Nassir
There was fury there, not specifically physical, yet there all the same under the superficial numbness. The numbness that was taught, used as a mask to hide behind. Yet the puppet wanted the fury, wanted it as much as she could feel past the numbness, yet it refused to rise. She knew, knew she was supposed to be in the cold depths of her arctic rage that used to be almost a constant companion, in a time when her fury was a physical thing that would brush silver fur against her mind, yet the numbness refused to let it near her. It was almost painful, a sickening sense of despair when silver fur no longer continued to brush against her, the anger it brought no longer able to warm and cool her soul. She could feel the telltale signs of its struggles against the superficial barrier, could hear the echo of claws scratching against metal.
But it was safer this way, because her anger didn't care who it lashed out at. And there were so many people the puppet had grown to love. To care for. To be hers. Completely and utterly her possessions. Yet, that is why she wanted her fury back, because they were hers, and this outsider, this rogue, had trespassed. Had overstepped the boundaries. Even with the numbness that was so carefully put in place years ago to protect those that were hers, the echoes of her silver furred companion rebounded inside her mind. She could faintly see the outline, could weakly hear the sound of paws pounding into the snow. It was separate, yet a piece of her soul. It's will wasn't always hers, and yes, there were times it did over take her body. But that hasn't happened in years. Although, she could feel it now while she dully stared out into the darkness. It's will was her will, and if she knew how, she'd let the silver furred fury take over her body once again. She realised then, what she should have probably already known, that the silver fury loved them too. That it thought of them as hers, and although the puppet couldn't always share, she could make an exception just this once.
As the puppet sat on the soft surface, fingers poised on the ready reply, she sent a tendril of thought into the far depths of her mind, the place in her soul that was mountain ranges and deep, green forests covered in the purest snow. Searching. Searching for the tiniest crack in the mask. In the vault door. She was startled when she felt an answering reply from the other side almost instantly, could almost feel claws drag non-existent lines down her skin in cold dread. The flashing of the light on the device in her hand alerted her once again to the present world, and it took a moment for the puppet to be able to move her body once again. As she read the flashing letters, it pieced her like a thousand tiny wounds. 911. A call for pick up and retrieval by one of hers. Something had happened. A cry for help wasn't used lightly, and cold, hard fear ran through her. What had the rogue done now? What could be worse than that she already knew about? But, this was quickly overcome by rage and hate and destruction rolled within the sweet candy of possessiveness blossomed across the puppets tongue, a rustic bitterness of the darkest chocolate soon after following the despise, the bloodlust, willing, ordering, the puppet to move.
Agony split her skull, pounding, breaking heart beats in time with howls of rage as the silver furred fury lashed out. She wanted out. Wanted to track the rogue, wanted to let her bloodbeast tear skin and bathe in his blood. They were hers! Hers! And then finally, finally, when her silver fur was covered in coppery blood, her ears taken their full of sounds of sorrow and pain and regret, the silver furred fury will gather those that are hers, her Pack, and find some place that was safe for them, so that nobody, no rogue or foreign calamity, could ever reach them.
To anyone watching, the puppet was not acting much like herself. She moved with uncanny agility and balance as she moved to action, movement able to flow with power restrained. Fingers moved lightening fast across the keypad, deciding to first reassure her packsister before riding off to battle, but even before the conformation the text message had sent she was already moving. To anyone who had been paying attention, her eyes were no longer their original blue, now, now they were silver and metallic and alert. Ready, eager, for the violence that was sure to commence. As the predator in the puppets body drove to her packsisters side, the victim of the rogue received the much awaited reply. One that reassured her, but also made her heart beat faster in fear and caution. Nassir was out. And she was coming.