[Written off and on from August 21st to November 23rd of 2003]
[Last edited 8/20/15]

"Mad Season"
Chapter Seven: Shifting Perception

More than the bandages adorning his person, more than the lack of depth perception, there was a wound that could not be starched no matter the method of covering it, a deep fearful wound carved into the heart of one man. One lone dark gray eye traveled over the hospital room, taking in the sickening white walls, the flowers which threatened to crowd the surface of the table placed next to the hospital bed, and the open window ushering in the air of the coming twilight. The eye closed, and the mouth positioned just below it scoffed.

A pale hand slightly shaking reached out to grasp the glass of water stationed to the man's left only to go wide, miscalculating the distance significantly. In a sudden fit of frustration and anger, Randy McLane, after taking hold of the glass hurled it into the wall, relishing in the sharp sure shattering reverberation that broke the laden silence. Flinching in pain as his eyes narrowed, Randy looked down on the broken remains of the glass, and laughed, the sound coming off as despairing with tenderness lingering just beyond it.

"I'm aware the doctor said your depth perception would be screwed to all hell, but he didn't mention your demeanor becoming unpleasant. The way you're placing all the blame for the incident upon yourself. If you don't stop beating yourself up, you'll fast be dead within a few days, Randy," a masculine voice sounded from the suddenly open doorway, and Randy turned, his body language ringing discomfort.

"Berkeley, what the hell are you doing here? I was so sure I told the nurses that I wished not to receive any visitors even from my own blood relatives. Why are you the exception to the rule?" Randy bit out, crossing his arms but after feeling a stab of pain, readjusted, laying back against the ever-uncomfortable hospital bed and laying his arms on his stomach instead.

"When someone refuses medication, rejects all human comfort, treats the nurses like dirt, and ignores doctor's orders, there is cause for alarm. I've been recruited to 'tame' you as it were," Berkeley said lightly, his tone implying disapprove of Randy's actions and more. He took a seat at the chair just across the hospital bed, and stared at Randy steadily.

It was a bitter, unhappy laugh that escaped from Randy's lips, and he grounded a glare, albeit a weak one but no less effective towards his friend who shifted uncomfortably. "They expect me to just sit quietly, and play the role of the nice submissive patient? Not possible when your left eye's nearly been gouged out, and your chest ripped to all hell just a week ago. You want to know what they said?"

Berkeley Rose sat silently, providing a quiet ear to Randy's troubles, which the man had been ignoring quite well until now. So into his venting was Randy that he did not notice the second figure that stood just outside the open doorway. "'It could have been worse. Had the animal that attacked you not been prevented, you would not be alive today, Mr. McLane. It was headed for your heart, and it would have obtained it had your friends not arrived on the scene. You should be grateful you escaped with your life.'"

"I should be grateful," Randy whispered bitterly, the word tasting more of poison than speech, and when the good eye of his began to tear up, Berkeley stood, coming to rest beside Randy's suddenly stiff and silent figure. "What the hell do they know anyway? It was not an animal that attacked me in the first place. I-It was something else, something that managed to pin me to the closet door, and had its claws in me before I could draw a breath."

Two hands gripped Berkeley's upper arms, and almost panicked, Randy looked up, seeking understanding when he couldn't himself comprehend what had occurred himself in the darkness of that bedroom. "Do you understand? It wasn't human or beast! It wasn't Bikky at all. All that fur, that unnatural strength. T-those damn fucking amber eyes, and the sharp, nearly steel claws that sliced into me."

Randy blinked unknowingly when Berkeley very carefully transferred his hands to the covers underneath him, and wiped the numerous bleeding nail marks on his right arm with a corner of the sheet clean before looking towards Randy curiously. "What are you saying, Randy? Are you seriously implying that your son's disappearance and your injuries from that night are directly related? Are you saying that it was Bikky that nearly killed you, that he had changed into something…not himself, Randy?

"Are you insinuating that werewolves exist in this day and age? Because if you are, I'm afraid that the animal that attacked not only harmed your body, but also scarred your mind as well. That's insane to imply such a thing, so insane I cannot believe that I'm hearing it from you of all people." Randy's reaction was clearly not one Berkeley was expecting as Berkeley started when Randy grabbed hold of his waist tightly, and buried his head against Berkeley's right shoulder, speaking lowly as if trying to contain the emotion buried with the words.

"I am saying exactly that, Berkeley, because it is true. I saw Bikky thrash among his sheets, clutch the sides of his bed so tightly that one of his fingers cracked beneath the pressure. I saw muscles and bone rearrange themselves beneath his skin, and I can't get it out of my mind. It keeps playing over and over like some horrendous nightmare. That is what's been setting me on edge because I can't carry the burden of this knowledge alone. I can't seek him out without some assistance, some support from whomever chooses to believe my tale."

Berkeley slowly raised Randy's gaze to his own, and after affirming that the he was indeed telling the truth or what he believed to be the truth, nodded just once, but this action alone made the water in Randy's eye spill outward, trailing down his cheek.

The relief in Randy's figure showed immediately and quite visibly, the shoulders slowly shifting from their hunching, the line of tension running through Randy's body dissipating, and lastly, the shadow that had been haunting the man's features inched away, proving that maybe from here on out, Randy would be much better in the near future.

"All right, I understand, and I will assist you in every way I can. You'll probably be helpless on your own, and on your first encounter with a berwerker, do nothing more than provide more cannon fodder," Berkeley said as he wiped away the lone tear that had fallen, ever careful of the man's recent injuries. He gently pushing Randy back against the bed, adjusting the the pillow so it supported his back suitably.

Randy glanced at Berkeley confused, puzzlement plainly etched into his features as well as a thread of curiosity. When he spoke, his voice was only at half strength, "I appreciate your assistance and support. More than you will ever know, Berkeley. But what the hell does berwerker mean?"

Chuckling underneath his breath, Berkeley smiled before standing up and kneeling down besides the rashly thrown remains of the glass, amusement quite clear in his figure even from Randy's position on the bed. "I see someone needs to brush up on their mythology a bit. Berwerker is one of two Norse words for werewolf though it's not used very often now. The original term was reserved for Northern Norse warriors who had taken to wearing animal skins during battle, going berserk in the process, war-mad and bloodthirsty, it would seen if history is any indication."

Randy stared from his hospital bed, unconsciously rubbing a thumb over the palm of his left hand. As he watched, Berkeley finished collecting the pieces of glass and after depositing them in the garage pail in the corner glanced back at Randy whose expression was still bordering on puzzlement. "Where did you pick up this bit of information? I've never heard the term werker or rather berwerker in my entire life so how the hell do you know it?"

As Randy expected, Berkeley just smiled mysteriously, patting his shoulder briefly before heading for the door. He turned back before completely exiting the room. "I take it you will start treating everyone who comes through this door nicely or at least civilly, and you will heed others' advice, correct?"

Frowning deeply, and more than a little put off by his friend's aversion to his question, Randy said nothing, treating Berkeley to a stiff nod and then looked closely at the area of the halfway doorframe. "Did Diana come with you to the hospital as well?"

Through the narrow silt between wood and paneling, Randy spied a sudden shifting of black material, and smiled to himself though the action was more a display of teeth than anything else. Berkeley himself looked unfazed by the question, and skillfully dropped a line about the woman having important business elsewhere, which was technically true if she had come to see Randy, and hadn't made her presence known.

Briefly, Randy spared a thought about what Diana had seen and listened to but dismissed it. Diana was not one to make judgments upon others without suitable evidence presented. If the injuries Randy had suffered were not evidence enough…

Throughout the rest of the night despite Berkeley's declaration that he would assist Randy in his quest, he could not shake the image of deep burning amber eyes from his dreams, and sleep was nary to be found as it had been the night before.

It took Dee a moment to realize he was no longer alone in the room, and lazily he opened one eye to take in the rather unhappy presence leaning against his open doorway, starting upon recognizing the bandaged face of Zeke, and the lone green eye that glared venomously in his general direction. Making haste in an effort to sit up, Dee accidentally kicked aside his bag from the end of the bed, and chuckled uneasily when the werker let out a long-suffering sigh, and knelt down to retrieve his bag.

Acting on instinct, and denying any common sense which happened to come to him, Dee swiftly got onto his feet, and lashed out, his left fist catching Zeke in the throat. More specifically, the area around the windpipe. Immediately, the man dropped to the ground, wheezing loudly and clutching his throat desperately, trying to get oxygen to flow freely again in the injured area.

Before he could make good his escape, Dee grunted as something jerked him roughly off his feet. He struggled to stand up, taking in the dozen or so werkers which had come to surround him before coming to his feet, and glared openly, not pleased in the least to have his first escape attempt thwarted so easily. Movement behind him in the room he had tried to leave made Dee flinch and the slightly trembling hand he had been expecting came to rest on his shoulder, slowly moving him to face the very aggravated, and somewhat exhausted face of Zeke.

"You place little trust into your own strength, Dee, because that blow would have killed a human being," Zeke all but hissed out, reaching out to lay a hand on his attacker's left cheek before backhanding Dee roughly, stopping his descent to the ground by grabbing Dee's shirt collar. Heaving a deep breath, Dee turned his head to spit, quite sure Zeke's blow had raised blood if the coppery taste in his mouth was any indication.

"Good thing you're not human, eh?" Dee replied, voice coming out an octave lower than normal, and as he continued speaking, his voice lowered into a rough whisper, "Then again, you probably weren't human to begin with even before contracting lycanthropy."

As he had been anticipating the punch, Dee found it easier to take than expected though his jaw begin to ache fiercely after a few seconds had passed, and within a minute he was sure the mark would show well into the next day. When a knee collided with his midsection however, he couldn't fight his body's collapse onto the dirt floor beneath him. Dee fought for breath, and it was pure luck he ducked Zeke's next blow, a kick that would have connected with his head had he not dodged.

It was pride and stubbornness that allowed Dee to stumble onto his feet again and meet his abuser's gaze squarely without any hint of weakness showing visibly save for his slightly uneven breathing. "If you makes you feel better to hit me after being bested by me then feel free to go nuts. Just keep in mind a real man, werker or not, wouldn't have to resort to violence to make himself feel better."

It was a female voice that answered him, and even without turning around to check, Dee knew it was Ilona, who sounded highly amused by the situation currently occurring. "Quite right. But even I am amazed that the man I had sent to deliver a message to our independent would take to beating him within five minutes when I had specifically requested no harm be done to Dee."

Immediately, the werker whose eye had been ravaged bowed lowly, muttering apologies underneath his breath but as Dee took in this scene, Zeke's gaze was fixed solely on him, promising violence, much worse than what he had managed to inflict today. "Unless Dee provoked Zeke first then I cannot be held accountable for my follower's behavior. Since those who seek conflict must face the results of their actions."

Barely resisting the urge to curse, Dee settled for taking a seat on the floor, holding a hand to his now aching head, and trying very hard to ignore the new aches and pains his body had sustained. After some movement to his left, and a silent exchange between the werker leader and those who followed her, there was a brief fit of laughter on Ilona's part before her pleasant face melted into a unreadable mask. Silently, she motioned to Zeke who very smugly approached Dee's somewhat fallen figure, and grinned widely. "You will not be given the chance to escape again, Mr. Laytner. Please subdue him without any further delay, Zeke."

Before he could draw in the breath to speak, something crashed hard against his ribs. Dee tried to prevent anymore of his ribs from being abused, sure something had cracked from Zeke's brutal kick when a spike of white hot pain exploded on his head, and rather than endure anymore blows, Dee heeded the darkness that had begun to gather on the edge of his mind, and fell into blissful unconsciousness.

As Zeke wiped a few traces of blood from his left boot with the corner of his shirt, Ilona came to stand over their independent's figure and silently moved Dee about until she could lift the man's t-shirt high enough to see the claw marks, which had stood out so clearly on his skin but a day ago. Now, they were white colored scars on tan skin. Narrowing her brow, Ilona continued her examination, looking over the newest set of injuries Dee had gotten in the past hour, and after a moment, Ilona bit her bottom lip, deliberating internally.

"Where did you first hit him, Zeke?" Ilona asked casually, tucking the shirt back against Dee's person before taking a moment to check his pulse, and after nodding to herself, the woman looked to her subordinate meaningfully. Said man came out of his violence-induced daze, and quickly supplied an answer to his leader's question. "H-His left cheek. Backhanded the bastard in fact. Why?"

Lightly placing a finger on the rapidly diminishing bruise that was fast losing its shape, Ilona watched Zeke's face go from passive to anger within a second, and she smiled, mostly to herself before giving Dee's healing cheek a soft caress. Ilona stood, barking orders at two nearby werkers to take him back to his room. As they began to lift the independent up, Ilona began walking back through her private quarters, barely acknowledging Zeke who followed silently in her wake.

"You know what it means for you've seen it thousands of times before. It's a sign. A definite sign," Ilona said quietly as she passed through the curtains of her quarters, and after taking a seat on the edge of her bed, glanced at the werker who had served as her right-hand for sometime now. Zeke himself only nodded, taking a seat on his leader's bed when she gave no protest to the action.

"He has to be prepared."

Drake took another sip of the coffee within his cup before looking on at Randy who stared back expressionless, no doubt thinking either of his subordinate's recent discovery or why he had come to the Resistance leader's apartment without company. The last could be explained well enough. J.J. was still stationed in front of Berkeley's hospital room though no attacks seemed forthcoming, and the Resistance members he had joined in the search for Dee had declined accompanying him.

Though Drake couldn't blame them. Randy wasn't exactly the easiest person to get along with or tolerate. The silence was beginning to unnerve him as Randy had digested the information Drake revealed, but so far had said nothing in reply. Coughing once, Drake watched as Randy seemed to refocus on him before leaning back in the kitchen chair across from Drake, and crossing his arms.

"So to be blunt, you and the others found an entrance which may or may not lead to Dee, but is of interest anyway? I suppose if it's the only clue you've found to his whereabouts, we will have investigate it. Cautiously though for we have no idea what lies beyond the entrance."
Nodding silently, Drake took another sip of his drink, and after a moment of deliberation, decided to ask that which had been plaguing his mind for the last few days. "Once we find Dee, what is going to happen to him?"

Drake resisted shivering though the urge to do so was quite strong as the sudden coldness in Randy's gaze was such a switch from the usual neutral expression Drake was used to observing. "If we find him, punishment will dealt out accordingly. That is if his body has decided whether to remain human. If he is to become a part of the increasing werker population, termination is inevitable."

Not heeding the usual cautionary warning his mind provided, Drake found his mouth moving before he could stop it to ask, "How can you talk about such things so lightly? I can well understand the fact that werkers need to be killed because of all the damage they cause to humans, but you're talking about a human being. Granted one on the edge of change but a human nonetheless."

Without missing a beat, Randy responded, his voice dead, though a thread of anger was evident. "You become emotional in whatever work you do? If you don't maintain a safe distance between your emotions and your work, you will only be able to do one. I would prefer you do work than mainly feel sorry for werkers and their victims."

"That may be true, but you cannot abandon emotions altogether. After all, what makes you get together with Leo at times?" Realizing what he'd just said, Drake prevented his next mass of words from coming out, and quietly stewed, sipping his coffee to prevent himself from looking at Randy's face. As his superior spoke, curiosity got the better of Drake, and his eyes met Randy's, which were slightly more animated than they had been before.

"That…is an exception. I don't love Leo, but I at least feel some fondness for him. For all he's done for me in the past and here in the present. I don't think I could have survived this long without his help. You've met someone similar yourself, J.J. perhaps? I have noticed you two bonded rather quickly after meeting. Or maybe you two have already moved beyond friendship and into a relationship?"

Unable to stop himself from feeling astonishment, Drake just stared at Randy's somewhat smug figure, and tried to think of how false or true his assessment of their friendship was. He found a hint of feelings for J.J., but it was far from a crush. It was merely respect for a fellow associate, nothing more.

Or at least that was what Drake told himself at the moment. "We're not involved that way, and I don't think we ever will be. But yes, I do know what you mean by finding strength in another person when otherwise you would not have been able to go on living."

"Pity," Randy merely quipped as he got up, grabbing Drake's nearly empty coffee cup and refilling it without comment before taking his seat once again. This time his stance somehow more professional than before. "How do suggest we go about investigating that entrance you found? If we put together a large enough team, I doubt much damage will be taken but it might be a bit much if once we move beyond the entrance, it turns out to be only an decrepit room or the like."

Aware of his inexperience as he had only been in Resistance for so long, Drake tried to think of what possible scenarios would work, and which would not, briefly deliberating before speaking. "Even if the entrance is nothing more than an empty room, we should assemble a team that is able to defend against any harm that may befall them. I doubt we want to be under cautious when it comes to situations like this."

"True enough. I have other things to attend to, and as you've spent some time with some of the Resistance members long enough, I'll leave you with the task of assembling such a team. I will have to approve the list before you put it into use though. If you find you need assistance, call upon J.J. or Diana, and they'll be sure to provide the names of those who are talented enough for this assignment," Randy said evenly before holding up a hand as he went into his bedroom, ruffling around in a corner that held a large cardboard box, and finally pulling out a large folder that upon investigation was a list of the known Resistance members with all the contact information stored next to said names.

Nodding his thanks, Drake drained the rest of the his coffee, and started to walk towards the door, intent on getting the task he was handed done swiftly so he could get some R & R in, given how busy he had been the last few days. Randy gave him a quiet thank you before firmly closing the apartment door behind Drake's back. Scoffing lightly despite the fact he was used to his leader's behavior by now, Drake shook his head before heading off to the hospital once again so he could get some input on the job put before him by one who had been in the Resistance for quite some time.

J.J.

"Uh," Dee muttered eloquently as he awoke, immediately bringing a hand to his forehead as he thought of what that had happened before he had passed out. He touched dried blood, and quickly came to his feet, nearly cursing when a wave of dizziness overcame his vision. Settling back down on the edge of the bed, Dee raised his shirt, focusing on the ugly bruises that marred his midsection, and as he prodded the area, further investigation found that at least one of his ribs were broken though Dee could have sworn something more had cracked inside of him.

Blessing his good fortune or rather his bad considering why he had gotten beat up in the first place, Dee went into the small bathroom connected to the room and tried to wash most of blood stains off. After five minutes, Dee discovered more bruises than he would have preferred. Desperate to satisfy his sudden nicotine craving, Dee crossed the distance from the bathroom to the bed in a second, pulling a white cylinder from the cigarette pack situated on the end of his bed before fingering the lighter in his pocket.

After flicking the lighter once, Dee glared as no flame had sprung up from the small device. He tried it again, cursing out loud when nothing happened before throwing the exhausted lighter into a far corner, finding some satisfaction at the small ping that echoed around the room. Had he packed another lighter in his haste to get his belongings together or had his mind completely forgotten that? Ruffling through his bag took a moment, but as his hand touched a certain shape, Dee grinned to himself before pulling out his alternative lighter and touching the flame to the end of his cigarette.

Taking a long drag, Dee thought darkly to himself of the violence promised in Zeke's gaze, Ilona's sudden coldness towards him before setting the angry werker who served as her right hand on him. "At least Ryo never followed through on his threats," Dee said irritated that the circumstances had turned out this way though he blamed half of it on himself, trying to stupidly escape when it was almost impossible.

"Do they really need an independent that badly, to spare my life even though I tried that shit?" As prone to violence as werkers were, it seemed that they had some measure of restraint of their actions. Zeke had stopped beating Dee had soon as Ilona had arrived on the scene and yet…

Shaking his head, Dee took another long drag on his cigarette before regarding the food that had been placed near the floor of the end of his bed, hours ago if the nearly rotten split apple was any indication. As it was, a glass of water, a bag of plain potato chips, a sandwich wrap of some kind, and a small chocolate chip cookie seemed edible. Dee started on his meal, the pain associated with his wounds lessening a bit though he himself took no notice.

Just as he was about to take another bite of the sandwich wrap, a sudden thump against the door of his room startled him. Quickly, Dee investigated the sound, stunned to find his door had not been locked considering his escape attempt earlier in the day.

Upon opening the door an inch, a splatter of red caught his eye, and further investigation proved the blood to belong to a woman or at least that's what the furred being resembled. Propped up against the door as she was, details were the last thing on Dee's mind. He was mainly interested in finding out why the werker had been hurt and if he would need to find some means of protection.

It was then that Dee realized the noise he had been unconsciously blocking out was loud. The yelling, screaming, and basic sounds of panic were everywhere. Thinking of what had made the werkers gathered in this location scurry so, Dee barely held back a gasp before shoving the door wide open, and taking a step in the chaos the werker safe house had become.

The general order that Dee had witnessed while in this place seemed nonexistent for no one seemed stationary, and with a flash of a familiar face, Dee followed in Drake's wake, taking up a fallen switchblade in case the need to protect himself came about.

Halfway across the main floor, a body stalled his progress, more specifically the shifted body of Zeke, who just taken a shotgun blast to the lower body. Stunned to find the Resistance used such weapons, Dee attributed his lack of coordination to this discovery, and stumbled over body before him, almost cutting his hand on the open switchblade.

For Zeke's part, he merely groaned, sent his assailant a vicious glare and then passed out without a single word. Dee looked up to find the hardened gaze of a Resistance member who after a moment moved on to go after a blur of brown to Dee's left. Holding back a hiss as he got up, he continued on his way, trying his best to keep out of the skirmishes between Resistance member and werker, and sometimes werker versus werker if bloodlust drove them to it.

'"In my opinion, both the werkers and the Resistance are monsters, not just one side,"' Dee thought to himself, thinking the phrase he had uttered to be too true as he looked over the main floor, and took in the scenery that was personal revenge, justice and if one looked closely enough: sorrow. The ones who get pulled into this war like me, have no choice but to choose a side, and fight from it even if they have no reason to. Where's the justice in that?

Jumping back as a Resistance member crossed his path, running from something just out of range of his vision, Dee made use of his switchblade, cutting through a half-transformed arm/forearm. Before Dee could react, a sudden pain blazed across his stomach, and in a daze, Dee looked down to find something peeking out through the large injury. As he brought an arm over his stomach to keep everything within his body inside where it belonged, the werker that had attacked him was closing in to hand out more violence before being shot squarely in the head.

Looking up at his rescuer through rapidly darkening vision, the ashen scars on the Randy's face made Dee grin, and he fell forward, his body taken too much, too fast for him to stay conscious long. Ryo caught him well enough, Dee attempted to speak but a sudden spasm of pain caught hold of him and he coughed roughly instead, becoming aware of the salty taste inside of his mouth.

What was it he wanted to say again? Something about 'tis better to roam with the beasts than beasts wearing the guise of men,' but as Dee tried to think of the exact phrase, darkness, something he was all too familiar with these days, overcame him and lost in it he became.

After compiling a list of Resistance members with the right amount of experience and expertise, Drake took to calling them, watching as J.J. went about exploring his apartment. He looked through the his CD collection, peering at the prints situated at the walls until finally after Drake hung up the phone on the last person he needed to call, he mentioned that it was rude to go through a person's things without asking.

"But if I don't go through your belongings, how am I ever going to learn anything about you given you don't talk about yourself much at all?" J.J. quipped rather cheerfully before pulling a DVD from one of the shelves of Drake's entertainment center and raving about how he thought he was the only one who liked the film.

While Drake was shaking his head to himself, J.J. suddenly loomed over him, the happy exterior he had been wearing all but nonexistent, looking so serious. "I mean I don't even know why you joined the Resistance. I keep thinking that maybe it was because someone close to you had been killed by them, but you haven't ever mentioned a significant other."

Turning his head uncomfortably, Drake eyed the calendar lying on the wall near him, and without realizing he was speaking told of his reasons, during which J.J. took a seat at the kitchen counter and listened quietly. "I was a cop, a detective to be exact. While investigating a public disturbance at an apartment building, me and my partner Ted, were just on our way to the apartment someone had called to complain about, when something came down the hallway.

"It was large, furry, and bearing teeth threateningly as it approached, and though I didn't know it then, it was a werker, a disoriented one at that. Ted fired at it repeatedly, distracting it, and I went ahead to the apartment and found a woman lying in shreds in the living room. The situation only got worse from there as the wounded werker had managed to tear into my partner's shoulder, and it was only luck that a neighbor had heard the commotion, and came into the hallway bearing a shotgun.

"None of my or Ted's bullets had slowed it down, and after taking a blast to the stomach and head, the werker finally slowed its movement and died. After that, backup arrived, and soon enough Ted was taken to the hospital while I stayed to collect witness testimonies. Halfway through the task, just as a few men were bagging the body, the werker transformed back to human. This turned more than a few heads including mine, and once back at the precinct, I reported to the chief as best I could, citing witness testimony as my evidence for the events that had occurred."

There was a brief silence, and as J.J. looked over at Drake questionably, the sight of the man's agonized face made him give pause before standing and very carefully pulling Drake close against him. Oddly enough, Drake gave no complaint even when J.J. drew an arm over the man's shoulders, and after a moment continued speaking, this time his voice took on an emotionless edge as if by putting no feeling behind it, he wouldn't experience what had happened to him again.

"During the next few days, I found out that Ted had not just suffered shoulder injuries, but also internal bleeding, and other such injuries. I later learned my partner had been hospitalized, and while he recovered, I set about investigating any other incidents of animal attacks specifically involving those who fit the description of a werker. I finally compiled a report and appealed to my police chief about whether or not something would be done about such animals being let loose on the public.

"I was told quite bluntly to forget about the incident my partner and I had been involved in, and get on with my job and life. Without uttering one word, I laid my badge and guns on the desk and left the precinct, sure my actions had spoken for me. When I heard Ted hadn't recovered from his injuries and died after slipping into a coma, my resolve only strengthened, and I found out about the Resistance through a friend and the rest you know."

It was a few minutes before J.J. could find words, but when he did, he made sure they were uttered sincerely since it had to have been hard on Drake to reveal the information he had. "It seems no one joins the Resistance without good reason. Thank you for telling me, Drake, really." The head resting against his midsection just nodded, and before long, Drake pulled away from J.J., looking over the list of people he had called earlier, looking for a distraction from his memories.

Smiling to himself, J.J. sat down once again, and without preamble began explaining how the Resistance reconnaissance would go later that night, the shadows haunting Drake's face slowly melting away.

Randy has not planned to attend the Resistance event, but after discussing it with J.J., decided to come along anyway if only to see if what Drake and the others had discovered was worth all the trouble this excursion had been to plan. As the designated team leader rambled off instructions and advice, Randy looked about, noting Drake and J.J. standing nearby, talking quietly to each other, already well versed in how Resistance operations tended to proceed. Randy left them be, turning to examine the false entrance they were going to investigate.

At first glance, it appeared to be just part of the wall, but after looking closely, and feeling about, the entrance was hollow, and according to others led to a small stairway that led to a wooden door to somewhere. The group tonight was equipped with weapons but Randy himself doubted they would be needed. It never hurt to be prepared, and as the team leader walked over to the entrance, Randy followed near the end of the group, clutching a closed switchblade in his jean pocket.

Though he never would turn down a gun if offered, tonight Randy felt safe enough with just his switchblade. The weapon had been cast in silver and would do suitable enough damage without much noise or flash. The darkness of the stairway enveloped them, and as they proceeded farther, the sound of a door being opened was clearly evident from his position in the group, and then there was silence as he and the others gained entrance.

There was lighting and doors littering the walls of the room, and as the team leader, a rough spoken woman by the name of Sakura Jenkins stepped forward, something part fur and flesh suddenly took her down within a second. The Resistance group scrambled to defend themselves, Randy pulling out his own weapon and looking to his left, opening the first door he saw before taking a look at a couple just awakened from their slumber, peering in alarm at his sudden entrance.

There was no thinking involved as Randy stepped forward, and took advantage of their hesitation, slitting the male's throat cleanly, and taking hold of the female werker's right arm tightly. She squirmed in his grasp roughly, the flesh beneath his hand slowly becoming something else altogether. Her nails, becoming sharper by the moment, raked down his arms, but Randy swiftly put a stop to all her movement by inserting his switchblade into her windpipe, nearly decapitating the werker without much movement on his part.

There was a small sound in the corner of the room, and after dropping the now deceased woman back on the bed, Randy found a cradle, which held a baby of perhaps more than three months in it. After seeing Randy's bloodied form, it cried loudly, making him wince as he kneeled next to the cradle. The unusually hairy body of the baby gave it away as not of the human world, and without hesitating, Randy made sure it would not live beyond this night before standing and cleaning off his switchblade silently.

Once back out into the main room, he found the Resistance group had spread, combating the werkers as they came about from every nook and cranny it appeared. Randy worked his way across the large room, a familiar figure at one of the doors making his eyes widen before a clawed forearm caught him in the shoulder and he had to turn to defend himself properly.

It took him a few minutes to fully cross the length of the room, and Randy lost his switchblade somewhere along the line. He looked around for Dee again, finding him as he was just getting up, obviously having tripped over an injured werker. Then a blur of motion as Dee cut through werker flesh with Randy's own switchblade. Another werker advanced upon the man, and slashed across Dee's stomach.

By this time, Randy had come to stand near him, and Dee looked up at him, smiling with a bloodied mouth. Something inside of Randy tightened, and he was barely aware of catching Dee in his arms. Suddenly aware of how much blood was pouring from Dee's wound, Randy examined the man's injury, setting his mouth into a thin line upon seeing how severe it was. Dee attempted to say something, coughed jerkily in his arms, and then promptly passed out with a hand half extended to Randy's face.

Sliding onto the ground, Randy tore off his shirt, and pressed it against Dee's wound, finding the clothing soaked through all too fast. He heard one of Resistance members yell for a strategic retreat, and Randy tied his shirt around Dee's injury as best he could. He motioned for Drake, who was watching nearby to help, and they quickly carried Dee out to the alleyway.

Out of the original thirty-five of the group, only twenty had managed to escape from the werker settlement, and as Randy's eyes moved about the exhausted Resistance members, he noted that most, if not all were injured in some way. One of them began calling for assistance, and Randy looked to the man laying on his lap. The anger he had felt upon discovering that Dee had drugged him, and managed to escape seemed to have dissipated in that strange moment where the injured man had smiled at him bloodily.

"You damn asshole," Randy cursed briefly as he laid an arm across Dee's shoulders, and pulled him closer, telling himself it was only to readjust how the man laid upon him. Within the next moment, two black vans appeared on the curb, and as everyone began to pile into them, Randy resolved to send a proper extermination crew to the werker settlement in the next few hours.

Diana, upon hearing about the attack, quickly left Berkeley who had fallen asleep sometime ago, and offered her assistance with the wounded who had gathered at Randy's apartment. Though when she had first appeared, Randy had not seemed exactly overjoyed to see her. From what information she could get from some of the injured Resistance members, they'd found a hollow entrance in an alleyway, and while investigated where it led. It had turned out to lead to a werker settlement, and the Resistance group had been vastly outnumbered.

It explained the injuries some of the members had sustained well enough though Diana wondered why Randy had not organized a larger reconnaissance team if he had not known where the entrance would lead. As she approached Randy with the first aid kit since he had not been treated yet, he seemed to sigh to himself before letting her near, and Diana patched the claw marks on his arms and shoulder. Randy seemed to withdraw into himself, silently allowing Diana to do her task without comment.

Finally, after putting one last piece of medical tape onto his bare shoulder, Diana could stand it no more, and spoke hurriedly with an edge of annoyance to her words. "Listen, if anything Berkeley said offended you, like I said on the phone message, I'm sorry. You have to admit that what my fiance said is right, you really shouldn-"

A raised hand stopped the flow of her words, and irritably Diana closed the open first aid kit on the kitchen table, and looked back to find the tall figure of Doc Campbell standing close by, the serious expression on his face unlike the usual carefree attitude he carried. Taking a seat besides Randy at the kitchen table, Diana waited to hear whatever it was the retired doctor had to say. "If I hadn't come when I did, I'm not sure Dee would have survived. I did treat his wounds as best I could. However…"

The seventy-year old Japanese man let out a long sigh, and then looked Randy squarely in the eyes. "At the rate his body is healing, it's almost certain he'll cross to the other side at the next full moon. The reason I'm sure of this is because before he was slashed across the stomach, he had gotten beaten. Rather severely if the fainted bruises around his midsection are any indication, and one of the bruises healed right in front of me. Human patients don't have a habit of doing that.

"I'm not sure how you want to deal with this development. When he wakes up, Dee is going to discover this for himself, and I'd rather he'd be prepared for what is coming. I leave the choice to you, Randy. As for me, I'm going to look over the rest of the group and make sure nothing's been missed."

With a low bow at the doorway, Doc Campbell exited the kitchen, and Diana looked over to Randy to see how he had taken the news of Dee becoming a werker, only to find him looking a bit pale. "How long did you leave your wounds untreated?"

Randy glanced over at her for a second, and then stood up shakily, speaking lower than normal. "Until Dee was treated by the Doc," he said shortly, taking a sip of his tea situated on the table before heading to the living room while Diana followed in his wake, unsure about whether or not the man would faint. "You damn stubborn man, why didn't seek treatment earlier than that?"

Forgetting her place, Diana grabbed Randy by the waist, and directed him to the bedroom where Dee was lying on the left side of Randy's bed, and shoved him roughly towards the empty side. Randy looked sharply at Diana's actions then at the injured man lying in his bed before glancing back at Diana skeptically. "He's still human. I doubt he's going to attack you in his sleep given the injuries he received as of late. Now get some rest, and I'll take care of getting everyone back to where they belong."

As Diana closed the door, she breathed a sigh of relief that the circumstances between herself, Berkeley and Randy had not placed resentment in their friendship. Set about the task she had promised Randy, in the back of her mind, she wondered just how the Resistance was going to deal with Dee given Doc Campbell's news.

Looking up at the ceiling, Dee realized that it wasn't unfamiliar at all, and then sat up quickly or tried to but intense pain from his stomach made him flop back down on the bed. Trying not to heed his recent wounds, Dee found out it was impossible. Sighing heavily, Dee looked to his right, and was startled upon seeing Ryo's face so near to his own. As he looked onto the sleep rumpled figure, he caught sight of the Randy's injuries, and very gently traced the trail of bandages from the man's arms to his shoulders.

So he isn't nearly as invincible as he thinks he is, Dee thought to himself before extracting his hand, and assessing his own injuries. Upon thinking back on, Dee winced and looked to four stitched lines across his stomach. Thanking his good fortune, Dee looked to Ryo's sleeping form once again, and lying back down, snuggled close enough so that he could feel the man's body heat.

"I didn't pin you for a blanket hog, but hey, if you steal blankets, you should be prepared to offer body heat in return," Dee whispered softly, sticking his tongue out at the end of his words for emphasis though no one was there to see it. Chuckling once to himself, Dee surrendered to sleep once more, unconsciously laying an arm across Ryo's midsection and cuddling close enough to lay his head on Randy's uninjured shoulder.

To Be Continued…