Giving in, story by Lunarkeys
The ship's alarm system blared. 'HOSTILES ON APPROACH VECTOR. HIGH CHANCE OF BOARDING. INITIATING SHIP LOCKDOWN. PREPARE FOR IMMINENT DANGER...'
Vershaft slumped forward in his seat, eyes barely focusing on the warning lights.
Tired. He was so tired.
Every moment since he had answered the distress call, he had been hunted. The ship had been unmarked, its signal a neutral tone - that should've been the warning sign by itself. But he had docked anyway, finding the aftermath of death and chaos - and the last remnant of that monstrous experiment.
Old mythology, he recalled. Shapeshifters, monsters of the night, brought to life in the 23rd century. He remembered wanting to laugh at the time. How absurd the idea had been to him. Creatures who changed by the light of the moon in space, where the light of the stars touched everything.
It was less funny when the beast's jaws had closed around his shoulder, and the fur had grown for the first time.
It had saved his life, then. Ammunition was short, and the corporation had seemingly no bottom to its reserves of soldiers to send after their escaped experiment. He had woken, then, drenched in the blood of more soldiers than he'd ever fought in his entire life. Their vessel became his own, but by that point, the word had gotten out - he was a fugitive at every station from Castrovel to Bosketh II.
The second force came only days later, and the third but hours after. And then more. They had had to close the shutters, cutting off the outside light as to keep the changes within, but his senses had felt almost perpetually on edge, knowing full well the next battle could be the last - and that he was flying blind in a cruiser built for a trained platoon, not an AGATE graduate and a science experiment on the run.
It had all been practice, before. Stun batons. Paralyzer pistols. The cruiser had come with battle rifles, but they were outgunned ten to one.
He rose from the chair, sighing deeply. Avrarel was shouting something in the background - he was going to head belowdecks, stop the first boarding crew. The bird waved him off, muttering some acknowledgement. He'd do what he could. And then the werewolf was gone.
The werewolf. Years of training with the best cadets in the galaxy, and not a single course on what to do when mythology leapt from the history books into reality. Some part of him cursed himself for ever stopping, or Avarel for having the misfortune to be subject to the whims of monsters. A large part, of course, cursed the corporation that had done this to him. To them.
The ship alarm system changed to a higher tone. The airlock had been breached. The ship was damaged by explosives.
He sucked in a breath, and reached for the shutter control switch, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled.
The metal rumbled and shifted away, and the artificial light dimmed as starlight again bathed them in the vast celestial backdrop. His fingers trembled as a spasm of adrenaline ran from head to taloned toes.
The last curse was reserved for that adrenaline spike. The tremor of primal energy already coursing through him.
He stumbled awkwardly on shifting, stretching talons. Already, the fur was prickling around growing ears, his tailfeathers curling as the edges turned scarlet. The keening senses felt the distant thump of boots coming topside long before the growing ears heard the shouting. He shuddered as musculature built under his narrow frame, his suit growing taut as feather gave way to wild fur, bunching the fabric as it strained to contain his growing bulk.
A gun butt smashed into the door. "We know you're in there! You've got ten seconds to open this door before we blow it and you to kingdom come!'
His blood quickened. The suit ripped around the bulging arms as he felt the talons curl, the already-sizable tips growing larger still. His spine was pushing, stretching, as the tailfeathers became a proper tail. His breaths were heavier. Thick.
Tired.
He was so, so tired of running. Of fighting.
"You ever read the logs of your employers?" He called back. No response.
"The last log aboard the Baklarov was by one of the only remaining scientists. It'd taken them up until the point when they were almost all dead to realize what they'd done. The last line was 'This power is too great for any person to possess.''
Silence, briefly, then 'Five seconds, bird!'
"They were right." He reached down with stretching claws, breathing more heavily as he felt the expanding fur of his chest come free, his legs already bursting open the seams of his lower half. "It is too great." His voice was already deeper. Fangs jutted against the confines of his beak as it shortened, blunting into the lupine muzzle. "ThisSs's[ the sixth time, nowwRrr." Bigger, still. His clothing was but tatters. The claws were clicking, scratching into the floor under him. He grasped at the chair he'd been in, feeling the claws rend into it, tearing, ripping. Adrenaline coursed through him.
It felt good.
The door was blown from its hinges, the metal clanging against the floor as Arrow hunched, the smoke thick as lasers tried to cut through enough to see what they'd come for.
He grinned with sharpening teeth. His eyes were a brighter green, now. Glowing.
"...but after ThiSRRR many timeSsS...." He stalked about the edges of the room, the guns aiming for where he'd been just prior. He rose just behind the wall, sucking in a breath. Instinct clawed at his mind as the scleras of his eyes began to darken. There was little left. He let it out in a rush, and his exhaustion faded away.
"I'm StaRRTTinG to ENJoyY iT...."
The wolf leapt. The guns blazed, to no avail. And then the screaming began.
The hunt was on.
Story by Lunarkeys!
Vershaft slumped forward in his seat, eyes barely focusing on the warning lights.
Tired. He was so tired.
Every moment since he had answered the distress call, he had been hunted. The ship had been unmarked, its signal a neutral tone - that should've been the warning sign by itself. But he had docked anyway, finding the aftermath of death and chaos - and the last remnant of that monstrous experiment.
Old mythology, he recalled. Shapeshifters, monsters of the night, brought to life in the 23rd century. He remembered wanting to laugh at the time. How absurd the idea had been to him. Creatures who changed by the light of the moon in space, where the light of the stars touched everything.
It was less funny when the beast's jaws had closed around his shoulder, and the fur had grown for the first time.
It had saved his life, then. Ammunition was short, and the corporation had seemingly no bottom to its reserves of soldiers to send after their escaped experiment. He had woken, then, drenched in the blood of more soldiers than he'd ever fought in his entire life. Their vessel became his own, but by that point, the word had gotten out - he was a fugitive at every station from Castrovel to Bosketh II.
The second force came only days later, and the third but hours after. And then more. They had had to close the shutters, cutting off the outside light as to keep the changes within, but his senses had felt almost perpetually on edge, knowing full well the next battle could be the last - and that he was flying blind in a cruiser built for a trained platoon, not an AGATE graduate and a science experiment on the run.
It had all been practice, before. Stun batons. Paralyzer pistols. The cruiser had come with battle rifles, but they were outgunned ten to one.
He rose from the chair, sighing deeply. Avrarel was shouting something in the background - he was going to head belowdecks, stop the first boarding crew. The bird waved him off, muttering some acknowledgement. He'd do what he could. And then the werewolf was gone.
The werewolf. Years of training with the best cadets in the galaxy, and not a single course on what to do when mythology leapt from the history books into reality. Some part of him cursed himself for ever stopping, or Avarel for having the misfortune to be subject to the whims of monsters. A large part, of course, cursed the corporation that had done this to him. To them.
The ship alarm system changed to a higher tone. The airlock had been breached. The ship was damaged by explosives.
He sucked in a breath, and reached for the shutter control switch, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled.
The metal rumbled and shifted away, and the artificial light dimmed as starlight again bathed them in the vast celestial backdrop. His fingers trembled as a spasm of adrenaline ran from head to taloned toes.
The last curse was reserved for that adrenaline spike. The tremor of primal energy already coursing through him.
He stumbled awkwardly on shifting, stretching talons. Already, the fur was prickling around growing ears, his tailfeathers curling as the edges turned scarlet. The keening senses felt the distant thump of boots coming topside long before the growing ears heard the shouting. He shuddered as musculature built under his narrow frame, his suit growing taut as feather gave way to wild fur, bunching the fabric as it strained to contain his growing bulk.
A gun butt smashed into the door. "We know you're in there! You've got ten seconds to open this door before we blow it and you to kingdom come!'
His blood quickened. The suit ripped around the bulging arms as he felt the talons curl, the already-sizable tips growing larger still. His spine was pushing, stretching, as the tailfeathers became a proper tail. His breaths were heavier. Thick.
Tired.
He was so, so tired of running. Of fighting.
"You ever read the logs of your employers?" He called back. No response.
"The last log aboard the Baklarov was by one of the only remaining scientists. It'd taken them up until the point when they were almost all dead to realize what they'd done. The last line was 'This power is too great for any person to possess.''
Silence, briefly, then 'Five seconds, bird!'
"They were right." He reached down with stretching claws, breathing more heavily as he felt the expanding fur of his chest come free, his legs already bursting open the seams of his lower half. "It is too great." His voice was already deeper. Fangs jutted against the confines of his beak as it shortened, blunting into the lupine muzzle. "ThisSs's[ the sixth time, nowwRrr." Bigger, still. His clothing was but tatters. The claws were clicking, scratching into the floor under him. He grasped at the chair he'd been in, feeling the claws rend into it, tearing, ripping. Adrenaline coursed through him.
It felt good.
The door was blown from its hinges, the metal clanging against the floor as Arrow hunched, the smoke thick as lasers tried to cut through enough to see what they'd come for.
He grinned with sharpening teeth. His eyes were a brighter green, now. Glowing.
"...but after ThiSRRR many timeSsS...." He stalked about the edges of the room, the guns aiming for where he'd been just prior. He rose just behind the wall, sucking in a breath. Instinct clawed at his mind as the scleras of his eyes began to darken. There was little left. He let it out in a rush, and his exhaustion faded away.
"I'm StaRRTTinG to ENJoyY iT...."
The wolf leapt. The guns blazed, to no avail. And then the screaming began.
The hunt was on.
Story by Lunarkeys!
Art by Jakkal!
Vershaft is mine!
2 years ago
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