#ccsolo

It hit Israel like a train. His hand went to his stomach. He wasn’t 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 couldn’t go back there. He couldn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 he’d be yelling up a storm, for that’s 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 he’d 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t 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 couldn’t 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 father’s knuckles digging hard into the top of his head in an act of “affection”. 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 he’d slowly, ever so slowly started to bare the choking feeling. His breathing was ragged and his father’s 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 didn’t 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 ‘Israel’ 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 mother’s eyes and that expression on her face, shit was going to get real and the real ‘fun’ was about to start.

Israel began his small attempt to wiggle out of his father’s grip, he’d always been capable of squeezing his way out of his tight grip, but it didn’t 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 ‘heat up’, 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 ‘talk’ 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. “Your fazer und I 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.” With that, she gave a pointed look to the guards and walked away. Her heels clicking down the hall as Israel’s 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. 

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.

Israel’s 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. “Israel, you know your limitations. Just give up. You won’t win.” 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. “You don’t remember do you? That’s a shame...” As the female spoke, Israel caught his breath; they both enjoyed this short respite, surely. “Why would he, Yvette? He was drugged half the time?”

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 hunter’s 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. “If 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 hunter’s 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. “Shoot him, Israel. Shoot him now!” 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 hunter’s 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 should’ve 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 Michael’s 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 Michael’s grasp, Israel started towards the forest from the West Side. If he could steer them towards familiar territory he’d 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 Michael’s 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, “A tiger uses all of his strength, even when hunting rodents!” 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 Israel’s 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.

“Fill them!” He heard Yvette’s voice, “Fill your eyes with hatred!” 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 sister’s words ricocheted in the depths of his mind, “Accept your violent fate! Accept it and prove you deserve such a legacy!” 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 Israel’s head completely as they fell to the ground.

“Is that…!” Michael panicked. An explosive… at that it was one of his own – 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, “…Run!” 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 Israel’s 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 Michael’s 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.

“I’m going to make you suffer in this life, and the next… Israel Skelton.”

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. 

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 couldn’t bring himself to move an inch. He would rest... just for a minute...

It was at that moment he realized... today was his birthday...

Date: December 10th, 2019 

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 didn’t know how to cooperate. He would’ve given it to her if he could. Resistance didn’t seem important anymore, and he hardly remembered why it once had. But they wouldn’t tell him what to do. They were waiting for something, a “reaction” of some sort. And they wouldn’t 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 doesn’t come. 

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 couldn’t 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 wouldn’t stop and it was waking fresh fear in his chest, ringed by vestiges of memory. 

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 hadn’t 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, he’d spend the rest of his life in this place – what little of his life remained, anyway. He didn’t 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 he’s 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 wasn’t 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 he’d 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, he’d feel better when they opened…

Date: December 16th, 2019

The wolf jerked awake. It was all a fever dream. He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the beeping had started up again – a few minutes too late, he couldn’t 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: “Help me get out of here.” She didn’t 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. 

Mor?

Was this some kind of nightmare? It had to be… 

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 didn’t 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 woman’s 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. “Israel!” A familiar voice yelled, catching the wolf’s 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. “You’re insane if you think we’re leaving your crazy ass behind.” 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...

“We’ve got company!” One of the wolves stated, pointing a finger down the road. Hunters. Five of them. A sinking feeling formed in Israel’s stoamch. “What do we do? It’s five against three.” “Fight I guess.” “And if we die?” Then we die. “But we don’t have weapons.” 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, Israel’s hand clamping around his neck. Digging his fingers into the human’s 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 hunter’s 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 didn’t 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. “Just run!” 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.

‘Allfather, you gave me strength, may I use it; you gave me courage; may I follow it; you gave me wisdom; may I share it.’

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 it’s snapping jaws from ripping his throat, he felt its teeth pierce his skin down to the bone and yank. He wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t have much time. Turning around he made his way to his home. He didn’t have time to do the patch job himself but he could take something to make the pain more bearable.

Israel hadn’t understood any of it. He hadn’t been born into pack life. He’d 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 they’re 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 didn’t understand what the big deal was and it’s not like he could raise his hand and explain his confusion without coming off as a dense idiot. One would assume he’d 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 wolf’s 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 didn’t really deserve it. Even if he may have thought some of them did. But, then again, he’d 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 wasn’t 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 weren’t sending him into the center of the city. They were sending him into a fucking warzone. So, he prayed to the Gods of old.

‘Heill Dagr, heilir Dags Synir, heil Nott oc nipt! Oreiþom augom litiþ ocr þinig oc gefit sitiondom sigr...’

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 Israel’s 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 other’s thanks as he hissed silently in pain. They didn’t seem too far apart in age. However, that thought didn’t 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.

He’d 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 Israel’s 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...

‘Move. Move or that will be you!’ 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.