On the tram ride to the Rottweil district I stuck my head out the window and breathed in deep through my nostrils. I wanted the smell of blood and iron gone. I wanted to fill my head with life. I wanted the smells of cooking and laundry, livestock and spices. I wanted the smell of home.

I held my head out in the wind as long as I could stand then collapsed back into my seat. I was a little drunk and very, very tired. I reached under my shirt for my tags and rubbed a thumb against the raised metal emblem of a double edged sword. I should have thrown them away when I left Döbi but I had held onto my past as if taunting it to come and find me.

"You can run, but you will always be a Braverhund." My father had told me when I came to say goodbye. "The rope will break my neck but my heart beats strongly in you and your sister. They can't take that away from me."

And like that he had gone to the gallows with a smile on his face, regretting nothing, learning nothing. A monster until the end.

It was so strange how things could change in an instant. I had been born in a time of war, my childhood stolen by parades and propaganda. Then as a young man I had enlisted only to watch my motherland surrender before I could join the fray.

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I had been disappointed, heartbroken that I couldn't do my part. I had blamed myself for not saving the county, as if I could have had any affect on the outcome.

Then when the enemy came for my father I had told them to stop, that the war was over. But no, they had good reason for coming to claim him. They showed me recordings of what he had done in the name of our country and for the first time since I was a pup I had wept, my father's shame crashing down on me.

So I had left to make a new life in the north, my shame hanging around my neck like a noose. I had integrated, tucked my tail between my legs to show what a good Döbian I was. I had swallowed my pride until there was nothing left but a pit in my stomach. I had made myself small and weak.

Then today the mask had finally slipped and I realized that I would rather die than put it back on again. I could not and would not crawl back into that grave. I had burned the bridge behind me so that there could be no retreat, I had seen death and pissed in his face.

So if the Syndicate chose to come for me, that was their mistake. I was born of worse monsters than them. I was Kerner Braverhund, son of Gershwin Braverhund. The blood of the wolf pumped through my veins. And when I saw my father in hell, he would smile with pride at how many souls I had brought down with me.

"Numquam Retro." I snarled under my breath as I gripped my tags, feeling the old rage rising. I was ready for war.