Grannie's census station, ironically once a postal office, was situated inside Orchid Bay, downtown Star City. It was now owned publically by Adam's and O'Neil Accounting, but Carter had discovered the business was a front for Grannies organisation. There was never usually more than a dozen people working in the building at any given time, but today it was unusual quiet. Fenrir just prayed he could find one, but as his search of the premises continued he was beginning to loose hope. Only one room left, the executive office. His pace began to pick up as he approached the office door, the smell of man-flesh coming from it was strong and fresh, and his excitement for the hunt grew.

A swift kick to the lock broke the doors off their hinges with a satisfying crash, revealing an opulent looking office. Oak desk, comfortable leather chairs, wide bay windows, the works. The only thing looking out of place was the portly, sweating, balding, Caucasian man in the expensive suit behind the desk, his fingers hammering away at the computer in front of him. He released a small whimper as the doors crashed open, sparing Fenrir a short glance before returning to his work, no doubt tasked with deleting sensitive information before the feral meta arrived. To bad for him he was slow. The Wolf-man stormed into the room, stomping around the desk quickly and spinning the executive towards him, delivering a bone crunching headbut into the mans nose. A pained shriek was torn from the man's mouth as his nose burst in a fountain of blood, and he would have slipped to the ground if Fenrir hadn't snatched at his shirt collar, pulling him up right just to deliver him two swift gut punches. 

"Please. . ." The man wheezed as Fenrir heaved him upright again. "No. . . more". The meta snarled in his face, feeling no pity or remorse. This man worked for Gretta Tante, he knew it, he could smell it on him. Gretta's agent's were unworthy of pity. The Wolfman heaved the chubby office worker up, flipping him over his shoulder and throwing him bodily into a book case. The case shattered under the executive's weight, the shelves collapsing and dumping heavy books and case ledgers onto his head. Before he even had time to stop the spinning in his head Fenrir was on him again, pressing a heavy boot into the executive's throat. 

"You wish for mercy? You are prey, and the predator shows the prey no mercy! Your leader taught me that, with her knives and experiments, her cages and drugs, her tests and her tortures. Tell me where she is and I shall grant you sweet relief. Choose silence and your pain will be immense!" This was a long sentence for the usually taciturn Magnus, and he found himself shouting the end of it. Granny and all things connected to her always had this effect on him. The executive began to whimper something, so quiet Magnus had to lean in to hear him properly. 

"The. . . Computer. . . Look. . . At. . . it" The man whimpered. Tears tracked down his flabby cheeks then, and pitiful sobs wracked his body. Fenrir backed up, the man's display of weakness startling him somewhat. Grannies calibre of agent was usually more resilient than that. Still, it was no more than he deserved, as someone who knowingly and wilfully helped that crone kidnapped and brainwash children. The Wolfman turned to the computer, eyes widening in shock at the screen. There on the screen, with the iron grey hair pulled back into a severe bun, the horn rimmed spectacles gracing a hooked nose, the smoky blue eyes that seemed to take measure of him a find him wanting, was Gretta Tante. 

"[i]Guten tag[/i] Magnus, or is it Fenrir now? I do so love the colourful codenames you children all pick for yourselves." Her voice was calm and melodious, soothing in an almost hypnotic manner, the friendly tones completely at odds with her intimidating appearance. Fenrir took a step towards the screen, recovering his composure slightly. 

"You've been looking for me, I gather? I'm afraid you must wait for a while longer my dear. I am very cross with you, you see, and before we reconvene I must take some time to calm myself. You and your friend, Hellfire, have been causing me no end of headaches since last we crossed paths, so much so that I've been forced to seek some foreign aid. A group well versed in dealing with costumed nuisance's like you two" 

As she spoke Fenrir became aware of several sets of footsteps in the corridor outside, an unfamiliar scent accompanying them. He looked up from the screen to the door to see several dark garbed warriors enter. There was at least eight of them, with more awaiting in the hallway. Each was wearing exotic looking battle armour, with black full faced masks, while covered in knives, shurikens, swords, chains and all other kinds of outdated armaments. The Wolf told him they would know how to use them though, taking note of the fluid grace to their movements and the confident way the held themselves. They had a look of the wild to them. 

"They call themselves the League of Shadows, and their leader has agreed to work with my little organisation." His attention was dragged back to Granny. "I will not deceive you Magnus, I doubt you will survive this encounter. A shame really, for I so hoped for you to see what I had planned for your friends, new and old, led by that Cargitte who Cadmus so foolishly allowed to slip out their fingers. Oh well, what's done is done, or at the very least shall soon be done. I'm sure you can use your imagination as to what awaits them in the limited time you have left. Know that I shall give special attention to Hellfire." 

Gretta seemed like she was going to log off, but seemed to think better of it just to slide in one last parting shot, her controlled features splitting into a visage of pure hate and rage . 

"You really should have stayed the fuck out of my way you stupid mutt!" The screen blinked black, the only sounds now being the sobbing coming from the executive in the corner. Fenrir slowly scanned the assassins entering the room, at least a dozen now, as they spread out in a half circle around him. As one they drew their weapons, a symphony of metal rasping against leather. The Wolfman pulled his knife, holding it in an under arm stance. The assassins began to close in, Fenrir breathing heavily through his nose as they approached, snorting faster and faster in anticipation of the fight ahead. 

Perhaps Gretta was right, perhaps these strange men would be the end of him. Perhaps not. Only one thing was certain. One way or another, this would end bloody. 

With a snarl he vaulted the desk and charged at the centre of the assassins, the black garbed men responding with a charge of their own. 

And the Wolf howled.