“Boriss, go right, I’ll go left. As soon as it attacks one of us, the other should go for the tendons.”

The Russian nods and slowly moves around the right side of the desk. I match his movement to the left.

The Fenriromorph observes our actions like a predator would prey.

“It’s going to attack me. Be ready.”

I hear Boriss grunt but refuse to take my eyes off the monster.

Then I notice it, the slight bend of its legs.

All at once, the Fenriromorph leaps toward me with a speed I’d not expected. I jump to the side and barely dodge a claw that scratches my right arm.

The Fenriromorph’s momentum carries it headfirst into the concrete wall. The monster screams in anger and agony from the impact. Before it can push off the wall, Boriss is already on the move. With the full weight of his body, he drives his maul’s point into the Fenrirmorph’s head and slams it back into the stone wall. Mutant puppy brains splatter everywhere and blood runs down the wall onto the carpet.

“Fuck, those things can hop fast,” I curse as I get up. “Good strike. I’d have gone for a decapitation, but I guess fatalities are good too.”

“Comrade, you are injured,” Boriss points at my arm.

“Just a scratch,” I explain, “I’ll disinfect it when I get down. These things don't seem like they use poison to take things down. Come on, let's go.”

He nods and we head to the elevator, only, the elevator is no longer working.

“Well, isn’t this ominous? Stairs,” I say.

“Is okay,” Boriss pulls open the door to the stairwell, “Elevator is boring anyway.”

“Keep quiet,” I whisper.

“Like mouse,” Borris says.

I descend the stairs carefully, reducing my noise to nearly nothing.

And nothing is all I hear. I grimace in the silence and glance back. Borris follows me just as quietly, his careful movement giving the lie to his massive frame.

He is very skilled.

We continue until we arrive at the basement entrance. I put my ear to the door and hear the sound of soft breathing from two mouths.

I raise two fingers and then point towards the door. Boriss nods. He shifts his posture and positions his weapon to attack. I take a silent breath then fling open the door and rush in. Two men holding spears yelp in surprise. They try to point their weapons in my direction, but are too slow. I kick one guard in the face and then disarm the other. Boriss rushes in after me. He grabs the guy I kicked by the neck and then slams him into the wall.

“What are you doing here?” I ask the prisoner, my rapier poking his throat.

“S-surviving,” he stammers. “Cillian said it was safe here.”

“Quasi, is that you?” I hear a certain Scott call from the workshop.

Cillian rushes out of the room with my zip-rifle aimed in my direction. As soon as he sees my face, he grins and quickly lowers it.

“You’re alive!” he exclaims, “Fuck, you were right. You fucking knew!”

Several more armed prisoners rush out of the workshop with weapons ready.

“Lower your guns,” Cillian quickly exclaims. “This is the guy. He’s the one who knew this would happen.”

“Predicted,” I remove my rapier from the man's throat. “Boriss, looks like we have allies.”

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“Ah, new comrades. Good.” Boriss removes his hand from the prisoner's throat and allows him to slide down to the ground.

“So,” I look at Cillian holding my rifle and his posse holding my shotguns, “Seems you helped yourself.”

“Of course I did. I was a successful arms-dealer for nearly a decade.”

I raise an eyebrow at the chubby Scott.

“What? You think they just give anyone a gold rank? Of course I’m more capable than I look.”

“Right,” I nod slowly. I glance at the other prisoners.

“How many of you are there?”

“Nine,” Cillian explains, “and one injured. Everyone here is a survivor of their floor.”

“I see. Then, let's get inside and you can explain to me the situation. Boriss, close the door to the stairs and shove something big in the way.”

Boriss gives me a salute.

I follow Cillian into the workshop and am once again struck with the smell of blood. My head turns to a hunched figure nursing a mangled arm. Next to the figure is another guy applying a splint.

“What happened?” I ask.

“He was bitten by one of those things. Barely got away, that one.” Cillian explains.

The man groans and shakes as the other prisoner works on his arm.

“Its…its…its…” the injured prisoner stammers.

“It's coming. It… it hunts me. It wants me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What hunts you? What wants you?”

The prisoner raises his head and looks at me with slitted eyes.

“Submission. It wants submis-ghe, gheahhhhh,” he screams.

“Stop moving. I can't work on your arm if you keep mov-”

“Get away from him. NOW!” I yell.

The injured man starts shaking even more. The prisoner working on the arm quickly backs away.

Then it begins. The injured man's hand knits itself back together and grows hair. The prisoner's body morphs and changes. It grows rapidly with the fur spreading everywhere. Horns grow from the man's skull. His face elongates and changes. Two eyes turn to four and then six. Muscles bulge and legs shift.

In a matter of ten seconds, a human has just become a Fenriromorph.

The Fenriromorph gazes at me with slitted eyes. Pleading eyes of someone fighting desperately for control.

“As you wish.”

I lunge forward and stab my rapier through one of its eyes, directly into its brain. The Fenriromorph falls to the floor, dead.

Fuck. Demon werewolves. Why is it always demon werewolves? Why can't it just be a simple disease or something?

I glance at the injury on my arm.

I hope this, whatever this is, spreads only through saliva.

“One sec,” I walk to the workshop bathroom. I open the cupboard, grab some alcohol, and then pour it over my scratch then dry it off with a towel.

When I walk out, everyone is hovering over the Fenriromorphs corpse.

“Put some gloves on and carry that thing into one of the closets. Cillian, come here. I want to talk to you privately.”

He nods and we walk to a corner.

“Whatcha need? If I can help, I will.” he glances at the injury on my arm.

“Scratch from one of those thing’s claws. Not actually a bite.”

“I-I see.” he grimaces warily.

“But that's not important right now.” I wave him off, “I need all those weapons you’ve armed everyone with.”

“What? Why? We need to protect ourselves while we wait for help.”

I shake my head.

“This city is no longer on earth. If we wait, we die. We need to get to the big elevator and leave as soon as possible.”

“Not on earth… but. How do you know?”

“The gravity is slightly different. It feels a little weaker. My guess is we’re on a different planet or a change in elevation. Regardless, we’re not anywhere we can get external help.”

He frowns, “Are you planning on leaving alone?”

“I’m leaving with Boriss and you- as long as you can follow orders.”

“Wouldn’t more people be better?”

“No. Too many people will attract attention. I’m only offering you a spot because you can actually hold a gun correctly.”

“I… see.” He glances at the other prisoners as they work with Boriss to move the corpse. “Right, then. I’ll get it done.”

“Good. After that, we need to get a map. I need to find out how to get to the main elevator. Any idea?”

Cillian strokes his beard, “Herman Toftloy might have one. He’s the leader of the gold district up top.”

I nod. “That's a good start. We’ll go up there together. Just make sure you get us those weapons.”

“I will.”

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