[Ashgate Penitentiary, Southern Virginia, United States, 2135 hours, December of 1994 ]
Lieutenant Everett Landon, the on-duty Watch Commander for the night shift, was already having one hell of a night. Two drunks, one tweaker and a dozen or so other intakes was making the short handed booking area of Ashgate Penitentiary have to work extra hard to get all the processing procedures done in a timely manner. "Next please." Everett shouted, dismissing the inmate currently at the front desk, who took his things to the waiting area.
"H-hello..." The scrawny, middle aged man nearly whimpered as he approached. He was shivering, even though the room was at a neutral temperature. He was obviously scared out of his wits.
"Name and number."
"Edward, sir. Edward Dimple. Five, one, zero, o-one...t...tw..." And the man fell down, a crumpled heap of tears and wailing. Everett rolled his eyes to the ceiling, hearing the man pleading, begging to be taken home. That he was innocent. 'Dear...lord...' Everett thought to himself. He waved over at a couple of other officers who came over to help the man up and back to the waiting area to calm down.
Ashgate was not as large as some of the other prisons in Virginia, but was categorically the most diverse in terms of what kinds of inmates the facility could house. Crazies? Check. Medically impaired? Check. Pedophiles, axe murderers, drug dealers? Check, check, and check. In fact, there really wasn't a kind of inmate that the facility could not take. This helped with finances, due to the inmates having to pay a dollar to stay in the facility, but it was stressful on the officers cause of all the different people they were trained to deal with. It was like glorified babysitting. But babysitting where the kids can kill you and you still get paid like shit.
Everett called the next inmate up, who was having a phenomenally better day than Mr. Dimple was. But something was weighing on Everett's mind. He had gotten a call about a mental inmate being brought in. Some guy involved in a series of murders, one of the survivors. Whether it was survivors guilt, or what have you else, the guy went nuts. Killed his whole family, came at the cops like a maniac. They had to put him down with a tazer, cuffed him, and were bringing him to the facility now.
Everett's night could not possibly get any worse.
"Name and number please..."
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[Fifth and Sutton Dr., Squad car Unit 5, In transit to Ashgate Pen., 2140 hours]
"Unit five, ten seventeen your twenty. E.T.A., five mikes." Officer Ryan Durst let go of the mic's button, static flaring over the radio for a brief moment. Then another brief moment of white noise, a woman's voice coming over the radio. "Ten four, unit five. See you then." The woman was the dispatcher from the prison, someone working the master control unit in the tower, directing traffic two and from the booking area of the prison.
Brian's partner, a rookie named Hunter Clemmons, was in the passenger seat fiddling with his handcuff key. Brian could tell his partner was nervous, especially with a ten ninety six in the back. A ten ninety six is the ten code designation for a crazy or insane individual. They were the most volatile, and most officer's loathed the probability of handling one of them.
"Can't stand this shit, man." Clemmons mumbled, flipping his key gingerly in his left hand, the jingling of the key rings ringing out in the front cabin of the squad car. "Too many others could have done this. Hazing the rookie should have ended months ago."
"Quit your bitchin, rook." Durst laughed, looking over at his partner for brief second before returning his attention to the road. "All of us went though it. Think of this as a 'coming of age' step of your progress. You need the experience sooner or later. Might as well get it out of the way."
"Vârcolac...Vârcolac...Vârcolac..." the man mumbled in the back seat, his eyes straight forward and wide. They shimmered, almost glazed over, and his pupils were dilated to the point where neither iris' color was visible. His hair was matted, ruffled this way and that almost like he just woke up a moment ago, his mouth barely moved except to repeat the words head been saying the entire time. "Vârcolac...Vârcolac...Vârcolac..." his body was hunched over, already in full waist, wrist and ankle restraints. He almost looked in pain. His skin was pale and sweaty, his breathing was shallow and raspy. He only took in breath silently, and when he exhaled, it was only to say, "Vârcolac...Vârcolac...Vârcolac..."
"I really wish he'd stop saying that. It's really getting on my damn nerves!" Clemmons exclaimed as he looked up at the ceiling of the car. The front of the vehicle was, for the most part, cut off from the back seat where the perp was mumbling that weird word over and over. It was separated by a perforated steal gate that was bolted to the frame of the old crown vic police car, and had a dark tinted plexiglas panel fitted over top from the front. However, there was a square cut out in between the front drivers and passengers seats, allowing the officers to hear what was going on in the back. But right now, it was that droning, repetitive word the guy kept saying.
Durst took a sharp turn onto Parksley road, the crown vic's engine rumbling and growling as it picked up speed after the turn. Parksley was a rural, country road that lead out of town and towards the prison. The moon was shining high in the sky that night. The bright, full orb giving a blue ambiance to the thick grouping of tree's on either side of the road.
"What the hell does that mean? Varc...Vercilic? Varcoluc?"
"It's just him being crazy. Don't pay attention to it. Doesn't mean anything." Durst laughed at his partner's exasperation, the rookie not realizing that he was being just as annoying as the crazy in the back.
"Vârcolac...Vârcolac...Vârcolac..."
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[Ashgate Penitentiary, 2250 hours, Psych Housing Unit One]
"Ten four, Master Control. Inmate Doe is still immobile. Restraints are secure." Officer Ward said over the radio, the old man's shaky hand releasing the call button on his mic. Once the radio's static had died, Ward's partner, Officer Washington, said in a tone of nonchalance, "They say he went psychotic, but he was pretty easy to get in the chair. Usually the really loopy ones like this have major issues going in. This guy...he's a bit too docile, dontcha think?"
The man had been, indeed, quite passive going into the full restrain chair. The chair itself was heat treated, reinforced steel frame with waterproof foam cushions to keep agitation to a minimum when one would struggle. The chairs restraints included neck stabilizer, handcuffs and wrist straps, waist chain and wrist straps and ankle cuffs and calf straps. a metal plate under the individual's feet kept them from dangling or getting caught up in the wheels on the bottom of the chair, which were used sparingly to get the individual restrained from medical and back to his cell with minimal incidents.
Both men sat in the small control booth for the psych housing unit, the booth having a single computer and several monitors to observe the inmates as the slept with cameras. The area itself was like a giant tomahawk: one long hallway like the handle, consisting of the closely monitored individuals, from suicides to crazed murderers. then there were two offshoot rooms, called quads. Five cells each, a T.V. and a microwave. Those were just for the mentally handicapped, non-violent offenders. The far ends of each quad converged on a single point, forming the 'blade' of the tomahawk shape, the control booth being located between the two quads and the hallway. All of this was colored in an almost snot green that was oddly appropriate for the area.
"So, the irony is, this guy apparently 'snaps'..." Washington made air quotes with his fingers, "...and kills his family. But the guy a few doors down from him...there. Cell five." Washington brought up the camera for room five on the screen. "This is the bastard that tried to do that guy in. He was brought in a few days ago. Funny how that works, you know? You survive that guy trying to cut you heart out, literally, only to lose it cause of the stress and kill your own family. What a shame..."
The camera stayed on the individual, a young, college age man. Broad shoulders, strong jawline, a bit of facial hair but not much. he had straight, well maintained hair, the black strands sitting handsomely on his head. He sat in his cell, arms folded in front of him, his eyes weren't darting around the room, they were set in front of him, focused the two different colored iris's, red and blue, completely set in their position. There was, however, a blemish on his otherwise perfect looking persona. The long, jagged, painful looking scars, starting from mid cheek and traveling down the side of his neck could be seen. They looked animal in origin. He slowly rose to his feet, his green jumper buttoned up neatly. For a psychopath, this guy kept himself very well mannered. The man walked to the door of cell five and slowly began to flash his light. Over and over again. This caught Officer Ward's attention, who swore under his breath.
"What does he want?!" he shouted, looking over at the clock and sighing. It was time for a security round, anyway, having just turned eleven. "I'll see what he wants."
Exiting the control booth, Ward walked briskly over to cell number five, the light finally not blinking. The younger guy was standing there, arms folded behind his back, looking passively at Ward. "Thank you for seeing me, Officer."
"Out with it. I don't have all night mister...um..." The guard thought for a moment. For the life of him, Ward couldn't remember the kids name. "It's Kail, sir. Zacharias Kail. And if you want to live through the night, you'll need to listen to what I have to say..."
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[Booking, 2315 hours]
"He said WHAT?!" Everett couldn't believe his ears. This kid, Zacharial Kail, who'd just finished murdering seventeen people, just said they needed to kill his the man that would have been his victim had the police hadn't arrested him in the act. Apparently, he had seen the officers bring him down to the same area as he was being housed. It was...it was almost laughable. Ward down in the psych housing unit had called to inform him of what Kail had said.
"Tell him that he can shove it up his ass, I don't want to hear from that lunatic again."
"I gotcha, L T. I was just thinking you'd get a kick out of..."
BOOMBOOMBOOM!
"What the hell was that, Ward?" Landon said, standing up. He looked over at a few officers who nodded, walking towards the Lieutenant, preparing to run down to the psych housing unit. Suddenly the phone went dead. "Ward? WARD?!" the Lieutenant yelled over the phone. But even when he dialed the number back, there was no tone, almost like the line was disconnected. "Alright, move. Go now!" the lieutenant shouted. "All intake stops, we have a situation, everyone get to your holding cells! Move it now or no one sees a damn magistrate until Monday!" new intakes and officers scattered, two more joining the lieutenant and his crew as they broke into a run toward the northern part of the building.
"Master control, I need eyes in psych, something's happening down there!"
Turning the next corner, the five jail officers were in site of the psych unit, and heard over the radio. "Landon...there's something in there. It looks like some large animal! It's broken into the control booth and...Oh god..." Landon's face was one of bewilderment and horror. An animal? How did it get in? How did it break down a magnetically sealed door?! "Alright, Diaz, Grant, grab the riot gear. Powell, Mason, on me. We need to see if anyone's hurt."
"But...what do we grab for...an animal?" Diaz said as grant slowed down near the riot closet right outside of the psych door. "Get the shotguns. Load up some slugs. We need to put it down. You two, sticks out. Go in swinging!"
Both the other officers brought their knight sticks out, sprinting towards the door to the psych unit. The lieutenant was just behind them. "Master control, hit the doors, now!" The doors popped with a resounding his, the three officers with their impact weapons out and ready, sprinting past cell after cell. But they could already see that something was horribly wrong.
Cell number seven, which contained the crazy man they had brought in earlier who kept mumbling some foreign word, was ripped completely off it's hinges. The restraint chair that was inside was gone. The control booth's tinted window was busted through. "Ward! Washington!" The two officers began to call out. By this time, most of the inmates in the unit were up, wailing and banging on their doors. "Lieutenant...you need to see this..."
Everett almost didn't want to see what he knew the other officers had found. As he approached the control booth, he saw the most gruesome sight he'd ever seen while working at this jail. The entire booth, nearly from top to bottom, was covered in blood and assorted body parts, the restraint chair containing the man that was just brought in sitting in the middle of the room, a large, gaping hole in the roof of the control booth. One of the officers threw up on the spot, but Everett just stared. What could have done this? Whatever it was, was now loose in his prison.
"Vârcolac." A calm, yet gruff voice said from behind them. The Lieutenant turned on his heal, looking in the direction of the voice. It was cell five, that Zacharias kid that was brought in for those murders. And now his last victim was missing. "What...did you say?" Everett said as he approached the cell, the wide, bulletproof glass bolted down to the steel door the only thing separating them. A small gap between the door and the wall was how Everett was hearing him talk. "You were thinking to yourself, 'What could have killed these officers and ripped the door off its hinges?', or am I wrong?" The young man smiled grimly and looked beyond Everett and towards the other officers who were at a loss for what to do. The two that had been sent to get the riot gear had just run up and were hit with the realization of what was in the control booth. They were not taking it well either. One nearly dropped his shotgun to the floor.
"It is called a Vârcolac, Lieutenant Landon. And it will continue to feed unless you let me out to hunt it." Everett slammed his fist into the glass of the window, trying to make the kid jump or wince. Something to make those odd eyes of his waver for but a second. They did no such thing. "Go to hell, bastard! I know what you did! I don't know how you did it, but-"
"It's a beast, Lieutenant." Zacharias' voice remained calm and composed. "It is not something that thinks like you and I. It is not something that fears like you and I. It only eats. It keeps eating, and will not stop until the moon has finished its rounds in the night."
The Lieutenant almost didn't want to hear it, and he himself walked passed the men into the control booth. He was going to look on the cameras, catch this smug looking jackass in the act and watch as they drove the needle into his arm. "Lieutenant, what you're about to see will change your perception on many things. Once you're done you will talk to me willingly once more."
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[0015 hours, Psych ward]
Everett stood before the open door of cell five, watching Zacharias tied the laces up on his boots. After seeing the video of the mans transformation in the restraint chair, how his body twisted, contorted, and painfully so warped itself into what he saw, Everett's world nearly came crashing down. It wasn't long after that, and a lengthy discussion with Zacharias, that the Lieutenant called for the mans personal affects to be brought and given to him.
The young man was now clad in a relatively new looking brown leather trench coat, custom made, wool gloves on his hands. A black shirt and jeans rounded out the outfit, his black combat boots completing the ensemble.
"A werewolf?" Everett said, still trying to grasp it. "Are you sure that's what-"
"Yes, Lieutenant. I'm more than positive." Zacharias assured him, standing and tapping the toe of each of his boots starting with his left, then his right to adjust the feel of them. "In my tongue, Vârcolac is its name. In yours, a direct translation is closer to wolf demon. But that and a werewolf are one in the same."
"How the hell do you know this? You're what, in your twenties? If that, even..." How did such a young kid know of things like this? If Everett hadn't seen the transformation with his own eyes on the playback video, he wouldn't have believed it.
"Experience. Most of my family was killed, my sister catatonic from the shock. Not from a Vârcolac, mind you. Something else that goes..." there was a low toned, far off howl. It resonated and rang throughout the ventilation systems of the jail. It sent chills down Everett's spine. "...bump in the night." Zacharias trailed off with his words, looking up towards the vent towards the back of his room. "We must work quickly. I need my weapons that were confiscated. I'm sure they were transferred here to the facility."
"Yes...about that. I'm not too confident in giving you that. You were caught in the act of trying to kill someone. Then there were the others..."
"All of them were Vârcolac. The pack needs to be eradicated or the deaths will not stop." Zacharias mentioned in a business-as-usual way.
"And why can't we use the weapons we have right here?" Everett asked, pointing over to the two officers with shotguns.
"Those will merely agitate it. This is the alpha male. The buck. The one who colonized this area first, and made his pack. Lead will do nothing. I need silver. I need my weapons, Lieutenant." Zacharias looked up toward the vent in the back of his cell once again, and pointed. "Where does that lead?"
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[Kitchen unit, 0130 hours]
Zacharias had listened to the Lieutenant get confirmation that the beast had been located in the freezer area towards the back of the kitchen unit. The two officers in riot gear accompanied him as they entered through the front area of the kitchen, the magnetic, pressurized door sliding shut with a loud, audible metal clank. Whatever element of surprise they had before was gone now.
Zacharias had his weapon though: inlayed with bronze trim, the straight edged, shimmering blade had a mirror like sheen to it. The point of it was curved just slightly, giving the end a very organic feel. The two guards were a few steps behind Zacharias, and were obviously wondering how in the hell the lieutenant was convinced to give this inmate his weapon from the evidence room.
"It is fine, gentlemen. I have no intention on wasting the sheen of my blade with you. I seek only one to cut down tonight." This type of talk didn't make the guards feel any safer, who both looked at each other and cautiously walked forward behind Zacharias.
As they approached the freezer for the kitchen, they could hear something in the back, stirring...panting as it waited on their cautious approach.
"When we see it, you need to slow it down. Use as many rounds as you can. It is ungodly fast: and it knows how slow we can be. Trying to kill a buck when it is in its human form is the best way. But we have not the luxury of that right now... "
"Why is it in the freezer?" one of the guards questioned as he made sure to keep a weary eye on their six. "They...seek cool places. Cold weather suits them, and not due to their coats. They generate an ungodly amount of heat when the turn, which is why they seem to go into a blind rage and tear things apart. They are in extreme pain."
"Good to know." The guard scoffed, readjusting his grip on the shotgun. They were there, now. The gaping maw of the freezer wide open. They rounded the corner, both shotguns trained on the freezers entrance. It was dark, and the emergency lights were the only ambient lighting aside from the flashlights on the ends of their weapons. But both sources of light were enough to comprehend what was being seen. The creature itself was hunched over at first, only about four feet off the ground. The thing stood slowly, it's body uncoiling, muscle and flesh stretching out, its large frame growing taller. At the end, it towered above them, nine feet or more of hunger and rage. Teeth bared, its breath coming in hollow, ragged rasps. As though it was about to explode. It shook and convulsed, bright red eyes staring hungrily at the trio, its wolf like snout dripping with saliva and blood. Its ears perked up, straight into the air, like devils horns.
"Come..." Zacharias growled back, "...son of Fenrir. I'll release you of your fathers curse!" Zacharias shouted toward the creature, which prompted it to, with a ravenous roar, leap wildly forward. Blindingly fast, tearing through what was left of the freezer's opening with its might. The two guards opened fire, pumping rounds out toward the wall of fur and muscle crashing toward them. Zacharias fell to the ground as the creature leapt over him, swinging his sword up in an arc motion. The blade connected with flesh, tearing at the creatures leg as it collided with one of the guards. There was a cry of pain, and the wolf and his victim careened into the steel prep tables behind them.
Zacharias scrambled to his feet quickly. It was all he could do to keep his eye on the creature, but in a flash it had disappeared from view. It was their turn to be stalked. Their turn to be hunted.
"Oh...shit, they got Grant!" The other guard cried out, staring at the twisted remains of his fellow. "Sh..shit, man! We're going to die aren't we?! We can't stop something like this!"
"Keep yourself calm." Zacharias said, trying to listen. "Panicking will in no way lessen the pain of our deaths if what you say is true. Only quicken its approach."
The man was still shaking, his adrenaline pumping quickly through his veins. Nothing Zacharias could say would reach him now, his fear was taking hold of him. In a world were fear was something men were not allowed to feel, this was all Zacharias could expect from the man. Fear was a gift from nature, it was a defense mechanism. Senses are heightened, pain is reduced something close to a mosquito bite, and strength is greatly increased. You could say, in a way, that humanity had a hidden superpower. While not on par with a ravenous beast like this, it was still something. But because fear was viewed as unmanly, any man experiencing fear will automatically become a whimpering, shivering mess the moment something happens.
"Haaallllk...Abnmmuuhhhh" the guard gargled and gasped as a spray of warm, wet liquid trickled onto Zacharias' back, causing him to whirl around in time to see the Vârcolac's claw coming threw the gut of the last guard, who's weapon dropped to the floor with a clattering thud. The man grabbed at the clawed hand sticking out through his abdomen, blood pouring from the gapping wound and his mouth. As his arms began to slacken, his head bobbing twice, body going into shock from the trauma of the attack.
And that was Zacharias' chance. The other claw came around, swinging wildly toward Zacharias as he ducked. The clawed hand of the wolf soared over his head, the backdraft from the attempted blow could be felt. What power it had...but no more. Not one more human would be taken. Zacharias swung his silver blade true, into the creatures left leg, the leg he had connected with before and injured. The blow was enough to sever the leg from mid thigh. It fell, taking the dead guard with him, blood gushing from the severed limb. There was a sizzling noise in the room, the silver burning its flesh. "You hunt us like cattle!" Zacharias yelled, swinging the blade again into the whimpering beasts left arm, severing it with a clean stroke. The beast howled and whimpered, its blood draining from it's open wounds. "That is until one apposes you!" Zacharias was circling the slowly dying beast. It tried to crawl, tried to get away. It felt fear. For the first time, probably, in all of its existence. Fear was paralyzing it.
He approached towards its front, the beasts whimpers and breathing became slower, lighter. "You fear. That is good. Fear is a mechanism that shows there is some humanity left in you." he said, a soothing, hushed tone down to the creature. It looked up at him, its pupils dilated and wide open, staring at Zacharias. It shivered. It was almost...cowering. "I will show you mercy, son of Fenrir. I know this is not the life you sought. But the life handed to you."
With the next stroke of his blade, Zacharias showed the beast all the mercy he could.
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[Forward Operating Base Delta, Afghan warfront, twenty years later, present day]
'Those were much...simpler times.' Zacharias thought to himself, the chinook helicopter carrying him and several armed United States Marines. They all were either talking about home, or in silence, staring at the older man. Having turned forty just five months ago, Zacharias' age was catching up to him. After all these years, hunting the creatures and the monsters that lurk in the darkness, all those injuries were taking their toll. He now walked with a limp, not too pronounced, but it was enough to warrant him having to use a cane when he wasn't 'working'.
"You think this is something, Doc? What you're looking for?" a young marine asked him. It was to be expected out of them, all they knew is that there was someone 'sick' and they were to escort Zacharias to the F.O.B. "One can hope, boy. One can only hope." Zacharias said, his eyes weary, the color having faded slightly from both of them. His hair had more grey in it than he would care to admit. The days of his youth had definitely come and gone, it even showed in his clothes, which hadn't changed since the days when he had first started, though the clothing he war was quite a bit more faded. He was still fit, outside of the limp that slowed him down a bit, and the scars on his face and down his neck were faded quite a bit, though still visible at a glance.
Upon reaching the F.O.B., the chinook touched down on the landing zone, its cargo ramp opening slowly with a mechanical whir. The ramp now fully open, the marines fell into formation around Zacharias, who had picked up his black leather doctors bag as well as his cane and walked with the escort out onto the field. A man in military fatigues walked quickly forward, between the formation of the soldiers, and held out a hand. He was all business, and by the look of his uniform, his stature, and the bars on his color, he was upper rank. Possibly a commander. "Zacharias Kail, I presume?" the commander, who's name patch said Falkner, said as he held out his hand to Zacharias. He took it, shaking firmly. "Commander. Where is the one you were speaking of?"
"This way, in the lower med bay. Three levels below us. He's gotten worse."
Zacharias followed the commander with the military escort, heading to a structure toward the southern end of the F.O.B., a giant red cross on the front of the building. Entering the medical structure and heading for the south eastern corner, two marines accompanied the commander and Zacharias on an elevator. The commander pressed the B-3 button on the control pad, and the elevator doors closed. It took only a few moments before the elevator reached the lower floor, and the soldiers and Zacharias stepped through the doors and into the dark room. The room was filled with monitors displaying vital signs and other numbers. Seven medics were tapping away at keyboards, and as the men walked through the room, Zacharias saw who the screens were monitoring. He was behind a one way window, in a locked, ventilated room.
The man was in torn, bloody military fatigues, his body restrained to a chair. His head was lolling from side to side slowly, rhythmically. As though he were drunk, and listening to some kind of tune.
"Private David Beasly. Killed his squad, and was taken in for questioning. Started acting...well...like this. I called you when I described the symptoms to my friend Everett back in Virginia. He says he highly recommended I make a call to you."
"Oh, how is the old coot? Haven't seen him in ages..."
"Retired, actually. Something I'm considering after the last few weeks." The commander reached down, grabbing Private Beasly's file and holding it out for Zacharias to take. Zacharias, however, had already headed for the door to the room. "Open this. I need to say something to him."
The commander, though hesitant, nodded. "If you're sure this will find out the problem. I'm breaking protocol for this."
"You called me here. I'll make sure your trust is well placed." Zacharias smiled confidently over at the commander, who set the Privates file down and walking to where Zacharias was standing. He hit the code to unlock the door, and the door slid open. "Close the door behind me."
Zacharias entered the room limping slowly, his cane tapping against the floor, yet the man paid him no mind. His head still lolling back in forth to a silent tune, eyes completely shut. The door slid back into place, locking tightly behind him. Zacharias stared at the man, sizing him up almost. Watching his movements. He cocked his head to the side and smiled slyly. "Cristo."
At the moment Zacharias said this, the mans head stopped, his eyes shot open, completely blackened over as Private Beasly stared up at Zacharias. The Private smiled, "What do you want of me, priest?"
