Goris watched out from the back of the last remaining Poseidon oil tanker at the Enclave oilrig.  Blood dripped down his claws to the sea-splashed deck.  It was the blood that he had sworn to spill, human blood, the blood of the mad human that had killed the leader of his Pack.  Humans didn't have a word for the hate that had filled his heart then, humans could never understand the depth and acuteness of the pure detestation that had filled his heart.  How he had longed to tear off the head of the then-nameless murderer, to take his still-beating heart in his jaws and feel it slowly stop!  That which was most dear to him, his Pack, had been taken away, and he knew he could not bring it back.  But he could honor their memory, and send the humans who had killed him screaming to hell.

            How he remembered the battle with the "Frank Horrigan" that murdered Gruthar-the-Exalted.  How he relished the red spray of blood in the air, the hot tang of death in his mouth, the sensation of his claws breaking through the hard shells of the humans to slide into the soft, vulnerable meat within.  The woman that he chose to follow, that "Michelle," had programmed the heavy gun turrets that ringed that final room to fire upon his hated foe.  Although many bullets had sparked off the steel plates of Horrigan's armor, some found their way inside to the human within.

            Horrigan had laughed at the bullets, but Goris had run in.  While Horrigan fired massive, lethal shards of blazing energy, Goris had batted his weapon hand away like one of the bees that had pestered him when he was young and his skin was soft- the weapon had bite, but not enough to stop the foot-long talons of his right hand from tearing deep into Horrigan's proud armor and ripping the man to the floor.

            The ensuring carnage slammed Goris and his hated foe apart, the heavy machine gun turrets never stopping their fire.  Michelle had never been the best in a fight, not having the aim or the nerves to really stand up under gunfire, so she had picked that moment to duck behind the computer console, away from the fire.  As Goris picked himself up, he saw Horrigan do the same, raising his arm-mounted cannon and blazing fire.  Goris once again found himself able to duck under the fire, diving underneath Horrigan's guard to bury his claws into his soft, fleshy lungs.

            The air had whistled out past his claws, and he took the time to look into into the eyes of the man who had ruined everything for him.  He did not see what he had been looking for, not behind the shining white lights behind his eyes.  Disgusted, Goris had lanced his left hand's claws deep into Horrigan's neck, where the armor was thin and weakly emplaced.

            Hot blood had showered onto Goris's waiting skin, and he reveled in the sensation of his foe's red cascade.

            Michelle walked up the stairs to the back of the deck, to watch the Poseidon oilrig's final moments.  She had discarded the heavy armor she wore earlier, and was now wearing the shorts and light top she wore when she knew she was safe.

            She saw Goris with his back to her, facing the oilrig.  Blood dripped down his body- he had removed the cloak, as he had no reason to hide his identity here.  There were many bullet wounds all over his body, but he didn't seem to notice them.  The memories of the terrible battle, where Goris had raged amongst the astonished Enclave guards like a tornado of extended claws and snapping jaws, filtered through a haze of blood and death. 

            The moment she stepped out of the small structure sheltering the stairs, she was whipped by the harsh winds of the open sea.  "Hey, Goris," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering.

            Goris turned his head slowly toward her, and she could see something changed in his eyes.   "Hello, Michelle."

            Goris had always been a little formal- she'd never been sure why, but it would be too much trouble to make him change.  She forced a smile, despite the grimness of his expression and the cold of the salt spray that cut through her thin layers of clothing.  "You did good back there."

            He nodded slowly, then turned his head back to the oilrig.