoed through the street. After that, he ran as far as he could in the direction of his home until he was out of sight of any one who had heard the commotion.
Feeling that he was safe, he slowed and adjusted his trench coat. He reached for his fedora, but his hand flew through empty space. It must have fallen off during the fight. Regaining his stealth, except for the barely noticeable limp and his missing fedora, he headed back toward the forest for the night.