The wolf was in a state of shock. Israel wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something. So many emotions washed over him, yet he felt as if he couldnât act upon any of them. Funny enough, Israel didnât feel like any sort of battle had really even happened. Everything had gone on so quick, it was hard to process it all. There wasnât a winner. Or a loser. Just death and missing people. Israel had gone from zero to one hundred after overhearing the names uttered amongst the missing. He had bottled up his feelings for so long, it was only a matter of time before it all came rushing to the surface. His spite getting the better of him as he walked back into the city.Â
He stood still at the empty hallway of the Chateau, processing what had just happened. He was so angry that his hands shook. It was amazing that he had actually been so composed in the forest, but then adrenaline helped in certain situations. Israel couldnât get his hands to stop shaking, nor could he get his hands to unball from the fists they were in. They were gone and the damage was done. Seth was just... gone...Â
Israel was stunned. Instead of screaming, like he wanted to do, he instead took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and then falling. His chest hurt. His body ached, and he honestly felt like he might pass out. He turned and quickly moved down the hall, his feet moving mechanically. Once out of the way, he found a secluded hall to try and collect herself. People cried all the time. Why couldnât he? No. Israel just couldnât⌠he couldnât⌠He looked around to see if anyone was there, but no one was around. He was in an empty hall, leaned up against the wall. He tried so hard to keep everything down, to swallow his feelings and make it from day-to-day. On the inside, Israel had felt worthless ever since he found out the truth. He was just the shadow of what once was. Everything happened so fast. Before he knew it, his life was in shambles and it would seem like it was doomed to break over and over again.Â
It hit Israel like a train. His hand went to his stomach. He wasnât sure if it was out of hollowness or if he was about to be sick. He was glad that the wall was behind him, for he might have fallen over without it. He had tried so hard for so long to keep everything down, to have a perfect life. The grip over his stomach tightened. Closing his eyes, the images replayed over and over in the newly found darkness. His mind made up their deaths in his head. His chest tightened again, and the wolf worried he was either going to throw up on himself or have a heart attack with no one around. He couldnât go back there. He couldnât face this reality. He just wanted to turn back time. He wanted to go home and sob, to drink, to get rid of the darkness pulling at his bones, scraping its nails against his muscles. Is this what dying felt like? Israel didnât even realize he was crying until he tried to make his way towards his cell and realized how horrible he was at keeping a straight line. His sight was blurred and his feet didnât want to go in the direction he wished. Finally, he reached the door of his cell, actually, he smashed into it. He fully expected himself to fall through to the ground inside, but nothing moved. The door didnât open. He continued to press his body against against it. With shaking hands he moved to his collar, fingers tightening around the device. Pull it... just pull the pin... stop the pain...
He couldnât make out the words being yelled at him as the authorities descended upon him. Their guns aimed directly at his body, red dots cropping up like Chicken Pox. His hands were frozen in place on his neck as tears rolled down his face. Blinking for just even a second it seemed he missed everything because the next thing he knew. It was hard to breathe as something knocked the wind right out of him and he was glaring at whoever or whatever it happened to be, still not looking up. If only he could find his voice heâd be yelling up a storm, for thatâs how angry he was now! He felt his face being pushed into the ground, his hands secured behind his back. Letting them push him into a kneeling position his whole face seemed to drop and his skin if possible when even paler, while his mouth hung open a little in shock.
This was the last person he thought heâd be running into today, his father was someone he tried to avoid as much as possible and wanted nothing to do with. Israel managed to take one pathetic jeer before his body and mind seemed to shut down on him and he was unable to do anything against the larger man. He didnât want to be here now, he needed to run and get away, and this was bad that he was alone and right off the cameras too for that matter! Then the grin that cruel grin, such a vile sight was forming on his face as Israel felt the strong grip quickly wrap around his neck. Too strong for him to break away as he did try and struggle when he pulled him close. It was getting harder to breathe in that grip of his, his mouth open but of course no scream would come out. He felt like a helpless animal, pathetic and useless. Soon enough the air supply was getting thinner and the familiar choking sound was coming from his mouth. The corner of his eyes watering up as he was in pain, not from crying, but his own body panicking. No... no... no...
The vice-like grip loosened even if a little, just enough to keep a small amount of airflow to his body. He could feel his heart trying to beat right out of his chest and he swore his father would be able to feel it also and was probably getting the greatest kick out of it and his fear. Israel wasnât being as brave as he sometimes would be. The pup managed to raise his own eyes to his father as he spoke again about taking a rain-check on a hug that Israel would never in his life give this time. His body was shaking by now, he couldnât tell, his feelings were a little burnt out at the moment as his mind raced on getting away from his death grip at least. The tears started to flow down his cheeks from the pain of his fatherâs knuckles digging hard into the top of his head in an act of âaffectionâ. His mouth wide as the pain became easy to spot, in the quick volume of his missing voice.
When the man leaned down to his ear, the grip seemed to tighten around his neck once again, but heâd slowly, ever so slowly started to bare the choking feeling. His breathing was ragged and his fatherâs voice so close to his ears sent chills down his spine. How cruel of a man, the reason for problems in his personality, his mouth seemed too open and close repeatedly as his breathing was heavy. Onsight, he looked and felt more like a fish out of water trying to breathe instead of a boy in the clutches of a man he made a point to avoid as much as possible. His voice was never found and his eyes had been locked with his, so when his mother came running around the corner he didnât know she had finally made her appearance until her voice hit his ears and his eyes automatically tracked her as she circles them both like prey. Her own lips forming the name âIsraelâ as he grits his teeth quickly from the sudden movement, his face sticky with the tears that slipped out earlier on reflex. Israel knew the look in his motherâs eyes and that expression on her face, shit was going to get real and the real âfunâ was about to start.
Israel began his small attempt to wiggle out of his fatherâs grip, heâd always been capable of squeezing his way out of his tight grip, but it didnât always work. His eyes bounced back and forth between the two and once over at the guard who he finally noticed was standing a bit away. While the standoff between mom and dad was starting to âheat upâ, really those words fit the situation perfectly. Their voices gave away to their native tongue as they started to talk amongst themselves. They were scolding him, mocking him. That flared up anger for a second seemed to take away from his fear of her own situation if only for a while. This is when the tables were about to turn because no matter how terrified of his father he was - Israel followed him. It was always better to come quietly with him than fight. The comment on wanting to âtalkâ to him made Israel want to burst out laughing, thought the lack of voice and the grip on his neck kept his expression from changing. His eyes travel to meet the eyes of everyone crowding him in the hall. His mind barely processing the words his mother uttered in her thickening Swiss-German accent. âYour fazer und IÂ zink it is time vu come home for zee time peing. Zee care vu haffe peen but unter vile here has peen less zan zatisfactory. Und ve feel all of zis has peen detrimendal to your health.â With that, she gave a pointed look to the guards and walked away. Her heels clicking down the hall as Israelâs father dropped the young wolf to his feet and followed suit. Staring after the pair blankly he nearly fell over himself as the guards shoved him forward for processing. The hole in his stomach ripping open further with every step. Never in his days would he actually find himself wanting to go back to his cell.Â
Feeling them unfasten the cuffs on his wrists he froze when they took his collar off. Taking a hand he gently touched the tender skin, rubbing it over and over for a few moments. Blankly he stood there as they processed him, a box of his belongings shoved at his chest. Dark eyes casting down at unfamiliar things. A pair of beat-up Converse, mint chewing gum that was probably unchewable, ripped and dirty skinny jeans, a pack of Nat Shermans, a striped shirt that probably wouldnât fit. In his dazed state, he barely registered his fatherâs personal guards coming up behind him. Feeling the vice-like grips on his shoulders he winced as he was nudged towards the doors and out into the light. His feet almost falling out from under him as he took his first steps unimpeded by the collar. However, he knew he was still a prisoner. Just under another roof.Â
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A state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended.
Itâs laughable. The thought of âpeaceâ in this place. I used to think it was possible, once. But that was many years ago. I was naive, stupid, my mind could be molded like putty. Peace doesnât exist. It never has. Not here. Not anywhere. Itâs just something people think about to give themselves a sound mind. Itâs a fantasy concept. It's like fucking for virginity. Thereâs always going to be something disrupting the current of life. Because thatâs how life works. Maybe, maybe this will be the end. Lights out forever. The hunters would surely storm the prison cells because weâre easy pickens. Why not kill the scum of Covaire off first? Logically it makes sense.
I remember running into a hunter once. Staring down at the Beretta 93R he held all too calmly in our apartment. I remember tonguing the barrel of the gun as it was shoved past my lips and silently wondering if it had ever been cleaned properly. How many people have had its chamber fuck their mouths? I couldnât help but laugh at the situation. I laugh during the most inappropriate times. Thereâs nothing funny about someone threatening to blow your brains out. But it makes me feel better. Laughing brings me peace.
Hygge. A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being. I used to know what this feeling meant but not anymore. Strange how that happens. That we just... forget?
Have you ever tried to speak with a gun in your mouth? It isnât easy. You only speak in thick muffled syllables. If even that. With some effort, I managed to push the gun into my cheek. I carefully asked him-- tried to ask him what he would accomplish by killing me. His answer? He didnât know. It would just bring him peace of mind. In his eyes, I was a monster. I mean he wasnât wrong. But. Keep in mind this was before I toppled off the ledge of sanity. I know, a weird concept to think about. I asked him calmly why he thought I was a monster. I already knew the answer to his question. But I wanted to hear him say it anyway. It wasnât because I shifted in front of him. No, Iâm sloppy but not that sloppy. Although, I suppose Iâve grown sloppier over the years. Iâve reached a point in my life where Iâve just kind of stopped caring.
Anyway, I watched him as he produced a file and waved it in my face smugly. I stared - dumbfounded and confused. A manila folder. Thatâs what had started all of this? Then it hit me. He had stumbled upon my research on cell regeneration. I canât remember much of what happened after that. I just remember watching the gun leave my mouth. Strands of saliva stretching against the barrel. I remember watching him blubber that he didnât want to do this. And IÂ all too calmly standing there with the disgusting thing pressed to my temple. Eventually, the cops arrived. Situation deescalated. And I moved on with my life.
At this moment I feel oddly at peace. I have no clue what is going on beyond these walls. Why? Because Iâm in solitary confinement. I hear nothing. I see nothing. Iâm just... existing? I donât know how long Iâve been down here. A couple weeks? Maybe a month? Iâm surprised they took my threat seriously this time. That I would really take that broken mop handle and jam it into my fucking aorta. I mustâve looked really fucking desperate. If anything Iâm really fucking desperate for a cheeseburger smothered in mushrooms and onions. My thoughts on food are suddenly disrupted by voices. Am I hearing things again? Maybe Iâm actually dying. No, no. Not dying and the voices arenât my imagination. The guards are talking about the mess outside again. Something about traitors, the high tensions in the city. Maybe Covaire would implode on itself. Oh, that would be funny. I snicker but itâs not like you can hear it.
I wonder... What if they do actually storm the prison? Would they kill us? Or would they free us? Maybe they would enslave us. Wouldnât be the first time humans have enslaved anyone. Hell, they enslave their own kind. But maybe theyâd keep the useful ones alive. I could be useful. Granted for my own personal gain. Maybe this could be my ticket out of here.Â
âAre you going to actually behave now?â A voice asks. I look up and grin. I donât know the meaning of that word. Behave? It isnât in my extensive vocabulary. They know this. Do I ever? I ask in return before the door opens. You know what they say about doors?Â
The holidays were bittersweet. Israel was never much for them. Not now anyway. There wasnât much of a point. But he went through the motions as clients rented him. He helped with the trees; he hung stockings; he helped wrap gifts.Â
But something was off. When Theus visited him and hugged him, he stiffened and then relaxed into the embrace. Theus. Had. Hugged. Him. As it slowly set in, he felt the other pull away, and a part of him wanted to pull him back in. No, that... that felt nice. Thatâs all he had ever wanted from Theus. And then, as Theus turned and left, it slowly set in as the door shut. He was leaving?! That was the only sound reasoning for this behavior. An uncomfortable feeling shot through him. Was this... panic? Lunging at the bars, he pressed up against them. He was painfully trying to get one last glance as Theus disappeared into the dark. Feverish apologies left his silenced lips as he backed away from the door. His mind reeled as he began to pace. Everyone was leaving. Why? Why were they leaving? Why did they have to leave when he was starting to let them in? Pain exploded through his hand as it connected with the wall.Â
He overheard a few guards mentioning Deacon and the launderette as he was sent down to the infirmary. Unable to stop himself, he approached them and asked what was happening with Deacon. âHeâs leaving.â Their answer made the wolf pause. Leaving? Feeling the previous guard grab him, he flinched at the touch. Where is he going? Is he coming back? He asked as he was dragged away, that same awful feeling planting itself between his ribs. Deacon was one of the first people in Covaire ever to show him kindness. He vividly remembered the day they met and how he had weirded the then-human out in only ways Israel could. Moving mechanically, he sat down and let them tend to his hand. Hushed words fell unnoticed as they talked at him and scolded him like a child for being reckless with himself. He didnât even have the energy to argue. He just sat there absently in this strange numbness. It was numbness he hadnât felt in a long time. Not since demons had broken open the earth and stolen away from the last things, he held dear. Sure, it had spat them out, eventually. But none of them were the same.
Shuddering at the thought, he felt his stomach heave, the contents spattering forth violently onto the floor below him. Feeling ill, he got up, stumbling away with the stitches half done. Apologizing, he side-stepped the mess he had made, tearing down the hallway towards the bathroom. Sliding down against the grime-laden floor, he huddled half between the wall and the bathroom. Why? Why did he care so much? He mulled this over until the guards came looking for him and dragged him away but not without a fight. Feeling himself retreat into his own mind, he hypothesized every theory he could fathom in regards to them leaving until he exhausted himself. What if... what if everyone left and he was left to rot in this lonely cell, in an empty prison, in an empty city for the rest of his days?
Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting...Â
The past few days had given away to hell on Earth. At this point he really shouldnât be surprised... and yet... here he found himself clinging to life yet again. Although, at this point clinging to life took on a whole new meaning. It was out of raw spite. For the past few days, he had been scrambling around the city. At this point, he was purely moving on autopilot. Live. Survive. Prove them wrong.
It took approximately three and a half minutes for Israel to finish his crawling climb to his secret hideaway on the roof. So far, so good-- his taunts seemed to be doing exactly as he hoped: buying him time. As his fingers wrapped about the cord keeping his ammo bag closed, he heard the war cry resounding throughout the depths of the city, and it stilled the wolf to his core. He felt his entire body shiver from his spine to his digits, a fear so deeply entrenched in his being that he barely managed to turn towards the sounds of footfalls filling his ears; barely managed to evade the knife coming directly between his oculars; barely managed to react at all. The sudden attack left the wolf with few options and little time. Fingers desperately worked to dislodge the rifle at his back from it's holdings, single-handed until his left hand tied the bag's cord to a belt loop. Israel jolted backwards, narrowly avoiding an attempt to dislodge him from his precarious perch, feet awkwardly moving him backwards along the roof. A soft click, and he felt the weight of his rifle drop into his hands, and with that... he fell backwards off the roof, the flash of a grin the last thing to pass the stone surface as air rushed past him towards ground.
With new shells available to him, it took seconds for him to reload his rifle, sending a proper shot off towards the wooden beam the hunter stood upon, though his shot resonated moments too late, hitting the board and snapping it after the hunter jumped. He used the momentum from his fall to send him closer to his destination -- a fire escape. This gave him just enough to give him that extra second to aim. In an instant, the bullet rang out from the barrel-- perfectly lined up, perfectly timed, or so Israel thought. Nope, you missed. He growled soundlessly between clenched teeth, watching the hunter surface in his sight. The wolf spared little time in reloading his weapon and readying his next shot. Each shot ensured the hunter expended energy to dodge, to block, or if luck felt kind, grazed a chance hit here-and-there. Each step closer to his last shot meant he might chance seeing tomorrow.
Israel touched down on the street mere moments before the hunter, quick feet steering him further away from the city towards the coves. His assailant was gaining on him, bringing them closer to melee range, which the hunter took advantage of. A strong hand forced Israel backwards, taking more effort than he liked to create distance between the two as they clashed. Debris in the air coated his lungs as he breathed deep in an attempt to keep his head about him. He sputtered out a soundless cough, his gaze locked upon his hunter, allowing his body to move fluidly on instinct now. Locked barrel to barrel, they stared one another down, his own rifle down towards his hip, using his side to steady the length to keep his shots straight. "Oh, if only I could taste the tension in the air! Are you two going to drop everything and start making out?" He swallowed down a mouthful of dust in response to the unwanted voice a few feet away from them, breathing out a soundless hiss through his teeth. He knew that voice. He had grown up with that voice. He knew her.
Israelâs muscles ached, heart pounding faster than he thought possible. For being supernatural, it certainly felt like the muscle might burst right out of his chest; his lungs pleading for more oxygen, unable to take in air fast enough to make up for his earlier exertions. "I mean, here he is, he's chased you all the way out here, just you, just for you, and you've met him every step of the way, I mean, it's like you're absolutely perfect for each other." Israel stopped himself from paying her any mind, as his footfalls drowned out her words. âIsrael, you know your limitations. Just give up. You wonât win.â Israel lacked the will to protest her point-- indeed, Israel knew very well the limitations of his body... even the parts not of him. Israel squinted at both the female and male hunter, so familiar, though he felt hard-pressed to remember why. He leaned back, torso slumping, shoulders forward, keeping the rifle secured against his side with his right hand as the left held the next round of bullets. He stood like an off-duty soldier, tired and burdened with thoughts of war-- of survival. His breathing heavy, his chest heaved with each intake and release, but he listened, silent. âYou donât remember do you? Thatâs a shame...â As the female spoke, Israel caught his breath; they both enjoyed this short respite, surely. âWhy would he, Yvette? He was drugged half the time?â
A trickle of red ran the length of his own cheek, one of the few nicks from jumping through the closed window earlier. Aside from his obvious exhaustion and the hunterâs dings, neither of them boasted any real damage from this encounter. Israel knew he stood little chance should the hunters decide to overtake him now. He shoved the next set of bullets into a pocket, shifting the rifle from his right to his left, propping the butt against his shoulder. âIf anything, I should thank you. You were a perfect test dummy." Israel felt a lump rising from his gut to his throat before the next few words came from the male hunterâs mouth. Visibly, Israel frowned. Test dummy. Test dummy? What the hell is he talking about? He hissed at the forefront of his mind, the distinct feeling of his anger hiding just behind his eyes. âShoot him, Israel. Shoot him now!â A voice in his head urged; his fingers twitched, but refrained from pulling the trigger. Was one life worth his own life? He ground his teeth against one another, steadying himself, his arm previously trembling. Just what... what did this woman know?
Knife versus rifle-- the scene played out in his mind. The hunter would rush forward, Israel would match him, the end of his barrel meeting the hunter's Adam's apple, the silver knife deep within Israel's abdomen. A death for a death. It felt right, somehow, but Israel knew better than to give up that easily.
Israel registered the hunterâs stance, squaring his own shoulders, feet holding him steady to the floor beneath them. I might be an abomination, an affront against God, and an unholy creature stuck to this earth for an eternity of suffering, but at least I am no longer a play toy, just doing as I'm told, with no thought of my own. The realization, for both of them, of who stood in front of them, hit Israel hard. Michael? He remembered the man, somewhat fondly-- though his memories felt hazy. They always ended up in this dance, didn't they? Israel sneered. Who is defective now?
"My mission is to eliminate you, Israel. This shouldâve been done long ago. Consider it a mercy killing."
As he heard his name, Israel leveled his weapon, right eye shut as he took aim. He would not move from his spot, not until he took his shot. He'd let the hunter make the first move. I don't kill innocents and claim it's all for the sake of divine judgment. The snarl on his lips spoke volumes. Michael, I don't want to kill you. His breathing leveled out, his entire form stilling, his shot lined up directly-- from the barrel to Michaelâs left eye, as Israel expected the hunter to shift left when the assault began. Still, he felt the hesitation in his arms. Daring a glance past Michael, Israel took in the sight of the flat wall coming up behind the hunter. If Michael lunged at him, he could... with the right shot, he could drop a few wooden beams and, giving himself time to escape, without seriously injuring either of them.
An idea, at least-- something to contemplate in the thick air surrounding them. He met eyes with Michael once more, his gun never shifting from its position, despite his minimal movement. He gulped down the saliva pooling in his mouth, waiting to react to the first sign of movement, finger sitting precariously on the trigger-- a twitch away from firing. "Why are you so desperate to live? Are you not their prisoner? What loyalty do you have to them?" He knew he'd attempt the escape route, even if he failed to dodge the oncoming knife. To spite you all. Blood marred whatever direction this duel took them, whether only one or the both of them finally landed a blow. Wriggling free from Michaelâs grasp, Israel started towards the forest from the West Side. If he could steer them towards familiar territory heâd have a better chance at ending this.
The distance between the two was great. Immediately Israel and his ranged weaponry had the advantage. Michael needed to close the distance and quick, being at this range with someone who so easily wielded a rifle was not a situation he preferred to stay in. Michael did his best to avoid incoming shots; keeping his body slim and side face just as he had always known. If he was to be hit by a bullet it would hit his arm, not his heart. Yet Israel knew better, it was Michaelâs head he was after.
Bullet after bullet was lost while Israel maintained his perfect distance, not too close to invite melee but not too far where Michael would be able to easily dodge. Did he mean to drain his stamina? In truth he had already taken on impeding wounds, yet Michael did his best not to make it known. Michael realized with as much fatigue as Israel planned to put him through the only option was to end it all with one move. The words of his commander rang through his ears, âA tiger uses all of his strength, even when hunting rodents!â He charged towards Israel as the paved streets gave way to dirt and green. Without time to blink he was upon the wolf, his weapon aimed to fish out the heart his commander desired. He feinted when he came within an inch of attack and reached for his combat knife. As he reached his arm back to plunge the blade deep into Israelâs neck. Behind him was the power of not just his sister, or even his commander but an entire. A war cry resonated in him ready to end this battle with one fell action.
âFill them!â He heard Yvetteâs voice, âFill your eyes with hatred!â He gazed with savage nature at the fearless eyes of Israel - faces only inches away. Time seemed to slow as he prepared to take life and his sisterâs words ricocheted in the depths of his mind, âAccept your violent fate! Accept it and prove you deserve such a legacy!â How⌠How could someone he had known for so long cause him to be filled with such revulsion? He asked himself who Israel represented, was his existence worthy of such loathing? He had never asked for this...
His eye caught the glimmer of something behind him as Yvette screamed and Michael missed Israelâs head completely as they fell to the ground.
âIs thatâŚ!â Michael panicked. An explosive⌠at that it was one of his own â a grenade! Michael would not bring explosives, and would never use one in such close-quarters. No help was requested on this mission, why did anyone feel the need to assist?! He knew not what came over him as he bit into his lip and exclaimed to Israel and Yvette, ââŚRun!â In a flash, he picked up the explosive and batted it into the high depths of the trees. With no time he dodged for cover and prayed fate let him see another day.
A cacophony of sound erupted from the grenade. Decades of dirt filled the surrounding area. Branches fell from the higher parts of the trees and came crashing down to the forest floor in a shudder. The proud forest now took heavy damage, smoke rising around them as they coughed. Shrapnel flew before Israelâs face and white-hot embers of burning flame sparked amongst the debris.
Michael could not think of this, his act of kindness was all that filled his head. He knew not why he felt the urge to protect him⌠Israel was his target and ending him here and now would have completed his task. He hated himself, not only for letting the target away but also for giving mercy to the abominations that did not return the kindness. This act of pity would dwell within his mind for the rest of his life. The vulnerability of human nature shook him and he was once again given a grim reminder of his own mortality amongst these eternal creatures.
The dust cleared, and gone was Israel. Michael stood up slowly and turned to see no enemy before him. His target was known for his perception and could have easily put a bullet between his eyes before Michaelâs vision cleared came to and yet⌠he did not. While Michael aimed to kill him, Israel only aimed to escape. Consumed by regret, Michael threw his knife and empty rifle to the ground in a tantrum. He screamed into the acoustics of the forest with a rage suffice for a millennia. To report to his commander a failure was to him as worse as not reporting back at all.
âIâm going to make you suffer in this life, and the next⌠Israel Skelton.â
He spotted this squadron, of whom was responsible for the display of such poor combat tactics and immediately began to determine an adequate retribution for letting Israel get away. If they survived that is.Â
With this ears still ringing from the blast Israel ran. His legs did not stop pumping as he steered himself back towards the city. He would let those things handle the hunters he had abandoned in the forests. Surely the blast would draw their attention. If not his fellow wolves would descend upon them. Coughing smoke from his lungs, bleary eyes squinted against burning tears as he tried to get his whereabouts. His body doubled over to catch his breath as his once proud posture caved. Body sinking to the pavement, as he fell hard to his knees. His mind screamed to keep moving. But he couldnât bring himself to move an inch. He would rest... just for a minute...
It was at that moment he realized... today was his birthday...
Disclaimer: Tried to figure how the whole zombie!Is would play into the main-verse and came up with this. Because I highly doubt he came away from the whole dying ordeal mentally unscathed. The closest thing I could think of was a resulting head injury resulting in seizures. Did he just hit his head? Did he attempt to beat the nightmares of his untimely demise out of his head? He doesnât know.
Date: December 1st, 2019
Israel blinked, bleary-eyed and slow, working through a thick fog. Damn. A faraway voice asked a question but he didnât know what. He shook his head to the best of his ability. His jaw worked to form words before remembering that he had no voice. A frown forming across his face as his surroundings came into view. He was in a hospital bed? The lazy beat of his heart picked up â almost imperceptibly, and he wondered not for the first time if heâd been drugged. It was hard to tell. Sometimes his body seemed halfway to shutting down of its own accord. Maybe this was one of those times. How long has it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? Time has no concept here... Staring blankly at the ceiling he willed movement to seep into his tired limbs. Yet, the sluggish appendages wouldnât move. Slowly rolling is head to the side, dark rimmed eyes fell upon the thick restraints holding him down. An empty gnawing feeling ripping at his belly. Panic seizing him as the walls felt like they were closing in as the reality of his situation hit him full-force like a swift gut punch.
Date: December 10th, 2019Â
A nurse appeared at his bedside, shoving a thermometer past his lips. He choked slightly, a soundless gasp leaving him. Her words seemed directed inward. Talking to herself. Working through some problem of how to get what she wanted from a body that didnât know how to cooperate. He wouldâve given it to her if he could. Resistance didnât seem important anymore, and he hardly remembered why it once had. But they wouldnât tell him what to do. They were waiting for something, a âreactionâ of some sort. And they wouldnât tell him what they wanted. He started seizing. His body jerks and shakes against the bed, like a fish trashing on the line. Eyes rolling back into his head as he drug down into the darkness again. A flurry of bodies hurry into the room and all Israel can think of is the sweet release of death. But it doesnât come.Â
Date: December 15th, 2019
A nurse is preparing a syringe now, her ghost mouth still making ghost words, and he jerked away without thinking about it. He shut his eyes as she presses the medication into the carefully placed IV. His breathing became thin and strained. There was a loud noise and he thought maybe it was the sound of dying. For the first time in weeks, the spark of survival instinct surged through Israel Skelton. Heat followed on the heels of adrenaline, a fever so powerful he felt dizzy with it. The code over the PA going ignored as he threw his energy into the struggle, panting hard, and he couldnât tell now whether this heat came from his labors or from the wolf that waited below his skin. The tube hitting the back of his throat burnt and eyes water, and he fought harder.
Infinitesimal though his progress may be, it was progress, progress he could feel, and he refused to stop now. There were spots exploding in his eyes as hands gripped his shoulder and forced him back, and the heat was thick enough to choke on. They pressed harder on his shoulder, trying to force him back. Shaking hands moving to rip the tube snaked down his throat from his nose as he readjusted to life unimpeded. Someone was screaming. And finally, he turned his head to face her, to see what on earth was happening; the clouds in his thoughts prevented him from worrying too much about her apparent distress, but the screaming wouldnât stop and it was waking fresh fear in his chest, ringed by vestiges of memory.Â
Her hand.
He had broken her hand.
He turned on her like a whip, hunger taking over his thoughts. Blood sprayed against pale flesh. His flesh. He blinks. His stomach clenches and he stumbles away. The door was stuck and the noises outside were getting louder, making themselves clear: they had heard him. What had they given him? He was certain he was drugged now, and all this was a hallucination. Nothing else made sense. Israel moved into the hallway, swaying on feet that hadnât supported his body in god knows how long. Months? Or had it been longer? Not so long? The days were one long agony. Pain filled his lungs, scorching the inside of his throat, and he dropped to his knees in a fit of coughing. The fever was dripping away; strange since it was so much hotter out here than it had been in his room. Exhaustion rolled over him in unforgiving waves but he ignored it. He would never have a chance like this again. If he failed now, heâd spend the rest of his life in this place â what little of his life remained, anyway. He didnât know where he was going. Beneath the screams and blaring alarms, Israel Skelton dragged himself toward freedom. He was almost at the end of the corridor when his strength gave out. His left arm, which barely supported his weight anyway. The gashes heâs carved into his skin a few days prior are bleeding again and weakening with every movement. With the door to the stairwell insight, his arm collapses under him and sent him gasping to the floor. The drugs⌠it was the drugs⌠His head was spinning. He could hear a familiar voice but the words it spoke were gibberish and it took him several long seconds to realize it wasnât there at all. Move. He urged his body. Move. If you stay here you may as well die. Again, that thread of will and adrenaline pulsed through him. He got his right arm beneath him and trembling, pushed himself back onto his knees. His left arm refused to cooperate and there was a dull ache spreading through it that would kill tomorrow. Goddammit. He tried to gather his breath and his body rebelled against every attempt. The sedative heâd been given earlier was curling around his consciousness and dragging him under. He leaned against the wall. Maybe if he shut his eyes for just a second, heâd feel better when they openedâŚ
Date: December 16th, 2019
The wolf jerked awake. It was all a fever dream. He didnât realize heâd fallen asleep until the beeping had started up again â a few minutes too late, he couldnât help but notice. His eyes opened as if they were fighting the weight of the world, but they got there eventually. Someone was coming toward him, moving swiftly towards him with a single-minded purpose. Before he could think better of it, his hand shot out and made a grab for her. He raised his head, searching for her eyes through the drug-induced haze and his own mental haze, and when he thought he had her attention he tried to force the words from his stale and unused throat: âHelp me get out of here.â She didnât look like a doctor, not with the way she was dressed. A hand moved to affectionately pat his cheek before her face surfaced and he stared in horror.Â
Mor?
Was this some kind of nightmare? It had to beâŚÂ
What are you doing here? Why am I here? He signed frantically, his signs barely coherent. âYou had an accident. Itâs okay.â His mother continues to smile but it is anything but reassuring. Itâs fake and he can tell because it doesnât meet her eyes. âDo you remember anything?â She asks. He shakes his head. No. He remembers nothing. She sits on the edge of his bed, a hand moving to rest on his leg. He flinches and she frowns. A silent apology forms on his lips and she nods in acceptance. Her phone buzzes but she ignores it. âThe Chateau informed us that they found you on the floor of your cell unconscious. You were unresponsive. Your father believes you had a Tonic-clonic seizure. Seeing as your brother was prone to them, I wouldnât be surprised ifââ She stops mid-sentence, dark eyes narrowing in disapproval. Itâs a genetic mutation? The look of disgust on Israelâs face doesnât go unnoticed at the mention of his brother. âDonât give me that look.â Her voice is cold now. Israel smirks. What look? His mother looks resigned. âYou know I postponed a very important call to come all this wayâŚâ Israel looks down, picking at the tape on his IV. I didnât ask you to be here. He looks up. That was your choice. His mother sighs, clearly not wanting to argue. âYes, well this may be hard for you to comprehend, but, your father and I worry about you.â Thatâs bullshit and you know it! A hand connects with his cheek leaving a burning red mark. He looks taken aback for a moment as the she-wolf lowers her hand. âIsraelâŚâ She starts. Heâs shaking now. Out of anger - not fear. Just get the fuck out! Youâve done enough! With that, she gets up abruptly and leaves. Heels clicking angrily across the floor before they disappear. Only the sting of her touch and the smell of her perfume lingers. Feeling tears well in his eyes, he lets them fall, a shudder passing through him. Silently he tries to piece together the fragments of the strange dream. Or maybe a nightmare is a more accurate word. He died? Was dead? Had been dead? He didnât know. None of it makes sense. Hearing the door open he brushes them away. Hearing the intruding footfalls he huddles under the blanket as the guards come back in.
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ÎΚοί ÎłÎąĎ ÎżĎ Î´ÎľÎŻĎ ÎżÎ˝ ĎĎοιΚĎξίĎιΚ βίον. Nobody lives the life he chooses to live.
At this point, heâd rather they just lobotomize him. It would save them a lot more trouble. And him a lot less suffering. As the agonizing moments went on, he sunk to his knees. No doubt this would leave its marks on not only his body but his mind and soul. With every lash, he threw his head pain in a silenced howl, pain contorting his face as sweat and blood mixed. By the time they were done with him, he couldnât stand, his body sinking to the ground. His backside reduced to hanging ribbons of flesh. It was just a stupid rabbit...
A knot twisting in his stomach for what was to follow. Left to hang? Struggling weakly against the guards, he felt a wave of a nauseated panic surged through him, feeling them tie a noose around his neck. Maybe if he was lucky it would snap his neck. Maybe it would decapitate him. Closing his eyes as they strung him up. He felt like a piĂąata - now all they needed were a bunch of sticks. He almost laughed at the thought, until they dropped him and he struggled against the rope, clawing desperately with wide eyes. Closure of carotid arteries causing cerebral hypoxia. Closure of the jugular veins. Closure of the airway. Cervical fracture causing traumatic spinal cord injury. Unintended decapitation. Well, at least he could rule out the last one.Â
Still kicking and struggling against the rope, his fingers clawed as he desperately tried to loosen it. He could only stare out at those around him as this struggle went on for an hour before he went limp and passed out.
Israelâs eyes shot open, frantically trying to get his bearings. It had just been a horrible nightmare. Well, a memory... But where was he? His hazy vision coming back into focus. It all came flooding back to him. In the chaos, he had been separated from his platoon. Most of which had been killed off. There were only eight of them left after the hybrids had ambushed them. And now he didnât know where they were... or if they were alive. Maximus had knocked him out cold after saving him too. Looking around at the familiar interior he soon realized where he was. He mustâve brought him back to Deacon. Stumbling to his feet he started heading towards the door. Hearing Deacon call out to him, he turned and looked to the human. Iâll be fine. He signed before heading out the door. Rules. He had never been much for them. âSorry Maximus.â He thought to himself. He knew the other wolf would probably want him to stay put. But he just couldnât - that wasnât his style. Continuing down the burning streets, a silent prayer forming on his lips. Like hell, he was going to sit around while innocent people died. He may hate this cesspool of a city but he refused to watch innocents die. He had already watched that during the Factory explosion...
None of those experiments deserved that fate...
The employees, the scientists, yes...
But not the experiments...
Screams caught his attention, his head turning towards a building, orange flames crawling out of a window. Lapping like tongues against the brick and mortar. The blaze enamoring for a moment. Swallowing thickly he surged forward, he didnât have time to spare. Keeping low and trying to minimize smoke inhalation, his eyes burned as he made his way down the hall. Locking onto two huddled shapes in the bedroom he made his way to them. A mother and her young daughter. Wordlessly he took the daughter and put her over his shoulder and grabbed the womanâs hand. Once they were out onto the street he checked them out of wounds. He couldn't see any aside from a few scrapes and bruises. âIsrael!â A familiar voice yelled, catching the wolfâs attention. A few battered and bloody members of his platoon ran up. They looked rough but at least they were standing. As far as he could tell they were fine. Lead these two back to Deacon - or to the hospital if possible. I am going to sweep the parameter. One of the other wolves started to argue but the wolf shook his head. I can do this on my own. Take them and go. Three of the seven left wolves hung back. âYouâre insane if you think weâre leaving your crazy ass behind.â Smiling at the other prisoners he nodded before they fanned out. They would check every building and every house if they had to. Pulling body after body out, he felt adrenaline racing through him, his body moving mechanically on instinct. Just get the people out...
âWeâve got company!â One of the wolves stated, pointing a finger down the road. Hunters. Five of them. A sinking feeling formed in Israelâs stoamch. âWhat do we do? Itâs five against three.â âFight I guess.â âAnd if we die?â Then we die. âBut we donât have weapons.â Take theirs then. Kill them. Splitting between the alleys they launched themselves at the hunters. Israel grabbed one from behind and wrestled his rifle free by cutting the leather strap, the human barely able to cry out as Israel slashing his neck. Using him as a human shield as one of the hunters shot. He had never been one for guns but in this case, he would make an exception.
Feeling one of the bullets pass through the body and into his abdomen. He grunted. Using the pain to fuel his anger, he took the empty gun and hit the hunter in the jaw with the butt. Breaking it. The human stumbled, Israelâs hand clamping around his neck. Digging his fingers into the humanâs neck, choking him with a smirk. Nice try. He clutched him harder, nails penetrating his neck, the body going limp before he retracted his now bloody hand. A gun shot and a howl of pain caught his attention. Turning to the other two wolves, he frowned as one clutched at his side, blood gushing between tightened fingers. They had dispatched the other two and tag-teamed the last. The hunterâs body dismembered and blood on their hands. They were about to turn around and head back to safety before the sound of footsteps stopped them. Hybrids.
Taking the rifle Israel shot at one of them. But it didnât fall dead. Was it him or were they bigger than the last? As they closed in on the group he realized they were bigger. They grabbed the injured prisoner and they. It had all happened so fast. One of the creatures had launched itself from a fire escape at the two prisoners. âJust run!â They yelled to Israel, fear in their eyes. It was no use. They were going to die. Israel knew this. Turning he ran through the blood-soaked streets, two of those things on his heels. Shooting at them blindly he hoped he had landed some shots before the rifle jammed. Running into one of the houses, Israel shut the door, knocking furniture over in his wake. Anything to slow them down. He stopped at the stairs, turning to the kitchen. He would just trap himself upstairs. One of the explosions rocked the house, sending pictures and paintings toppling.
âAllfather, you gave me strength, may I use it; you gave me courage; may I follow it; you gave me wisdom; may I share it.â
Hearing one of the hybrids bashing at the door and shrieking to get in, he braced himself against the kitchen counter. Unjamming the gun as it came barreling towards him, he fired and kept firing into it. And it just kept coming till it was on him. Knocking him against the counter, his head hit the cabinet, causing him to slump to the ground. The hybrid pounced on him, its face inches from his neck. Moving his neck and using his arm to block itâs snapping jaws from ripping his throat, he felt its teeth pierce his skin down to the bone and yank. He wasnât going to die here. Not like this. Not when he finally had a reason to live. Reaching up with his other hand, his hand clamped around its face, pushing against it. It was still somewhat human which meant... His palm digging into its nose - breaking it with a crunch. He could hear another coming to its aid as it cried out. Blood spraying him in the face from its gaping mouth. He could hear another in the living room... Suddenly the one on top of him fell limp. Dead. He held his breath, listening. Silence. Pushing the creature off him with his injured arm, he stumbled to his feet, kicking it in the side. Nothing. Grabbing a pan on the stove, he smacked it in the head. Just in case. Limping out of the kitchen he looked to the dead one on the ground. Stooping to the ground, he pulled out its stilled heart. Again, just in case.
Limping out of the house, he felt raindrops on his cheek, thunder roaring in place of explosions. He let the rain wash over him, soaking him and cleansing him of the blood. He was alive. He had made it. Staggering off towards the hospital, he searched the roads, clutching his arm to his chest as he limped. With every step, he winced. He could try to reach the bullet, but he wasnât sure what it was made from. It just burnt and hurt like hell. As he made his way up to the hospital doors, he could tell it would already be crowded and he didnât have much time. Turning around he made his way to his home. He didnât have time to do the patch job himself but he could take something to make the pain more bearable.
Making his way up the stairs of his home, he entered the house, tracking blood on the pristine white the floor. Stepping over glass he realized someone had broken in through the window. Lovely. Making a bee-line to his lab, he fished through the cabinets for supplies. Jamming painkillers down his throat - he didn't care that he would pay later. Hell, they were probably expired but he didnât care. Sitting on the table he cleaned and bandaged the bite marks on his arm. If he had more time he would do more but he didnât have that luxury. Lifting his shirt, he looked at the bullet wound. Standing up he hobbled to the computer and reset the house alarms. His parents would be notified of the break-in. If they didnât already know. Sending them a quick text he then shut the computer down. He had to get back to the Chateau. Stuffing a small medical bag with a few things he then left the house and headed towards the city center again. A frown pulled at his face as he came upon the bodies of his fallen platoon, the ones who had taken the mother and child. Thankfully, they werenât lying there so he could safely assume they had got them to Deacon. Or so he hoped. Stooping to close their eyes, he then continued on his way. Falling onto the steps of the Chateau, exhausted, bloody, and worn. He had made it.
Despite never wanting to admit his true feelings and emotions (When he actually had them), Israel truly did love these moments. You know, the moments when all three of them were together, avoiding confinement and trouble for the time being. There was a small, tiny part of Israelâs mind that kind of liked feeling, well normal. Like they were normal teenagers, hanging out at a local hangout. Sometimes he would daydream about it. Where they werenât confined to cages, and no one was screaming bloody murder. Sure it was a daydream, and there was a 99% chance it would never happen, but that was because it was a dream. It wasnât supposed to happen, and it never would. Why? Because they were locked in here and way too mental to be let out into the world. Take Israel for example. He found peoples minds too easy to control, most people allowed themselves to be taken over by emotions; such as fear, love, compassion, and humility. Israel, however, felt none of those; he was a Sociopath and even worse, he was one of many. He had lost track of all the times he would look out from his cage, an obsessed look in his eye, warning them that they were now on his shit list, they were now his. To him, it was fun, to them, torture.
For that sole, terrifying reason, Israel doubted he would ever be apart of society ever again.
He had to be strong. He was the oldest, he had to be strong. He had to be strong now because they were all dead and he was still standing. He was the last one standing. The last sentient one at least. The others didnât think like him. They didnât feel like him. They were just hollow copies. They held no memories. They had no emotions. No, they were just copies of a copy.Â
He had to survive. He had to adapt.
The faint pinprick of a childhood memory was pushed from his thoughts.
Just keep moving. Left... right... left... right...
Israel hadnât understood any of it. He hadnât been born into pack life. Heâd never understood the importance of a pack other than safety in numbers. And the hunters had completely thrown him through a loop. He supposed it was kinda like most wars where no one really knows what theyâre fighting for or what it's about. Except for the Civil War, that was pure racism. His emotions on the whole traitor announcement were pretty calm compared to others. If anything he was mostly confused. He didnât understand what the big deal was and itâs not like he could raise his hand and explain his confusion without coming off as a dense idiot. One would assume heâd know all this by now but he tended to keep his head out of Covaire pack business - especially now as an Omega. To him being a werewolf was just PMSing and furring out once a month and that was that.
Weighing the heavy object within his hands, he ignored the itch of dried blood on his skin and continued to walk down the desolate streets. Smoke billowed out from the cigarette, the scent drowning out the stench of death. All of this was causing the wolfâs tension to tighten into a nicely wound ball. So, he smoked. And smoked. And, well, smoked again. Yes, sadly, he had gone through two cigarettes before the one he currently held onto. It was a better alternative than lashing out at people when they didnât really deserve it. Even if he may have thought some of them did. But, then again, heâd also probably be dead.
That simple fact not only caused him to stay with the group of prisoners he patrolled around with but also brought a crease to his brows as he brought the smoke back to his lips. He was on watch till further notice; though there wasnât much of anything going on to sate his bloodlust. A few mutts here and there easily disposed of. Another long stream of smoke came out from the cigarette, the length of it half ash at this point. Sighing, Israel snuffed it out and slid a pair of earbuds from his jacket pocket as he sat on the hood of a police car. A guard had ushered the wolf over and ordered him to head to the center of the city and get the civilians to safety. Like the obedient little soldier he was supposedly made to be he nodded and headed off in the direction of the explosions. They werenât sending him into the center of the city. They were sending him into a fucking warzone. So, he prayed to the Gods of old.
So many words could sum up how he was feeling right now, but for the time being, he decided on only one word. Crap. Israel sighed in frustration, running a cold hand down his face. The sound of death settling upon them as the hum of war grew louder and louder. An ominous hum over the shouts and cries of men, women, and children. Gunfire sputtering, the blast of explosions, bodies moving to take shelter. Garbled shouts and cries rising above the chaos. A lump rose in Israel's throat. He could hear people crying, praying and shouting loud enough to obscure the rattling sound of explosions. Before Israel could make sense of the situation, a blonde-haired prisoner rushed right past him, eyes wide and panic-stricken. There was a brief moment when he made eye contact with the young wolf. Are you stupid?! The mute called soundlessly, surging forward from the car he was hidden by. Ignoring the explosions around him, he lunged for the other. Cursing softly under his breath Israel grabbed the other by the wrist and tugging him roughly into an alley with him, practically throwing the prisoner into the dirt. The boy cursed in a familiar tongue, wincing as he looked at his leg, a piece of shrapnel jutting out. It was bleeding heavily and the boy was speaking rapidly in a thick tongue, much like Israelâs own native language. Swedish?
This one was a foreign import - just like him.
The smell of blood from multiple sources caused the older to grimace, and at the same moment, he saw flames exploding around him, smoke devouring the surroundings right in front of him. Deep hazel eyes dared to open, squinting at smoke seeping into his eyes. Dry, pale lips parted emitting an even drier rasp. Israel coughed ash and dust from his lungs. Gasping heavily he sputtered and choked on the thick, smoke-laden air. His eyes flickered open and he let out a small, rattling breath. He sucked his breath in, unable to breathe properly for a moment. Glancing down he was relieved to find that the other was still alive as he stirred from his cowering position. The other wolf crawled toward him, his body quivering and the smell of urine and waste was unmistakable. Judging by the mortified look on his face the other had soiled himself. Not that Israel could blame him.
War. So strange, so unexpected, it was jarring to witness with your own eyes. Israel closed his eyes, trying to slow his wild breathing and his racing heart. Choking and coughing on the dust that seeped into his lungs, Israel blinked his reddened eyes over and over. A hand waving dismissively at the otherâs thanks as he hissed silently in pain. They didnât seem too far apart in age. However, that thought didnât linger for too long. They had to keep moving or they were as good as dead.
Death washed over them. Their nostrils were tainted with the rot of flesh, and his eyes blurred from the foul scents that wafted through the stagnant air. His eyes narrowed while simultaneously contracting the muscles and tendons in his hand into a fist of pure agitation in reaction to the affection and pain that permeated each silent syllable that left him. Jealousy was a horrid monster, and Israel found that he was having more difficulty each day out in this prison of a city. Would someone mourn for him the way he mourned? Israel wanted to believe that someone would. That someone would cry until there were no more tears in their eyes, and the loss of him would simply be too much; however, Israel was no fool, and nothing escaped his observant eyes. No one would care, he was a peon.
Heâd cling to life like a bug and work out the details later. If there even was a later. There was blood and mud and grime and God only knew what else spattered across him. In the flickering light, his skin was shockingly white, sickly and glittering in a sheen of sweat. Forever the acrid stench of death would linger in his mind. This is was putrid death, neither glorious nor victorious. There was no means to this madness; it was a meaningless bloodbath. This bloodbath he could witness with disgust, but would not allow himself to flee. He had, after all, killed many in his own lifetime with no mercy or remorse; the only difference was that this carnage was pointless and he saw that now. Red seeping into his vision from the anger that swelled in his heart.
Grabbing the prisoner and running out of the alleyway, he dragged the weak body behind him. A horde of civilians separated them. Three hybrids descending upon them like some kind of hellish nightmare. His comrade stumbled in the crowd and fell, crying feebly for Israel to help him. Looking around confused between the smoke in his eyes and the explosions, his watery gaze locked onto the blonde laying in the street. Cursing Israel turned in an attempt to double back and grab him. He would carry him if he had to. The boy crawled desperately, tears in his eyes. Much to Israelâs horror, he watched as the hybrids sprang towards him, cutting Israel off from the other wolf. He could only listen to the boy scream out as they literally ripped him limb from limb, his face bashed and bloodied into the concrete, eyes gouged out and claw marks down his face, bits of flesh torn in chunks...
âMove. Move or that will be you!â His mind screamed. Swallowing the bile burning the back of his throat. He turned and ran. Feet slamming against the pavement and not stopping. Do what you do best: Adapt. Survive. Beat the odds. His heart beating to that bullshit mantra as he stumbled to a stop in front of a police SUV.