Pic from: ~mammoththunderpower.files.wordpress.com~
Thursday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.
Now that Damien Hancock’s secret ‘doctor’ is out of the closet but not out of his monster-cloning lab… well… read on.
The Mutant-landia of Damien Hancock
Damien Hancock, the werewolf pack leader who had first seized Talbot’s Peak, growled orders to the four betas following in his wake. “Useless curs,” he muttered, as they entered his hidden underground lab located near Pike’s Peak.
An unnatural silence enveloped him once the ten-foot thick steel door closed, sealing them inside. His terror campaign to rid Talbot’s Peak of humans and cat shapeshifters was yet to be fulfilled, to his everlasting rage.
But Damien was a werewolf man with a devious plan. Several diabolical plans to be scat exact.
He’d be damned before showing his throat, or bowing to the genius maneuvering of his second son, Dante. A reluctant respect gripped his innards, and Damien barked a harsh growl at himself.
The cat-licking, human-loving renegade cub — who favored his dam and had been corrupted by her soft paw — countered his every move like a master chessboard player but with deadly-attack strategies when required. Dante could fang-rip out the jugular with the best of them.
He’d learned that much from his sire.
Damien smirked, then reminded himself he owned the last fang-ruthless move. Toothy grinning, he sauntered slowly, studying Morloxian’s latest army of demon-eyed killer beasts.
Behind a specialized, black-ops grade of plexiglass, on both sides of the ten foot corridor, mutant werewolves occupied huge cubicles. Frozen in a state of stasis, the hideously formed beasts could be activated, loosed on an unsuspecting enemy — or any population — at a moment’s notice.
In anticipation, Damien grinned, his lips thinning over his protuding fangs. As he understood the mad scientist’s explanation, originally Dire wolf variants had been infected with a dinosaur-ravaging virus discovered in the depths of the Amazon jungle. Of course, Morloxian constantly added his own evil-genius refinements to the gene-bubbling brew.
Recently he’d included the murderous instincts and superior agility of Jackals and Hyenas. Morloxian’s gleeful recitation of the process still echoed inside Damien’s head, the memory like a B horror movie but without the humorous silliness he enjoyed on occasion.
As he watched the steel door slide open, Damien girded his loins, preparing himself for the offal stench of the mad-dog scientist. Morloxian remained in a perpetual state of half shift, and no matter his attempt to cleanse himself, the odor stuck to him like fresh tomcat scat.
“Sir.” Morloxian glided forward in his strange gait, offering his deformed paw-hand, the one with the unusually long and dextrous fingers.
Random patches and tufts of werewolf fur covered his ‘bright as a billiard ball’ bald head — and his body as Damien had been a witness to once. Pained howls to hell, once was enough, as the inane saying went.
To his credit, Morloxian always wore an immaculately clean white lab coat. Damien resisted the urge to howl a laugh as he briefly embraced the lumpy monstrosity within his semi-morphed hand. Whiskers sprouted haphazardly on the scientist’s Boris Karloff like features, giving him a cartoon-comical appearance.
“Impressive,” Damien growled, referring to the stasis army of mutant werewolves he’d just viewed.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Morloxian joked in his cracking-odd voice. He waggled his mismatched brows, bushy brows that should only have belonged on a grizzled old mountain man.
“Show me. Are the funds in order?” Damien thought to ask. A happy mad scientist was exceptionally, insanely creative, as he’d learned.
“More than sufficient, sir. My team has made good progress on those samples you sent of the horse-altered mutants. Although, magick is always a tricky beast to define, and incorporate into the genetic matrix. However,” Morloxian stretched his thick, semi-twisted mouth into a smile. “I assure you it can be accomplished.”
“I have every faith in your ability. That brings me to one reason for this meeting. I have word from a trusted source… one of your team is an infiltrator.” Damien let the rest of his thought hang and blow in the mighty wind of his alpha power, while keenly observing Morloxian’s reaction.
“Could you be more specific, sir?” Nothing but respect shone in Morloxian’s very human eyes. “You vetted, and have the dossiers on every one of my assistants.”
“Yes. So, I do,” Damien widened his lips into a smile of acceptance, given the emotional fragility of the werewolf-bitten human. “Why don’t you take me on the grand tour? The nose knows. Sniffing out the scat vermin could be quite entertaining for all of us. And,” Damien enticed, “give you more useful genetics to play with… perhaps, even a cure.”
Morloxian frowned, only enough to demonstrate his point, not as a challenge. “I no longer care about a cure for my… ah… condition, sir. I’ve come to enjoy my franken-wolf state.” He smiled like a jester fool atop a king’s hill. “Some females seem to enjoy my ‘extra’ prowess.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” Damien clapped his ‘ace’ against Dante on the shoulder in an intentional human gesture of affection. Such bonding created loyalty, as he’d learned over his lengthy life. “How is your harem?”
A red stain spread over Morloxian’s face, then the bald areas of his head.
“No need for words,” Damien growled in a friendly manner. “Show me your latest project. Then, we’ll sniff out the infiltrator, and have our fun.”
“Mammoth genes,” Morloxian burst out. “They’re all over the black market now. I was able to secure a viable set. You should see the prototype I’ve created.”
Damien wickedly glittered inside with the possibilities of such a formidable creature. “A mammoth mutant werewolf?”
“With tusks that can take out any military tank,” Morloxian enthused.
“That does take priority…” Damien envisioned the ‘out of the bowels of hell’ damage he could wreak on Talbot’s Peak proper… on Dante’s fortress, the Pleasure Club.