Phase
Melissa
PatientBean
Qia
webboysurf
Festive
Zoldyck
Kuro
Dark Cloud
Lavender soap and jasmine.
Marc woke with her head on his chest, her scent filling his nostrils as the late morning sun shone through the windows making him squint.
“Mmm-mmm.” she mumbled, rolling over to change positions. She opened her eyes and looked at him, a smile growing across her face. She kissed his chest and then rolled back.
Marc rolled out of bed and she flopped onto the bare bed.
“Come back to bed.” Marlene asked him.
He grunted and reached for clothes. He threw on a shirt, underpants and a pair of pants and grabbed his shoes and socks to finish dressing in another room in this house.
Marlene pouted and rolled back into the blankets. He’d got what he wanted. And then he got the sleep he wanted and now he was going. There was no stopping him.
Marc finished tying his shoes just as the cook’s path crossed with his own.
“Good morning, sir. What can I get you this fine morning?”
“Breakfast?”
Nedda chuckled. “Mr Spector, I’m a private cook and housekeeper who lives on site. If I suggested there was ever not a time for anything, I wouldn’t keep this job. Eggs overeasy on country white toast, bacon, mushrooms, British breakfast sausage and beans sound good to you?”
“Good. And no--”
“And no tomato. Yes, sir.”
Nedda left without further comment and Marc got out of his chair. He crossed the floor and looked at the artwork. Quickly becoming bored, he walked out and left for the gymnasium.
Jean Paul intercepted him in the hall on the way.
“Coucou! Ca va, my friend?”
Marc stepped around him and continued on his way, making DuChamp stop in mid-stride and look at his friend out of curiosity. Spector opened a door off the hallway and walked through.
Nedda returned. “Your food should only—oh! Good morning, Mr Duchamp. Have you seen where Mr Spector went?”
“He went down there.” He pointed to the door.
“Ah. He must want his breakfast in the gymnasium. That’s fine. I’ll get a tray prepared.”
Jean Paul furrowed his brow, scrutinizing the development.
“So he asked for food, and then just disappeared without telling you he was going.”
“That’s fine Mr Duchamp.”
“It’s rude. He’s been like this for—“
“It’s fine, Mr Duchamp. I imagine Mr Spector has just been under the weather of late, and has been feeling a little off colour. Perhaps his blood sugar has dropped low. Is there anything I can get you, Mr DuChamp?”
Jean Paul looked on at the older woman’s manner in contemplation.
“No, thank you, Nedda. I’ll be fine until lunch.”
The housekeeper turned on her heels and returned swiftly to the kitchen.
“Prend la tête… You know more than you’re letting on too…” The Frenchman muttered under his breath.
Marc pounded the heavy bag rhythmically. He began wailing on the bag with increasing ferocity. He put a small tear on the left side of the heavy bag and he adjusted his workout accordingly, digging in deep lead hooks into the tear until the bag burst open and spilt its contents onto the floor. He stopped and panted as he watched the grain pour out.
“Your breakfast, sir.” Nedda announced, leaving a tray on a chair by the door.
“And I believe Mr Samuels said he will need to see you once you’ve eaten.”
Spector grunted, as he watched the grains fall.
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“Gentlemen, gentlemen… If I can call you that, despite all evidence to the contrary. There’s still time.”
The Profile stood before the Committee trying to get them all back on the same page.
“How did your damn plan work out, Profile?” Carruthers sneered. “We’re no closer to regaining control of either asset.”
“The plan is working fine. Already Spector has sought out the werewolf. Another night still remains and if it weren’t for the chosen terrain for their first conflict we would have been in a position to retrieve both. We know more than we knew yesterday. Spector took the bait once and he will again. We pool all field resources for tonight and we make sure that we at least regain control of the Werewolf.”
“So did you review the footage of the fight between the two personally, Profile?” Ms Conway asked, leering knowingly.
“Fuck off, Conway.” The Profile responded, shuffling papers as he prepared to leave. No witty retort, perspiration clear to all. He was over this job, and everybody could see the cracks starting to form.
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Flint walked through the parking lot for Magnus Labs and across the plaza to get to the Chicago Police Department Tech Labs. Will Magnus gave his own time to operate as a CSI Tech in major crimes in the Illinois area, as a result when he opened his own private laboratories after leaving the Chicago Branch of STAR Labs under Dr T. O. Morrow he chose a site within close proximity to the CPD Tech Labs. With the high publicity nature of the events from the previous night, the city wanted to be able to say they had their best on the job. So a late night call was sent to Dr Will Magnus, and with the offer of a potential werewolf and costumed vigilante that Chicago might call it’s very own Magnus had jumped at the opportunity, even if it meant a very early start to his day.
Flint still had a few hours before his shift started and was curious to get the lowdown on the findings for his previous night’s work, even without receiving any official caseload from that night. He walked in the main entrance and passed the front reception desk without a word. He took the lift to the third and showed his badge to the woman working the smaller reception desk.
“Is Doc Magnus in?”
“Yes. But I think he’s about to leave. He had an earl--”
“Yes. I know, he had an early start. I worked the case last night. Detective Sargent Flint. I just want to discuss his findings before he goes home for the… early afternoon.”
The receptionist hit a button for the door’s magnetic lock and Flint walked in, offering a final wave.
Flint walked down aisles of computer bays and cubicles before knocking on an office door at the end. The laboratory work was done on another floor in sterile conditions. Most of these computer terminals were for maintaining DNA and fingerprint databases whilst the offices acted as hubs for daily communication for the bigger techs.
Will Magnus looked weary, but still the empty pipe hung between gritted teeth out of the corner of his mouth.
“I’m gonna have to buy you one of those pipes that blow bubbles.”
“You’d be too late. Morrow bought me one of those one year for Kris Kringle.”
“How’d you know it was Dr Morrow? Aren’t those things supposed to be anonymous?”
“I may not be a detective, Flint. But the kind of people who work in laboratories… Let’s just say yours and Dr Morrow’s sense of humour kind of stand out.”
Flint exhaled sharply out of his nostrils, before getting right to the point. “So, what’d you find out about last night?”
“Well, gee Flint. What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you’ve got.”
“Alright. First, about your possible werewolf theory. I’d say it scans.”
“How so?”
“I tested the bloodwork twice. Once as soon as I got into the lab and again at 10 this morning. Blood was collected from the same splatter source. Tested positive first for lupine blood at 4:10 am. Tested positive for human blood at 10:07.”
Flint’s eyebrows raised collectively.
“Only problem is, he’s a ghost.”
“What?” Flint’s Chicagoan accent went into overdrive in surprise. “The werewolf’s a ghost??”
“Of sorts. Blood came up as a Jack Russell, formerly known as Jacob Russoff. We had DNA from an incident years back in ‘09 where he was speeding home. Police said he was very agitated and he took tickets at the time, but he surrendered himself to police for fingerprinting, DNA and provided an updated address the following morning. They updated the report to say he must have been running late at the time, and that he was generally very compliant.”
“Jesus… how did this never come up?”
“Simple. This was well before any talk of mutants and metahumans. DNA testing was purely about obtaining identifying markers for identification purposes in the future. Basic DNA identifaction just picks out those markers and makes an identification. Recognizing a person as having some kind of secret metahuman powers was never the intention in the first place.”
“And you said he’s a ghost.”
“Ah, yes. He’s listed as having died in an automobile accident two years ago. His death certificate has been filed. The coroners also confirm date of death as October 2016.”
“So… what? Is this some kind of zombie thing? He died and came back a werewolf?”
“I’m not an expert on previously-believed-to-be-mythical creatures, Flint. Give me science and I’ll give you answers.”
Another sharp exhalation, before changing tack.
“Alright, what can you tell me about the man dressed in white?”
“Probably not a professional welder, but he likely has some kind of basic engineering background.”
“Based on what?”
“The joins in his homemade hang glider. Made of lightweight aluminum framing and ultralight white canvas. The canvas is probably the more expensive and tougher component to come up with. He clearly made it himself so he’d be less prone to identification. You go out and buy a bunch of straight white hang gliders… somebody’s going to notice.”
Flint considered this for a second. “How much do you think it cost?”
“The glider? Hell if I know. My guess would be several thousand.”
“So he’s probably either wealthy or pulling down 6 figures a year and obsessive?”
Doc Magnus thought for a moment.
“Well… obviously, this isn’t a scientific estimate but…”
Flint waited.
“...I’d say at least high five-figures. If he’s out there again with another glider tonight though I think we could safely rule out the 5s. I mean, a hobbyist could knock something like this up. If he had an engineering background and some knowledge of aerodynamics.”
“Hmm. Did you get anymore on that silver crescent thing?”
“Not yet. Getting clearance for further testing on it at Magnus Labs.”
This made sense. Will Magnus’ specialty was in metalwork. It came as little surprise that the metal expert would want to use his own private laboratories for a full battery of testing on the treated silver that interested him the night before.
“What are you doing anyway, Flint? You sound like you’re getting ready to catch this guy.”
“Haven’t heard anything from the top brass yet either way. Just getting the inside skinny from you in case they’re telling me it’s going to come to that.”
“So you haven’t heard yet?”
Flint sighed. “What have they done?”
Magnus tapped away at his keyboard. “There was a press conference this morning. Right from the top. Superintendent Robran declared that ‘the Chicago PD welcome the assistance of concerned private citizens who are seeking to end the scourge of crime in this city in the interest of improving community policing relations.’”
Doctor Magnus turned the screen and a video of the morning’s press conference played.
“Jesus… this is some nutcase in a white cape, and they’re rolling out the red carpet for Superhero Neighbourhood Watch…”
Magnus grunted through his pipe between gritted teeth. “Nn-hnn.”
“Thanks, Magnus.”
Flint walked out, shaking his head all the way.
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Jack Russell walked the streets in agony. Even now, in his regular human state, the wounds refused to clot from the silver and his shirt was patchy from his own blood seeping through.
He’d been in two minds as to whether he should even leave the factory at all. With only one night left where he was vulnerable, why would you even risk it to go outside in the first place?
But the truth was, Jack knew just how little influence he had over the wolf within, and the fact of the matter was that the wolf was influenced more by outside stimuli than in any way by Jack’s own wants or desires. If the wolf came to the fore in a warm, safe, familiar location the first thing it would look to do is hunt anyway.
So Jack would push on and hope. Hope that when the next transformation took place the wolf would push further in that direction. And away from this city and all the troubles it had brought him of late.
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