A/N: Rated M for violence and dark themes.

Chapter 2: Power

"It is what it is."

The phrase was tossed around the office daily as a way to slowly ingrain in the minds of the workers there that this existence was normal. It was a simple gesture to reinforce the idea that work, even mundane or pointless work, was an unavoidable part of life. Grievances and complaints about conditions were always met with "It is what it is". Predators needed that type of reassurance, lest their instincts would tell them something was wrong. The placid mind of the evolved predator eventually accepted that illusion. Stanley, however, no longer fit that mold.

The tiger's mind was restless. His entire morning consisted of sitting quietly at his desk inside of a three-walled cubicle. He hated being in a cubicle, the stagnant air around him keeping him locked down like a mental cage. The fourth wall of his prison was the evolved world's idea of moral responsibility, something that was forced into his minds by the education system and the progressive idea that all mammals were equal. If prey could easily maintain their lives in relative peace together, so could Stanley. The things that made predators far superior were now reasons to hold them down in society, simply vestiges of a wilder, distant past.

Aggressiveness. Predators had a tendency to be doers in the world, pushing forward to obtain what they wanted even at the expense of others. This served them well in the jungles, the fields, the forests…but in modern civilization it was a hindrance. Overbearing actions would have them shunned out of organizations and neighborhoods mostly full of the meeker and calmer prey class. Any act of aggression was easily perceived as a threat.

Awareness. It was no secret that the majority of predator species had better senses than the prey around them. Smell, sight, taste… Being aware of every mammal around them at all times made predators seem suspicious, nosey, or even downright terrifying to prey. It made them a good choice for military or law enforcement, but society was even shifting away from that. Now anyone could be in those positions; even a bunny could become a police officer these days.

Strength. Predators as a whole were some of the most physically gifted mammals. Toned muscles, fast legs, strong jaws, and a hearty constitution. Even the larger mammals like elephants and rhinos were still susceptible to the strength of a predator in the bygone wild days. The instinctive fear still lingered in the mind of the vast majority of prey, and so the strength of a predator was looked down upon. It reminded them of their constant vulnerability.

In society as it was now, predators were kept on a leash and muzzled by laws, education, and supposed "understanding." The saddest part is that it worked. Mammals lived in harmony held up by threads of hope and justice which proved to be stronger than the instincts which threatened their way of life. The road to get there may have been full of prejudice and severity, but it prevailed in making a safe and tolerable world…for prey.

A world that, again, was accepted by the calmer mind of a civilized predator. There was simply no place for a savage.

It was the main reason the fear tactic of the Night Howlers worked so well. The illusion that the world had tried to perfect for over a century was shattered instantly by predators that had their civilized minds ripped from them synthetically, leaving only their base instincts to govern their bodies. It reverted them to what prey feared they were all along: killing machines.

Most citizens were completely oblivious to what those who had "gone savage" went through. The assumption was that somehow the serum had forced the mammals to act a certain way, causing them to become vicious beasts straight out of a nightmare. So many family members and friends of the affected predators would reassure themselves "He's not like that" or "That's not my husband" or "She would never act that way" or "What did they do to him?"

The truth was…all the serum did was release who they truly were. The instincts that were burned into their DNA laid dormant, and the Night Howlers simply gave that side of them a voice by drowning out the conditioning of society.

It was terrifying…and exhilarating. Many of the Night Howler victims lied. The overwhelming claim from them was a form of complete amnesia, absolving them of what transpired while they were savage. Legal charges couldn't stick for someone who wasn't aware of their actions. However, Stanley didn't really believe such nonsense. He fully remembered each move he made: the comfort of being on all fours, the rush of stalking his prey, smelling her fear, tracking her down, cornering her, drinking in her scent, and the glorious sensation of tearing into her flesh with his teeth…

His civilized mind returned. No. It wasn't me. He took in the sight of his desk before him, the quiet sound of a fan blowing near him, the murmur of the other workers in his office, and the stack of documents for review in his inbox.

A deep sigh escaped him. "It is what it is."

The daydreams and fantasies grew in strength each day as Stanley strove to understand himself. Part of him was disgusted by his actions during his savagery. The psychological therapy he underwent told him "it wasn't you," or "you had no control." Another part of him, however, the darker, primal, hungry side of him, longed for that satisfaction to surge through him again. The sheer power was incredibly pleasing to what he thought were long-lost instincts.

The conflict pulled at his mind and spirit daily now. Stanley understood what was expected of him, what the vast majority of predators had accepted as how life was meant to be. It was a sharp contrast to the darkness rising in himself, getting stronger and deeper with each passing day, and part of him reveled in it.

The beast inside him had awoken, showing him the world through a new set of eyes.

"Clawson!" the harsh voice exploded in his ears, shattering his thoughts. Stanley roused from his stupor as he noticed his manager standing before him. The portly, middle-aged pig raised an eyebrow as he gained the tiger's attention. "Stop daydreaming and get to work!"

Stifling a growl, Stanley forced himself to comply. "Yes, Mr. Duroc," he sighed.

"What's gotten into you, Clawson? You're even more depressing than you normally are."

"Nothing, sir."

"Well, if it's nothing, then you should be able to get all this work done this afternoon." The pig slapped another stack of papers on Stanley's desk. "Get to it, Clawson."

Breathing in slowly, the tiger forced a smile on his muzzle as he hesitantly obeyed the corpulent pig. "Yes, Mr. Duroc."

Noting his slight attitude, the pig snorted and walked off. Stanley's eyes followed as the pig moved. He's so small…weak…fat…

The sudden dissonance rang like a gong in Stanley's mind. He was subservient to his prey. The stronger, faster, leaner, far more powerful tiger was at the beck and call of a pig. Society as a whole would accept it, but deep in Stanley's primal mind he raged against the sheer insanity. He feared a pig. He bowed to a meek prey. It was completely unnatural. The natural course of the world would be completely different. It would have Stanley standing over the pig, demanding respect, imbuing fear, and ending with the pig in his jaws, squealing as he sunk his teeth deeper-

Stanley shook the thoughts away. No. That's not who I am.

Trying desperately to focus on his work, he began taking papers out of the stack before him for review and processing. It was ritual now, checking off boxes, ensuring accuracy, filing the reports, and repeating the whole process again. It was infuriatingly mundane, but it was a job. The rote actions began to numb his mind slowly, tempering this earlier thoughts. It was almost therapeutic, the slow turn of pages, the swift motions of his pen, the monotony drowning out his environment. He redoubled his focus, moving efficiently through the documents and succeeding in distracting himself.

Time moved unnoticed to him, his busy mind hanging perilously above the darkness…until he reached a paw to his inbox and found nothing. His source of distraction was gone, his day speeding by in an unimaginable blur as he snapped to the present. The orange hue of sunlight coming through the window told him it was near the end of the day, many other mammals having already clocked out. He glanced at the clock sitting at the corner of his desk. 5:18PM.

A door to his right closed, pulling his attention towards it. The last co-worker had left. His mind wandered as his eyes scanned the room. He was alone now. Normally, this would be a comfort to Stanley, but as of late, he dreaded being alone. It used to be a time for relaxation, when his vision and smell weren't bombarded with the other mammals around him. Now, the quiet of his office became incredibly disconcerting to him.

After sitting for what felt like a small eternity in the silence, the darkness began to whisper again. It slowly took shape, as if some hole in his heart opened up and a long tendril of blackness began to creep out. The form slithered over his heart, consuming it with whispers and promises of pleasure. He felt the darkness move through his chest, breathing in sharply as it snaked a black hand to his neck. Tightening, the darkness constricted him. It squeezed at his soul, stealing his breath as it consumed him, entering his ears and into his mind to pour forth its demands. It dredged the depths of his heart, finding and amplifying his desires until they burned as a flame within him. The terrifying part, though, was how wonderful it felt to Stanley.

The darkness surrounded him, choking his civilized mind with passion, hunger, lust, and rage. Stanley screamed against it, but the savage was winning. There was no point in denying what it wanted, it had to run its course through him. Thoughts began to tickle in the back of his mind, finding his hidden dreams and fantasies and blowing them up to new levels he hadn't dared imagine.

There was his boss. The fat, ignorant, disgusting pig. Duroc had always hated Stanley. For months after taking the job, he could never figure out why the pig harbored disdain for him.

He fears you, the savage in him revealed.

He always felt inferior to the smaller mammal, insignificant in his eyes.

Pathetic. Unnatural.

Stanley felt weak, unsure, at times even frightened.

You are strong. Stronger than a worthless prey.

The image of the pig stood before him, staring at him with hatred and pity.

Wipe it from his face. Show him your power.

A low growl came from Stanley's mouth as he stood from his chair. Standing straight, he towered over the pig, forcing Duroc to crane his neck upwards to maintain eye contact. Those eyes, full of disgust and pride…

The rage boiled inside Stanley, causing his emotions and passions to swell in his chest. The resulting tension ripped a roar from the tiger the likes of which he had never experienced. It wasn't a scream, not an insult, not even words. Just pure rage and power that flowed through his lungs and escaped his mouth as a primal cry of dominance.

Once it ended, Stanley loomed over the smaller, insignificant pig. Gone was the air of pride, replaced fully with something that made every hair on the tiger's body stand on end with excitement. Pure, unbridled fear.

Prey.

The pig took a small step back, barely able to turn before the massive paw of the tiger reached out and crashed onto his shoulder, claws extending and locking into the pig's skin. Letting out a squeal, the pig pushed with his other hoof at the paw, using all his strength to remove it and escape. The attempt was futile, however, as Stanley snapped his arm downward, dragging his claws through the pig's skin and tearing down to the bone. Blood immediately began flowing uncontrollably from Duroc's arm, his other hoof reaching up in vain to place pressure on the injury as he began to lose balance. The weakling fell to the ground, his injured shoulder slamming into the floor and splattering blood and flesh.

Consume.

Stanley raised his paw to his face. Small bits of the pig's flesh were stuck beneath his claws and blood covered the arm of his shirt. Calmly, he reached his paw up and dragged it over his extended tongue. The salty, metallic taste of blood sparked something new in him. He allowed the taste to linger, rolling it around his mouth as it mingled with the scent that was now filling the room. Blood and fear...it was heavenly to Stanley.

He gazed forward, following the slow crawl of the injured pig with his eyes. Duroc continued screaming, not that it would do any good. They were alone now, and nothing would stand between the predator and his prey. Reaching the corner of the office, the pig forced himself up against the wall, blood smearing along the floor as he moved. He breathed heavily, speaking to his assailant. The words, mumbled gibberish to the tiger, were useless. Slowly, Stanley bent over, assuming the more natural posture of being on all fours as he approached. He bared his teeth, a rumbling growl emitting from behind the savage maw. His eyes locked onto his prey as he stalked forward.

One pounce, one snap of the jaw. That's all it would take. He hesitated momentarily, the quivering mass of fear before him was his former superior. Society fought against nature, but today nature was winning. The natural order of the world had been reestablished between these two. The foolishness he had held to for so long, the foolishness of the world that believes a predator could be confined through words or ideas, was gone. Now, all that mattered was power.

Kill.

Another scream filled the office, followed by a sickening snap and then silence. Blood filled Stanley's mouth as he bit deeply into the pig's neck. The pleasure of his sharp teeth gliding through the flesh, severing the arteries of the neck, drinking in the life of his prey...it caused Stanley to shudder. It was so good.

He tilted his head back, the darkness slowly beginning to subside. Giving in to the fantasy pleased his inner savage, allowing it to finally rest for the day. It wasn't the first time he'd done so in order to allow his civilized mind a form of reprieve.

However, this time, the smell of fear didn't fade with the fantasy.

This time, the taste of blood didn't leave his mouth.

This time, the sight of death wasn't erased by opening his eyes.

The nightmare consumed his reality as he noticed the still warm blood on his paws and felt it matting the fur of his chest and neck. The limp, lifeless body of a pig laying before him confirmed the terrible truth to him

Stanley stood, paralyzed with shock. Oh God...I killed him…

An evil, dark laugh escaped his mouth as the savage smiled. "It is what it is."