"[i]Shut. [b]Up![/b][/i]" SSPD officer Tom Barren hissed, cuffing a round faced, red cheeked, young man on the top of his pale blonde head. The man, fellow officer George Winter, drew in a sharp breath as the impact of Tom's heavy fist caused him to spasm in his seat. His eyes, watery and wild, darted between Tom and the mammoth shape of the golden brown werewolf behind them; it was as though he couldn't decide which one posed a greater threat. They're driver, another SSPD officer, John Kip, snorted superciliously at the sound of Winter's pathetic mewling. 

Served him right, Tom thought self satisfyingly, for crying like a baby at the sight of a bound up, harmless...[i]animal[/i]. He looked back disdainfully at Detective Chase Amelio, whose hulking, furry frame took up most of the back of the van. He had never really been an admirer of the SSPD's finer breed; detectives, after all, were just glorified police officers. Sure, they had flashier badges, but a title didn't really make a man, or so officer Tom forced himself to believe. 

He wondered what amount of bribery Detective Amelio had utilized to garner himself a position at the top of the force. Money, sex, favors. The possibilities were endless

Maybe it hadn't been bribery at all. Maybe it had been something worse, something atrocious...he shuddered and spared a fleeting glance backwards, just in time to catch Amelio snapping his heavy jowls together threateningly. Well, the cat was out of the bag now. Maybe, reporting Amelio would promote him to detective, Tom thought dreamily. 

A strange sense of calm had engulfed the van ever since they had set out, and in his wishful reverie, this sense of impending goodness only seemed to further bury Tom in his hopeful thoughts. He didn't dare discuss this feeling with his fellow officers, fearing they would believe him to be bewitched, or the like. Of course, he didn't believe that either one of the two bozos in the back were quite capable of enchanting or bewitching, but one could never be too sure. The worse part was, every time Tom had felt frustrated the sense of calm had...well it had almost wrestled for control with Tom's frustration, only causing a greater amount of anger and irritation.

And then he'd been so pleasant with the girl earlier. They all had been sweet tempered with her, he'd noticed suspiciously as they'd hauled their breathing packages into the back of the van. It had been difficult for him to rouse himself into roughing her up. Instead, in a very gentlemanly manner, he'd grabbed her by the elbows and mellowly lifted her into the van. And then, more than ever, he'd felt the greatest desire to become an earth kissing hippie.

Even now, as he was worried again, his worry fought with the subtle but present desire to be at peace with the world. Maybe I'm developing some sort of psychological hippie disease, he thought fearfully. 

"We're nearly there," Kip declared, interrupting Tom's anxious inner thoughts. To their right, just out the tinted windows of their dull, black, van stood the Golden Dragon. The takeaway seemed mostly empty; the only signifiers of life were the four silhouetted frames of people shuffling around on the inside of the restaurant. Nyx and her colleagues, no doubt.

"There are snipers [i]everywhere[/i]," Winter said in a shaky and awed voice. He was pointing frightfully out the window and into the sky. Leaning over, Tom spotted the snipers perched on the roofs of various buildings, prepared to bring down those who threatened Nyx and her powerful lackeys.

"Don't be such a bitch, Winter," Kip said from the front, grinning meanly into the rearview window so that Winter could catch his lofty smirk. 

Tom cracked a smile, appreciating Kip's humor and hoping that Winter would be replaced with someone else with actual balls.

The van pulled to a slow stop in front of the Golden Dragon, and Tom shifted in his seat to look back at their captives. They glared at him silently from the hard floor of the otherwise empty van. 

"Listen up. I'm gonna give you," He pointed menacingly at Amelio, "some clothes, and your phone. We're gonna let you outta the van, and then you're gonna morph back and change. You're gonna march straight into the Golden Dragon, no questions asked." He paused, then tacked on as an afterthought, "And don't even try any funny business. Boss's got snipers everywhere that'll kill you if you even break an inch out of line. You understand me."

They stared at him.

"I said, you understand me?"

"Yeah, we got you." Detective Johanssen replied, giving Amelio a wary look full of caution, "Right, Chase?"

With her prompting, the werewolf seemed to grunt his approval. Feeling satisfied with his prowess (however little of it he actually had) Tom got out of the van and worked his way to the back, flinging the double doors wide open. Amelio, who had been positioned awkwardly against the left door, tumbled out in a heap of brown, tawny fur. Ignoring him, Tom almost eagerly abided to the needs of the lady, lifting her gently from the van and setting her vertically on her feet.

She smiled at him, and in a moment of blissful ignorance, he returned a broad, admiring grin.

Then his face contorted with fear and misunderstanding, and turning away from his gawking colleagues, he began to undo the binding ropes around Johanssen's wrists.
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I almost felt sorry for poor Tom Barren, whose face had gone pale with fear and confusion. His friends, Kip and Winter, were staring at him mistrustfully, as though doubting where his loyalties lay. 

My powers worked weirdly, and most certainly worked better on some than they did on others. Attraction played a role in their function. Attraction to women bolstered their effect. Furthermore, they worked even better if the "victim" just so happened to be attracted to me. People who fell into the "other" category also felt their effects, though maybe not to the extent of someone attracted to either of the two previous factors.

Because Mr. Tom seemed to be more enchanted with me than the others, I had no choice but to believe I had an admirer. He fumbled with the ropes around my wrist before finally freeing me and giving me time to survey what damaged they'd caused. I had a painful bump on my waist, where one of the idiots had cuffed me, and another black and blue bruise on my arm. My wrists had red sores, rope burn, ringed right around them.

By the time I returned my attention to Chase, he was human again, and fully clothed. He smiled at me, and I had the overwhelming urge to hug him, or hold his hand, or even kiss him on the cheek. Instead, I let my answering smile beam up affectionately at him. 

Our moment was interrupted inconsiderately by the three SSPD traitors. 

Well, traitors was a strong word considering Chase and I had already done our fair share of underground work, as Chase called it. 

They jabbed us forward with the barrels of their long guns, and with no other alternative, we left them behind and made a beeline for the Golden Dragon.

"Are you ok." I whispered as we walked down the sidewalk to the restaurant. My hand ebbed towards his, and in a moment of consolidation, we held each other's hands comfortingly. 

"I'm fine," He grimaced, "Those fuckers pounced one me when I least expected it."

"Yeah me too." Quiet reigned king for a moment and then I said, "Fuckers....as in more than one?" Kip had been the only person with Chase when we'd briefly convened at a fancy looking apartment. 

"I...Well, I," He stuttered out, looking shameful, "I kind of fucked one of 'em up pretty badly. I mean," He said quickly, squeezing my hand gently, "He'll live. Nothing permanent. But yeah, he kind of couldn't move the way I'd left him. He still managed to help his friend subdue me though, so props to him."

I laughed. A little forced, but I actually laughed. This seemed to lighten Chase's mood (at least as light as it could get considering what position we were in), and we made our way to the Golden Dragon feeling more unified than ever, I think.  

We entered cautiously, with Chase leading the way. His large frame blocked my view, and I squirmed my way past him. He let out a hiss of protest, pulling me back till I was leveled with his side. 

The inside of the restaurant was small, but decent enough. Four people sat at one table. An old, wrinkled man who really ought to have been retired. An impassive looking skeletal undead. A short haired Asian woman. And a woman so heavy, overflowing, and lazy looking that I almost doubted we'd come to right place.

Chase let out a low cough to signal our arrival, and we waited, anxious and impatient, for them to turn their attention to us.