MV: Regrets, Aspirations, and Limitations

The mattresses in the back of the van were thin, but sufficient. Andy stretched out, and waited; he supposed he could have run, while Steve was busy and Lorraine was hiding her car, but he had serious doubts about his ability to escape from a pair of werewolves, and that was before he considered the fact that his maker appeared to be hunting for him. Plus he was hungry again, and that feeling of hollow emptiness that seemed to be his current form of grief had deepened. 

Yeah. It was cool to be able to see in the dark when he wanted to, or to sprout claws when he needed them, but he still felt those things acutely as a loss. They took him further from the life the wight had stolen from him, carried him further into being a wight himself. 

I'm not a fool, Andy told himself. I know there's no way back. He couldn't help wanting one, though, even if it was hopeless. I was going to graduate next year. I'd just found Amy. I hadn't even tried alcohol yet. Or sex. They'd been fooling around, but they were both new to it, and cautious. It was one of the things he'd liked most about Amy: in addition to being pretty and smart, she wasn't in any more of a hurry than he was. 

They'd both thought they'd have a future. 

Steve slid back into the driver's seat and opened the garage door; a moment later, Veronica slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt. "You all right back there?" she asked. 

Andy nodded. "Yeah, I'll... I'll have my nervous breakdown later, when nobody's chasing us."

Veronica shot him a look of concern, but Steve just said, "Good man," and started the motor.

They pulled out into the night. 

"Andy?" asked Veronica. 

He twisted around, looked up at her. 

"Listen, the original plan was to keep you tied down until you learned how to feed without hurting anybody, then introduce you to some other things, and then move you to one of the training centers. The plan..." She hesitated. "...has kind of gone to shit. You've already figured out how to do some things that you would have been trained on at the center, and you seem to have a decent handle on feeding. Plus, you're being hunted by your maker, and we don't know why. So, since we seem to be speed-running the usual process, I'm going to bring you up to speed on some stuff we'd usually introduce more slowly."

Andy nodded. "All right."

Veronica offered an encouraging smile, then said: "Your maker isn't the only danger you need to watch out for. Sunlight will burn you, but moonlight is safe. Silver and fire will hurt you more than they would an ordinary mortal."

"Silver bullets," Andy said. "I remember you saying that."

Veronica nodded. "You won't age. If you keep yourself fed and don't get killed, you could potentially live for... well, millennia is about as long as it seems to get before sheer, dumb luck catches up with you. That won't be true of us, by the way -- werewolves tend to have fairly normal human lifespans, unlike spirits and undead."

Andy considered that. "Will I be able to pass as human?" he asked. 

Veronica swallowed, which was probably all the answer he needed. He waited, though, as her jaw worked. 

"Probably not. Very few wights can, at least not without extensive tattoos or makeup -- and that tends to hit an uncanny valley effect too. Even if you're fully fed, you'll still have thin, grayish skin and white hair that won't hold a dye to save your life. You'll be strong, fast, and tough, but you'll still look like a mummified corpse."

Andy nodded absently. So much for college. And probably for ever seeing my family again. Well, he'd wanted honesty from the hunters; it was his own fault if he didn't like what they had to say.

Veronica hesitated, then said: "You can learn to ask questions of the dead, or bring them back as zombies, at least temporarily. Some wights learn to create more long-lasting zombies, but that's ritual magic and they sacrifice a lot of control in doing that."

"Nope," said Andy. "Not doing that."

Steve chuckled. "Don't write it off entirely. Once the Authority is sure you're not a public menace, you'll have some opportunities. You might be able to take an ordinary job, work from home or wear a mask... but very few wights become hunters, and if you did then being able to question the dead would be invaluable." He glanced back at Andy through the rear-view mirror. "Pretty much a guaranteed job opportunity."

"The third possibility is that you go to one of the reservations," Veronica put in, "but I don't think I'd want that for you. They can be beautiful, but they can also be brutal. I'm not saying you couldn't do it, mind you. It's just that I think you have the potential to do more than that."

Andy nodded, then rolled over onto his side. "Okay," he said. "That's enough for now. Wake me up when we get there." 

"It's going to be a couple of hours," Steve told him. "We'll see if we can't arrange for you to feed once we get there."

Andy gave him a vague thumbs-up, then rolled himself up in the light blanket and let himself go. He was, to put it mildly, overwhelmed.

MV: Unsafe House

In life, Andy had been fairly strong. In death, he was considerably stronger; picking up a batch of duffel bags in both hands turned out to be relatively easy. Between them, he and Steve got the van loaded up in a single trip. Better still, a set of Steve's spare clothes hung loose on him, so all he really had to worry about was whether all those bystanders had gotten his naked ass on camera, or whether whatever Veronica had been doing had blurred them out.

He shoved that thought aside. He was dressed now, and that would have to be good enough. 

"What's it like to be a werewolf?" Andy asked, as they loaded the last of the bags into place. The van was a customized old Ford, its blue paint faded but still intact. The side door slid back, revealing a sort of couch or bed that covered the far side of the van and then turned in an L to stretch across the back. There were drawers and cabinets under it, but Steve ignored them; the werewolf simply piled all the duffel bags in the floor space, then shut the door. 

"If you're serious about that beast in the back of your head, then you're about fifty percent of the way there," Steve said, after a moment's thought. "You came back as a wight, but if you'd come back as a were then the beast would be able to emerge physically, changing your body into whatever it thought it should be. That's almost always a wolf, but there are exceptions."

"Huh." I think I missed out. Andy would have been much happier as a werewolf than a wight. Changing shape and ripping things apart sounded awesome. Talking to the dead or raising temporary zombies sounded, well... Not so fun. "Are there stats on how many monsters are disappointed with the powers they're reborn with?"

Steve huffed a laugh. "There are remarkably few mortal sociologists who're willing to study people like us," he said. "But I like that you're not so enthused about being a wight."

Andy shook his head. "Our prisoner was right about one thing," he said, scowling. "I'd have made a much better fit as a werewolf than a fucking wight." He hesitated, then added: "I do like the really big claws, though. The rest of it can go directly to hell."

Steve laughed. "You don't have to develop the rest of it. Undead, strong and fast, big claws... you can lean in on that, and ignore the necromantic side of it. A wight would tell you that you're turning down powers that are right there for you, but the choice is still yours."

Andy shook his head. "I'll make choices later," he decided. "For now, I just want to get rid of That Fucking Guy, or at least get clear of him. Titus... the werewolf said his name was Titus. The wight's name, I mean."

Steve stopped, nodded, and then extended a hand. "Climb in," he said. "Get some rest. We're gone the moment Veronica comes back. And Kid? Andrew? You're doing good." 

MV: Aftermath

Andy stepped up next to Veronica, and handed her the pistol. She tucked it into the back of her belt, keeping it out Steve's sight. 

"I should have just killed him," Andy said quietly. He was feeling the presence of his maker, rapidly retreating. 

Steve shook his head. "Against a wight like that one? You wouldn't stand a chance."

Andy set his shoulders, feeling suddenly stubborn. "I wasn't planning on fighting fair."

"He's handled himself surprisingly well," said Veronica, and Steve nodded reluctantly at that.

"All right. This house is compromised, we can't stay here." Steve sounded frustrated, but Andy would have bet that some of that was just exhaustion; his hair was too short to really show it, but he looked like he'd been woken up shortly after falling asleep. "Go park your car somewhere else, and get back here. I'm going to call Rodney and throw some supplies in the van." He turned to look at Andy. "Come with me if you want to live."

Andy frowned. "I'm already dead, though."

Steve looked frustrated. "It's-- never mind. Just stay with me." 

"Sure," said Andy, and followed Steve into the house as Veronica went to relocate her car. Steve was already on his phone. "Rodney? Yeah, we've got contact. We're heading north to the safe house.  Ground team didn't get there fast enough." He paused, listening. "Yeah, well, we didn't get a lot of advance notice on this. Next time we'll station them on site. Right, see you soon." He closed the call and tucked the phone into his back pocket. "Fucking sucker," he growled, then turned back to Andy. "Did you escape, or did Veronica let you out?"

"...I escaped," Andy admitted. "I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't sensed my maker, but you told me that wights had claws, so... I made claws."

Steve shook his head. "It's a damned good thing you're trying to work with us, Kid. Technically, we're supposed to put a bullet in anybody who can't control themselves well enough to stay put."

"I mean, I did immediately go to the nurses' station and have one of them call you," Andy pointed out. 

"Yeah, that's what I mean." Steve had opened a closet, and was pulling out a pile of duffel bags. "Control lets us use our best judgement, because sometimes rules just aren't sufficient for a specific situation. So we get some discretion, and you don't get executed for taking perfectly sensible precautions while undead."

Andy thought that over for a long moment, and then said, "Thank you. For trusting me, even though I'm a problem."

Steve stopped pulling duffel bags out of the closet, and turned to face him. "Were you listening?" he asked. "You aren't a problem. You are doing the best you can. Those three murderous fuckers out there, though? They're a fucking problem. And I mean to keep you away from them. Right now, we need to get you some fucking clothing. After that... how many of these bags can you carry?" 

MV: Escape

The house in Frisco was just another two-story suburban dwelling in a quiet neighborhood. Andy had spent the latest portion of the journey half-turned in the seat, covering the werewolf with the pistol Veronica had unofficially given him. The porch light was on, and a stocky figure was standing silhouetted in the doorway. 

"What the Hell?" asked Steve, as Veronica shoved her way out of the car. 

"One of them followed us out of the hospital," she explained, while Andy kept his seat and kept the gun pointed at the monster's head. 

"Why did you bite me?" he asked. "Why attack us at all?"

"Titus needed to feed," the werewolf said, "and we needed to eliminate any witnesses while we escaped. The cops were too close behind us, though, and it didn't quite work out."

That's one way to put it, Andy thought. "If you had time to kill us and escape, you had time to simply escape. It's not like we could have done anything except point vaguely at the back door."

"It didn't seem that way at the time," the werewolf growled. "I couldn't believe you held me off even after I'd bitten you. A fucking lamp, when you should have been transforming?"

Andy shrugged. "Your bad luck. And then Titus stole your kill?"

The werewolf nodded. "You'd have made a fine werewolf," he said. "You have the inclinations. But even as a wight, you don't need these people. You could be working against them. We should be ruling the herd, not driven into concentration camps or subject to their rules and licensing."

Andy frowned. "I woke up dead, but everybody who visited seemed to be trying to help me," he pointed out. 

"Oh yes, they're eager to recruit you before you know better. They're counting on you to support the old order. Titus has... other ideas."

"Out," said Veronica, and pulled the werewolf out of the back seat. He still hadn't made any attempt to cut loose from his bonds. 

"You should be cheering me on, supporting me, not trying to imprison me," said the werewolf, as tires screeched and a Volkswagon sedan cut into the street, a stream of bullets firing out of its passenger window.

Veronica and Steve threw themselves to the ground, and Andy ducked down behind the seat. By the time he came back up, the back seat was empty and the wolf was sprinting away after the car. "FUCK!" he screamed, but the word was useless. 

MV: Animal Control

Andy looked at the gun in his hand. It was a revolver, probably meant as a backup, He popped the cylinder, checked that it was fully loaded, and pressed it back into place. He nodded to Veronica, swung the driver's door open, and stepped out.  

The wolf had gone to its intermediate form and was shaking its head and snarling, trying to get up off the pavement. Traffic was stopping around them, and people had their phones out -- either talking into them, or trying to film. "Oh, grand," said Veronica. "I don't suppose I can talk you into getting back in the car before we end up on the news?"

She could have, actually, but Andy shook his head. He wanted a piece of this wolf, and he didn't want to be living -- or undead either, he thought suddenly -- in a world where this thing was hunting him.

Veronica must have felt the same way, because she sighed and fished out her wallet. Moving closer to the half-transformed werewolf, she flashed the badge at the sudden traffic jam around them and said, "Animal Control. Please stay back while we deal with the situation."

Andy heard a small, bright tinkling, and looked down in time to see a deformed lump of silver hit the ground beside the werewolf. It was forcing the bullets out of its flesh. Could I do that? Or is the flesh of a wight different from that of a werewolf? He hesitated, because he hadn't counted on having an audience while he was still dressed in nothing more than a hospital gown. 

Veronica didn't, She had her pistol holstered, and strode forward while pulling a handful of zip-ties out of pocket. "Stay still," she snarled, as she bent down, "or my new friend is going to put a bullet in your brain-pan, and another in your heart since we're not sure that skull of yours has anything useful inside it."

The werewolf hesitated, and Andy could feel his own beast looking out through his eyes, gauging positions, movements, intentions. The werewolf eyed him, and he smiled -- probably an unsettling expression, but he still hadn't gotten a chance to see how he really looked. Certainly no few of the people stopped around him were remarking on it. 

The wolf went limp, surrendering with only a token snarl. Veronica made quick work of tying it down then threw it over her shoulder and carried it to the car. "I know you can cut those restraints," she said, looking into the back seat. "I wouldn't advise it." She shut the door. "Change of plans: I'm driving, you're in the passenger seat. If he moves, shoot him. You've got six bullets, so go head, heart, shoulders, then knees."

"Got it," said Andy, and went around to arrange himself in the passenger seat.

MV: Whisker-Thin Escapes

Andy's biggest fear was that going through the glass would throw his balance off, but it shattered into a webwork of safety-glass cracks the moment his claws pierced it, and he passed through without any significant impact. The ground was far below -- Too far! -- but it was too late to do anything about that. He landed barefoot on the concrete, tucked, and rolled until he fetched up against a wood-and-metal bench. 

Andy pulled himself to his feet, and found himself staring down the barrel of a military-looking rifle, held by a figure in black combat gear. 

Veronica landed behind him, already shifting back to her human form. "Wait! Don't shoot him -- that's the kid. Targets are inside -- werewolf on level three, and a wight and a nightbringer coming down the fire stairs."

The armored figure swung around to look at her. "ID, please."

Veronica fished out her wallet and showed a badge. The armored man nodded, then touched the radio on his chest and spoke into it. Andy sagged with relief, and Veronica came forward to grab his elbow. "Can you drive?"

"Sure." Andy hadn't been driving long, but he could drive. "Stick or automatic, either one."

"Good. I've got a car around the side, and we need to get out of here. The team will get the building locked down, and hopefully eliminate the threat -- whoever they are, these guys are dangerous even for rogues. If you can drive, I can reload -- and make some calls."

Andy shrugged, and followed her as she started walking towards her car. She wasn't slow, and she wasn't worried about whether or not he would follow her; that much was obvious. "I can shoot, too," Andy told her. 

Veronica didn't even break her stride. "You," she reminded him, "are a teenager who's absolutely fed up with all this. I am not giving you a gun."

Okay, fair, Andy thought, and shrugged. "Then I'll drive."

The car was a sort of mini-SUV, a Honda, and Andy reached for the driver's door as Veronica unlocked it. He was pulling his seat belt on as she slid into the passenger seat, and took a brief moment to look over the console. Okay, automatic transmission, button instead of key to start it, nothing unusual. He stepped on the brake and started the car, checked to make sure that the emergency brake was off, and then slipped it into Reverse. He kept the movement casual, getting a feel for how sensitive the pedals were, how much turn it took to adjust the steering, where exactly turn signals and lights were located.  

It was dark out, so he flicked the headlights on, then got the car aligned and put it in Drive. The parking lot was full, so he made his way to the exit and turned onto the street. 

Veronica was shaking the bullets from her revolver into her hand. She took a moment to put the two remaining bullets back into the cylinder, then dumped the empty shells onto the floor of the passenger seat. "Turn right on Coit," she said absently. "We're heading up into Frisco."

"All right," he said, and started looking for street signs. 

He found Coit road, turned onto it, and headed north. He checked the mirrors, then slammed his foot down on the pedal. The car lurched forward, speeding up, and Veronica yelled, "Slow down! The last thing we need is attention from the police!"

Andy pressed down harder, swerved around a Dodge sedan, and kept going. 

"You're going to--" Veronica glanced back. "Oh, shit."

A massive black wolf was chasing them down the road, moving at impossible speeds.

"You motherfucker, I haven't even had a chance to reload!" she said, but she was already rolling down the window and leaning out. She aimed carefully, fired off one shot. Andy watched as the beast behind them lurched, barely managing to keep its footing. She took aim again, then fired a second shot, and watched as it stumbled, tumbled, and slid along the pavement. 

Andy hit the breaks, slowing them gently. 

"What are you doing?" asked Veronica. 

"Can a wight follow at that speed?" He asked. "Or a nightbringer?"

"...No," Veronica admitted. 

"So do you want to keep running, or do we finish it here?" asked Andy, feeling justifiably smug. 

Veronica stared at him for the space of a breath. "You scare me, kid."

Andy shrugged. "They killed me, murdered my girlfriend, and endangered my little sister. When I said I was fed up, that might have been an understatement."

Veronica snorted something that might have been a laugh. "All right. I'll reload and go deal with him. You stay here in the car."

"Not a fucking chance," Andy said. 

She looked at him for another long moment, then reached forward and opened the glove box. "I could get fired for this, so don't ever say anything about it -- but I changed my mind, you're getting a gun." 

Let Freedom (Ear)Ring

We went and got Secondborn's ears pierced at a lovely little local place. It took us three tries; state law has come a long way from when I was sixteen and got my ear pierced at a kiosk in the mall. We needed picture IDs for at least one parent and Secondborn, a birth certificate for her, and a bit of paperwork attesting that yeah, I was okay with this. 

The style of the initial studs is completely different, too. Forget the  rough, spike studs with their stupidly-large backs; today's versions are sleek, a tube inserted from the back, and a selection of fronts that slide into it. The tubes are a bit overlong, in case of swelling, but apparently we can come back in and get them shortened/replaced with something that fits better once they've finished healing. 

Since we were there, and since my own piercings haven't had earrings for decades, I signed up to have my old piercings re-pierced... except they didn't need it. Apparently the holes were still open, so they just stretched them back out to receive the new studs. Which was shockingly easy, and also much cheaper. I'm still not going to grow my hair back out, but I am going to cultivate my pirate earrings again. 

Secondborn was thrilled with this, I think; not only did she get what she'd been wanting, but her father jumped in to restore his version of it too.  Yeah, I'm old, but also I kind of feel like it's time to get back to reclaiming my identity as a freak. 

...Which reminds me, I need to do more sewing on the Patch Jacket MK II.