MONSTERS IN THE NIGHT [C]

[SURMA]

Clang … Clang ... Clang …
The jarring rhythmic sound of metal striking metal assaulted his ears, invading his comatose mind and rousing him from sleep. Clang; with each hammering blast his head throbbed painfully and once awake, piercing blue eyes dry and red opened blearily into the blinding light. He groaned, feeling twice as awful as his worst hangover in college.

“Well now, we thought you might not wake up. Took a lot of tranquilizers to take you down young man,” spoke an arrogant and amused feminine voice. It reminded Bran of his middle school teacher back in Illinois, authoritatively shaming her students and parading across the class room in short skirts and red lipstick. What was more was he knew that voice, and the recognition made his stomach churn.

“No going back to sleep now, we have a wonderful present for you,” the she said darkly. His eyes darted about, unwilling to focus as he struggled to rise without success. What was wrong? Why weren’t his legs working?

It was then a sting hit his neck, and an equine scream echoed off the walls and high ceiling. His head tossed, nostrils flaring as his sight fixated better from the adrenaline that coursed through his body. It was no wonder he was disoriented; Bran was still in his horse form. That was odd. He rarely slept as a horse, but maybe the tranqs had done a number on him?

Gathering all four large, feathered legs beneath him he rose to his hooves and immediately wished he had not. He was fearfully weak, and a strangeness trickled through his veins making him feel fevered and twitchy. Across the room, the Keeper lurked with a smug expression - pipe in hand. She had been hitting the pipe against the bars, which the shifter realized was what the noise had been.

Light reflected from her glasses when she tossed the pipe aside with a clatter and stepped out of the shadows. Red lips, brown eyes, brown hair pulled back and a white doctor’s coat around her trim figure. It was Dr. Smith, the same MD that had performed experiments on him prior to his release into the Menagerie. With a snort, the stallion’s eyes rolled as he reared back, slamming into the bars in fear.

“Oh darling, please stay still. We wouldn’t want you damaged before we begin the process would we?” she asked in a chiding, rhetorical tone. All at once it was too friendly and too cold. His ears flickered uneasily, his pupils contracting as he tried to on focus something – anything. Another sting hit his neck, pumping what he could have sworn was acid into his body to pulse through his veins and into his heart. Bran elicited another scream neither human or equine, and hit the ground where he lay exhausting labored breathes.

Attempting to shift back to (what he considered) his normal self caused even more pain, and through the following days realized that even an attempt to change into his human form made him feel as if he would burst into a thousand pieces.



“Yes Doctor, we have managed to keep him in his animal form and the new mutations are beginning to develop quite well,” Dr. Smith said conversationally. “What a fascinating idea you had,” she added. It was the first words Bran had understood in what seemed forever.

The drug induced haze had locked him in his equine form for weeks. The IVs that hung down and into his neck kept him nourished, but he could feel the chemicals that made his skin itch and burn. A blue eye rolled back, lulling sleepily in attempt to see who she spoke to.

“Will he lose all of his fur, Doctor?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. The response Bran did not catch, instead he attempted to shift again and was rewarded with a horrid pain in his head. It made him … angry. He writhed nose to tail, and after a large and solid slam against the cage bars, his tail hurt badly.

“Restrain him!” called Doctor Smith, her voice closer than it had been before. Bran stumbled to his feet, slamming into the bars again. However, this time it gave - indenting the metal like soft plastic. “Hurry!” she yelled desperately.

Suddenly he was lifted into the air by large strong clamps that squeezed too tight. A horrible groaned bellow was expelled from him and he twisted - his vision clearing from the skewed, multiple filtered sight he’d had before when he could not keep his focus.

Off balance, his tail whirled slamming into man and object but it seemed more like knocking over books than bodies or equipment. Another bite hit his neck, and his head tossed, his head grating against a wall as all went black.



It was quiet, and warm.
Bran’s head seemed to spin despite the fact that he lay on sandy ground. When his eyes opened, his dark surroundings pitched and rolled like the tide. His eyes shut against the dizzying world, and a groan escaped him. He felt strange, every limb hurt, his skin felt too tight, and his head felt heavy.

Sitting up his ears flickered, catching voices in the distance. The landscape continued to tilt as he rose unsteadily and painfully to his feet. Suddenly there were shadowy shapes crouched before him, moving at first too quickly and then too slowly. His memory flashed to a face behind bars with screams of pain echoing in his mind.

The shapes rose, and drew closer, and without warning and all at once ... he snapped. Bran issued a rebellious equine bellow, his ears pinning savagely against his skull as his neck snaked teeth out, pulling red from the figures. He tasted warm blood, and mighty hooves rose and fell with crushing force before he took off blindly into the darkness.

Something hit his tail, and without thought it whipped to the side crushing whatever or whoever it had been that had attempted to stop him. His mind twisted, his vision unclear as he sped toward the only light he could see … a bright orange blaze in the distance. He could hear shouts and cries, and Bran’s anger rose.

The earth seemed to shake as hooves pummeled the cracked ground. Nearing the glow, the hot embers wafted into his nostrils and stung his underbelly when he ran straight across the campfire sending coals and half burned wood flying everywhere. Pain hit his neck, and he reared high in pure reaction as he hit the site like a freight train.

Everything about the creature that began wreaking havoc in the camp of the Fallen was angry and inhuman. Darkness blanketed him until a nearby structure caught fire, lighting the animal that had already caused so much damage.

The silhouette might have been horse shaped, if not for the scales that marched down his spine from nose to dragon-like tail. His hide was covered with them, his chest and flanks paneled in the rock hard shields that made him seem a living war horse. Armored legs lifted, sending dinner-plate sized hooves to destroying anything that came near him. His size was staggering, boasting over six and a half feet at the shoulder and rivaling the size of a full grown rhino. The roar that rocked the edge of camp was a combination of equine pitch, and animal bass that could be felt as much as heard.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins, lending speed and strength to an already deadly and crazed animal as he trampled through anything in his path. His head tossed, his tail lashing as a weight on his back cause him to buck hard, and arch his neck low with collection. The sharp scales lifted slicing through paw and claw that attempted to find traction.

Bran had no thought: only reaction, defense, and … anger. Fury roiled deep in his chest and bones causing his features to retract and his startling blue eyes to roll. SLAM! It was a train car that he had hit head on - throwing him into a sudden and painful stop. Almost knocked out, he lay there for only a few seconds before he blew through his nostrils and shook his head, as he stumbled to his feet.

His vision began to clear, and in the darkness he could see those black shapes again. His ears lay back again, and he flashed his teeth again in warning to stay away. His breathing was labored, and he weaved from side to side as he attempted to focus on the voices that jumbled his mind. Before Bran could begin to calm, another pain hit the inside of his hind-leg and he was off again … barreling straight through the crowd, passed the burning fires, and back into the night.

[grey]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height:600px; background-image:url(http://i40.tinypic.com/mls1lx.jpg)] They were in a little camping lot outside of small town in Colorado (the two of them were tracking down a local drunk who rumored to have trouble keeping his shift under control when under the influence) and she was looking at him with those eyes of hers, trembling against the bite of the wind beneath her jacket and the woolen blanket they had brought. The weather report had said that it would be sunny. All weekend. But it hadn't worked out like that. Stark redoubled his efforts to get the fire burning, but it was to no avail. Everything was soaked through from the recent rain, and with nightfall it had begun to freeze. He looked up and caught her eyes, gave a rueful smile. "Not having any luck, Cola." It was a nickname that she didn't like much, but had accepted. "Well get over here," she mumbled, mischievously. He did as he was told, uncertain, because there was an impish light in her eyes, and when she got in that mood there was always hell for him to pay. He crept closer. "What, big baddie like you, afraid of little ol' me? Hurry up!" She laughed. He closed the distance, and bent to sit, but then she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close. "I'll warm you up," Stark stage-whispered, embracing her, and then rubbing friction in her arms with his hands-- "Grey? Yo, buddy, you awake?" Ezra reached out and shoved his shoulder, just enough for Grey to snap out of the daze he was in and glance at the other Hunter. He hadn't meant to start thinking about her. He'd been looking into the fire, and his mind had wandered, and-- "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." He rubbed at the back of his neck, blinking his eyes. They were stinging from being open, staring into the smoke. "I think I'll go to sleep, though. Christ, the venison was good--its been awhile since we had deer." Averi, sitting opposite of him, let out a laugh. "I know. Almost got used to eating marmots for so long." Grey stood up from the makeshift bench and stretched his arms up, feeling his spine pop--and then, he heard a sharp sound crack from behind him. Christ, I broke it! The thought was irrational, of course, and Grey turned, more curious than anything. Then he watched as a goliath come thundering through camp. For a moment, he was stunned, and then a lifetime worth of reflex training kicked in and Grey jerked out of the way, scrambling from the fire--the thing was heading straight for it! Ezra stumbled into him, and Grey shoved him forward, his foot catching in the sand as he did it. He came down hard. The monster ran through the fire blindly. Grey quickly regained his footing, brushing off the embers that had burst onto his jacket, his eyes widening as a nearby structure caught flame. Christ, that's Averi's place. She was screaming, running towards the blaze, but Grey didn't focus for long on that. He turned towards the goliath, trying to get a better glimpse-- Shit. It was gigantic, and all he could think was virus. He shifted his jaw, clenched it, then grit his teeth. "Ezra--" the man had come up beside him. "Get a couple of the others. Your spear, too, if you have it." He was gone for a few minutes. Grey watched the thing wreak damage, running directly into a train car and then stagger to its feet. Grey was filled with red-hot fury. He watched a group of Fallen try and attack it, but this only resulted in angering the creature further, and then startling it out into the night. Grey, before he could think better of it, had shifted and pursued. It was a menace, whatever it was, and the idea that it was going to get out Scott free did not settle well with the Hunter. It became immediately obvious that the mutant was a result of the Keeper's experimentation. More than that, it was built like a tanker, not a thoroughbred (or even much of a horse). Grey had recognized the shape as vaguely equine-like, and he pushed his strides to lengthen, closing the distance rapidly. He could hear the sound of Ezra and the hunting party behind him, the thundering of their approach, but then Grey's ears swiveled forward and he attempted to shepherd the creature, staying carefully out of range from the deadly hooves. He came up to the side, snapping and snarling, turning the movement into a half-circle. It would be better to eliminate the threat, rather than allow it to continue to wreak havok. Besides, the idiot had been heading towards the Wall. If Grey was right, he would have just turned around. Or knocked his frickin head on the glass. Grey let loose a particularly vicious snarl The hunting party was catching up rapidly. It was Ezra... and it had to be the twins, Emmet and Theo, a pair of Arabians. Ezra was positioned on top of one, only managing it because he had been a stable hand before the Menagerie. His spear was raised. They approached fromt he left, the same side that Grey was on. At this rate, they were going to corner him--and there were the three boxcars, a rusted set of them without wheels, sprawled outside of the track--they were shaped in a large half-square, a narrow opening and then a wide center. Bran was heading straight towards it, just like Grey had wanted him to. Of course, beneath his cold fury (this sonofagun was gonna get what was coming to him, for Christ's sake! What kind of bastard ran into Fallen territory like that? There were kids!) Grey was suspecting things would not go as planned. He let loose a howl, and just as Bran clattered into the "gate" of the ruined train-cars, Ezra threw the spear.

[SURMA]

The wind buffeted against Bran as his thick legs carried him farther and farther into the night. Away from the fire and people, his mind began to clear - his panic and anger calming … but it was not to be. In the night, blue eyes spied a predator’s approach from behind. As he was large, but not the fastest thing he maintained his speed – and kept in a straight line. As the catwolf parallel him, Bran veered off the side and too late realized it lead to nowhere.

Skidding to a stop caused dust and debris to fog the air, and there was a dull thud that nicked his shoulder as he turned back around to face his attackers. Bran bellowed, tossing his head, eyes rolling as he quickly assessed the blurry shapes in the dark. His nose told him the grazers were a better bet, and without warning barreled through the pair of dainty horses.

His body was on fire, his nostrils flaring as he gasped for breath and headed back the way he’d come, then drifted south. The sounds of pursuit were hard on his heels and the heavy animal was growing tired despite the adrenaline. Sliding again to a stop, his breaths bursting from his chest in great pants through his nose, Bran turned to face his assailants head on.

Rearing high, his hooves struck out savagely … his neck snaking out to tag one of the horses as they attempted to surround him. His tail whipped out toward the predator; intent to slam him into the ground. Another round of electric prods hit him, and his tail whipped again to knock into a heavy object … or creature. Whirling around, he felt a pinch at his side. His eye slid back as his tail whipped, curling around the man with the knife in an embrace and flinging him back into the darkness.

The predator where was the predator? His blurred vision was skewed, sliding away from where he tried to look and he was out of breath. His ears picked up heavy pants and a near-silent step – in reflex his head dropped between his forelegs as his hind-end rose into the air to double barrel the shifter that leapt from behind. Bones cracked, and before the body hit the ground Bran was off again – this time headed east.

[grey]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height:600px; background-image:url(http://i40.tinypic.com/mls1lx.jpg)] Grey did not wait for his comrades to regain their footing and their resolve. He tore off after the mutant with a sort of savage determination. Sucker has another thing coming, he thought, his anger white-hot. He had half the mind to tell Ezra and the other Hunters to stay back, because it had become apparent to Grey that the animal was mad. It didn't even have the sickening odor of a virus; merely the over-pungent odor of the Keeper compounds, something that burned Grey's nostrils. He knew that they didn't stand a chance against this animal. Hell, he would have put his money on a frockin pack of raptors, but not a few ragtag Fallen. Maybe it was his wolf instinct, but Grey felt that the only advantage he would have against the warhorse was his ability to outrun him--in fact, he was beginning to consider the option of running the mutant into the ground-- His thoughts broke off as Bran twisted and reared. Emmet and Ezra, the idiots, continued to charge--and received a brutal lashing for it. Grey winced as the Arabian went sailing, and then crumpled into a heap of human, Ezra nearby. This enraged Emmet's brother, who proceeded to shift and stalk forward, a glistening knife in hand. Grey had been circling methodically, looking for weak points, but then the war horse's tail went sailing and hit him solidly in the ribs. Shit. He was sent sprawling and gasping for breath, the air forced from his lungs by the impact. He was... he was pissed, and this momentarily clouded his judgement. Grey leapt to his feet at the same time the warhorse kicked Ezra. He'd shifted into his Bengal tiger form, and was solidly kicked in the chest. Grey's jaw slackened, his eyes went wide. The sucker killed him, he thought, and then acted. His pursuit was no longer the relaxed, unending lope of a wolf. It was a sprint, closing the distance rapidly, but Grey stayed off to the side. His jaws clicked, and a low snarl built in his throat. Now they were alone, and he realized the futility of the mission. Ezra better not be dead, you son of a-- He took advantage of a break in the dunes, ascending as the horse descended along the slope--then, using the gained height, Grey leapt. He was aiming to slam into the upper neck of the animal, his claws catching on the armour plates on either side of the portion of cheek under its eyes. It was one hundred and ten pounds of pure muscle, and while that was miniscule compared to the horse, Grey had learned that it didn't take much to throw a running animal off-kilter. He grit his teeth and hoped not to die.

[SURMA]

A weight hit the side of Bran’s neck, and the mutant equine’s stride faltered as he set back - sliding down the sand dune and hearing an angry scream and the smell of blood. At the bottom of the hill, Bran turned for a third time to spy the big wolfcat limping with a furious determination. Blood dripped down Bran’s crest to his shoulders, and his blue gazed seemed crazed as his eyes rolled in anger.

When the shifter drew close Bran tossed his head, shooting a breath of hot air through his nostrils at the predator tauntingly. Fury radiated from him in waves, and his tail lashed as a whip – Bran was daring the hunter now, goading him as he reared and struck the air. Instinct told him he could not outrun the animal and in interest of surviving, he stood his ground.

A screamed bellowed from him, echoing across the hills as his ears pinned again to his skull and struck the ground with a powerful foreleg. His eyesight was still blurred, and he could only see the outline of the wolfcat that stalked closer then drew away, hissing a rolling growl that rumbled deep in his ears.

There was speech, and a part of Bran knew it should mean something to him ... but it did not. In response, he simply shot another breath through his nostrils as hie legs danced beneath him - prepared for another attack,

[grey]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; height:600px; background-image:url(http://i40.tinypic.com/mls1lx.jpg)] A snarl ripped his chest as Grey hit the equine, only to come to the realization that the armor plating was razor sharp. His own momentum ended up being what slashed his forelegs and stomach to bits. He released immediately upon landing, rolling over the neck of the horse, landing in the sand several feet away with an impact that shook him to the core, and cause a sharp yelp of pain. He didn't think he could count the number of gashes he had just received, particularly bad on his right foreleg. He held it gingerly, snarling and moving out of reach of the bulldozer. Son of a--Grey was pissed. His pale eyes narrowed, evaluated. He came to the conclusion that it would be impossible for him to take the animal down alone. Maybe if he had more time to assess its weaknesses, but in all honesty Grey didn't know if it had any--maybe if he had strength or some Keeper-given skill, he would have a fair shot. Instead, the smell of his own copper blood assaulted him. "Get out," Grey commanded, his fury mangling his words. "Get off of our land!" He was familiar with the warhorse's tactics; the taunting, the display of power. And it worked. It filled him with red-hot rage. Grey feinted forward, twisted back, always remaining out of reach. His hackles bristled and his shoulders hunched as he continued to growl. The catwolf's ears had pinned, and his tail was lashing in a feline show of rage. Grey walked a wide circle around the horse, his lips drawn back from his teeth. His eyes seized on a nearby rock, and in an abrupt motion (despite the pain that it caused) Grey lunged forward, shifting into a human mid-way, and seized it in his hand. With a well-aimed throw, Grey hit the horse in the single unarmored place he could see--a small portion of his neck. He waited for the solid hit, which spurred the horse into motion all over again. Grey snarled from the side, but remained positioned where he was, his breathing labored. Blood was slick down his forearms, and in the dark it was difficult to catalogue the severity of the injuries. He had made sure that the warhorse was going out of Fallen territory, before he shifted gingerly and began to make slow progress back towards Ezra and the group, thinking that his friends would be lucky if they weren't maimed for life. For that matter, Grey was thinking that so was he. The Menagerie was a whole other world.