#carcasscarnate

               ❛ ——— You knew the game and played it.

            ‘ i think the best thing about having a bakers dozen --                is definitely being able to share one and still have a                 WHOLE dozen --... by the way -- want one? ‘

     Do you ever have a bad day? You know the ones. Nothing goes right at all, from sleeping through your alarm to getting into a fender bender on the way back home for work. Marcus has days like that. Except, instead of worrying about being late for work or car insurance, he tried to focus on not losing his head. Literally.

     “I just want to talk!” He said, leaning backwards sharply to avoid the razor sharp machete that was currently in the hands of a panicked werewolf who was probably on a very bad trip. The blade came close enough for him to feel the very tip of it nick his throat ever so slightly. It was just enough to draw a bit of blood, but not enough to me truly worrisome. Marcus had, in fact, just come in to ask a couple questions about an Edward Morales. The guy wasn’t even in trouble. A local law firm had hired Marcus to track the guy down and ask him to testify in some civil lawsuit. He had heard that Morales had a couple friends that hung around here and thought that maybe they knew where he might be. So far his questions have elicited some unfavorable responses.

     “That’s what they all say!” Marcus’ attacker screeched, not saying exactly who they were. His eyes wide and fearful as he thrust his machete at Marcus again with the intent of gutting him right then and there. Luckily, most people only knew enough about sword fighting to hold it vaguely right and swing it in the general direction of the person they want to hit. If he’d been competent and sober and knew how to solidly stand, this confrontation could have gone a different way. However, instead of standing still and getting a foot of steel shoved into his intestines, Marcus sidestepped the attack and watched as his opponent overextended himself and grabbed the kid’s wrist before he sent a sharp jab right to his jaw. The guy must have had a glass jaw because he went out like a light, releasing his hold on his blade and leaving it in Marcus’ hand as he collapsed onto the hard concrete floor.

     Marcus sighed and gently nudged the kid with his foot, but he was down for the count. Before he could even consider what he would do now, he heard a door open and a number of voices fill the previously quiet building. He didn’t even have time to come up with a semi-credible explanation before they turned a corner and found Marcus standing over the unmoving form of one of their own. There were about a dozen of them. Big guys and rough looking girls in biker jackets who reeked of motor oil and aggression. They were all werewolves. There wasn’t a feral glint in their eye or anything dramatic like that, but Marcus knew anyway. It was one of Marcus’ talents, just knowing when other supernaturals were around.

     One thing you should know about werewolves is that they are dangerously loyal. If you messed with one of their own they will come down on you like a hammer before you even have a chance to get out the first syllable of your explanation. It was an admirable trait in most situations, but this was not one of them.

     Despite knowing this, Marcus held on to the hope that perhaps these wolves were more thinkers than wild killers. That they would listen to reason and allow him to explain that he wasn’t, in fact, here to fight.

     The largest of the newcomers, probably the leader, blinked at Marcus then glanced at his fallen comrade before he bared his teeth and barked, “Kill him!”