The broken heap of the destroyed boat shuddered slightly, before Fenrir tore his way clear. He was mad now, both at the pain and his own foolishness for showing the open hand when he should have brandished a closed fist. The Wolf in him knew that to show weakness was to court death, yet Magnus had ignored that sage advice and had paid for it. He could almost hear the Wolf saying [i]'I told you so'[/i] in amongst the snarls for vengeance, but by the time the Wolf-man had clambered out of the debris heap the yellow mutant had already retreated into the sea once more. As unsatisfying an encounter as Fenrir had ever had. 

He stomped back up the pier, collecting his knife with ill grace. The Pack had drawn a small crowd now, but none were foolish enough to try and bother a feral metahuman in a bad mood. He hopped back into teams sky car and snarled at no one in particular, favouring anyone who strayed to close with a menacing glare. Two girls walked past blathering about Plasticman, which further enraged Fenrir. Perhaps he had misjudged his foe, but Plasticman and Orbit hadn't even made an appearance. The failure was theirs as much as it was his. 

He had failed his Pack, but he Pack had failed him too.