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Night Of The Wolf: Insertion

#1   Wolfkin 

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    • Interests:Swords...anime...swords...games...swords...books...swords...writing...swords...anthro art...Oh, did I mention swords?

    Posted 16 February 2005 - 12:36 PM

    I wrote this one for school last year, so that explains the attempt to tone down the gore factor and language. Anyway, enjoy!


    “Another one?!?” I blurted into the phone.
    “Yes. That’s the third one this week. We need to find this pack. Do you have anything new?” Malcolm said. He is the St. Louis police chief, so I worked with him often.
    “Well, we’ve figured it out that it’s more than one pack. Plus, we think we know which ones it is. Their ‘dens’, so to speak, are in Downtown St. Louis.”
    “Downtown St. Louis? Man, that would explain a lot. We’ve decided to hire you to hunt them down.”
    “How much?” I asked. Malcolm named a figure. My jaw hung slack. “You would really pay us that much?!?”
    “Ken, we want this ended. We’ll pay however much it takes.”
    “I’ll tell the guys to get ready then. Crap’s gonna hit the fan tonight.”
    “Right. I’ll get my force together and meet you there.”
    “No. I don’t want you to get involved in this. St. Louis needs her police chief.”
    “Very well. Call me back when the job’s done.”
    “You got it. Talk to you later.” I hung up the phone and sighed. It was going to be a long night. I could hear the clack of pool balls hitting each other coming from the other room. I got up and walked to the door. As I reached for the door knob, the door jerked and a dull thunk echoed through the small office. A quick laugh escaped my mouth as I opened it.
    “Which one of y’all scratched?” I asked, laughing. Ryan, Nick, and Brandon looked at each other.
    “Don’t look at me,” Ryan said, leaning on his cue stick.
    “Innocent!” Nick laughed. We all looked at Brandon.
    “At least it didn’t hit anyone in the crotch,” he said, shrugging. We just laughed harder. Then I got serious.
    “We got a job.” The laughter died instantly.
    “What is it?” Brandon asked.
    “You know about those massacres?”
    “Yea.”
    “Well, we’re going Downtown. Malcolm said that they’ve decided to hire us to hunt those packs.” An evil grin crossed their faces.
    “When do we go?” Ryan asked. He had a strange gleam in his eyes.
    “Tonight.”
    “Lock and load!” Nick said
    “Wait,” Brandon said. “How much are we getten paid?”
    “I knew you’d ask that,” I said, laughing softly. “Malcolm said that the mayor would pay us five million if we succeed.” Ryan whistled low.
    “Holy crap!” Brandon blurted. “They’re desperate, ain’t they?” I glared at him.
    “We’re not doing this just for the money, Brandon. We’re doing it so no one else has to die,” I said, a note of anger in my voice. That shut him up quick. We formed the Slayers because each of us had lost someone close to the supernatural. We all have a hatred for them. Most supernatural beings have stopped attacking humans, but there have been cases where things like this have happened. That’s when we’re called in. At least, in St. Louis. There are other Slayers in other cities across the U.S. It became kind of a national thing. St. Louis is where it all started, though. New people come to us first. We train them, then send them to the city in which they are needed. The St. Louis faction is the smallest, just the four of us plus any trainees we have. The Los Angeles faction is the largest at twenty. In fact, LA and New York are the worst cities in the U.S. for the supernatural. Not much goes down in St. Louis, but when it does, it’s big. So we’re always ready. We have a firing range, and we’re always in there, perfecting our aim.
    As we made our way to the armory, each of us was lost in our own thoughts, our own memories. As Ryan opened the door, Nick broke the silence.
    “Where are we starting?”
    “Clark Avenue,” I said.
    “Near the Kiel Center?” Ryan asked.
    “Aye. If you remember, that’s near where the first massacre happened.” I said, shaking my head. I saw the bodies. Women, children, old people, all slaughtered. Many had their throat ripped out or their chest cavity tore open. All had been eaten on. That’s one of those images that stay with you. Like so many others, but in this line of work, you get used to it. I know that’s not a very good thing to say, buy its true.
    As we entered the armory, I heard a soft laugh behind me. I looked over my shoulder at Brandon.
    “What?” I asked him.
    “Oh, nothing. It’s just going to be a busy night. That’s all,” he said, his grin getting wider. I just rolled my eyes.
    Our armory is one of the largest rooms in the place, and it is packed full of weapons. On the right coming in are our blades. Short swords, combat knives, throwing knives, and more line the wall. On the left wall is our body armor, helmets, firing gloves, kneepads, and hard leather chokers. The body armor is level III bullet resistant chest plates with trauma plating, strong enough to handle just about anything. Each of the four suits was individually made and has our call signs etched into them. On the wall opposite of the door are our guns. Glock-17’s, MP-5AB’s, Grizzly 50-cal sniper rifles and others line the wall. We had weapons that you wouldn’t expect to find outside of the military, like Stinger missiles and a 50-cal. actually, the 50-cal is mounted on our truck. On the wall with the door are our rucksacks, grenades, both frag and flashbang, remote mines, and shelves of ammo. Each of us has our preferred weapons. Ryan, being a sniper, choose the .50 cal Grizzly, a Colt .45 magnum, and a combat knife. Brandon, a lover of heavy weaponry, took a Remmington 12-gauge long barrel shotgun with slugs, a dagger, and a long fighting knife that he wears down his back. His pistols, twin 96G Elites, he got before we started the Slayers, and so only he used them. Nick prefers stealth, but in a case like this, he always picks heavier weaponry. He got an M-16, twin Glock-17s, and two unusual blades. They were hooked onto armbands and went up his arms, like tonfers, but when he flipped his wrists, the springs would fire and the blades would go the usual way. I am more into melee fighting, but I still use guns. I use an MP-5AB, a Glock-17, ten throwing knives, and another unique blade. The primary blade is three feet long, with the handle offset to one side. Another blade goes in front of the handle going into another foot long blade. My other gun, a .44 magnum, was my personal weapon. I’ll never forget the first time I used it, or why. We packed gobs of ammo into our packs, grabbed our armor, and went to our own rooms to get ready.
    I dumped my stuff onto my bed and dug around in my closet. The body armor is bulky, so I can’t wear much over it. I finally decided on a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black Nikes. Blood doesn’t show up as good on black. I threw on the cloths and slipped on my body armor. It isn’t really comfortable, but I’m not complaining. As I put on my helmet, I flipped a little switch on the inside. Each of the helmets had a radio built in so we can stay in contact with each other. After I put on my gloves and pads, I started to pull on my other gear. The throwing knives are on my left hip, the Glock-17 on my right, my .44 magnum is in a shoulder hostler on my left side, and my sword is between my back and rucksack. I have my MP-5AB strapped onto the right side of my rucksack. After I was sure everything was tightened and fastened properly, I went back to the armory.
    “Zeus, you ready to rock?” I asked, testing my radio.
    “You bet I am,” Ryan said, his voice crackling over the radio.
    “Hey, Maverick, what are we? Dog crap?” Nick’s voice said.
    “I was getting to you,” I said. I stepped into the armory and the others were already there, packing more ammo. I laughed as I saw them.
    “What’s so funny?” Ryan asked.
    “We’re all monochrome as heck!” I said. It was true. We all wore black. In fact, we wore the exact same thing. I stopped laughing and put chains of .50 cal ammo into a bag. When those were full. We carried them out to the truck, a big, black Dodge Ram. Soon, we had all the ammo we needed, including four extra Stinger missiles.
    “I’m driven’” Ryan said. I looked at him and shook my head.
    “I got shotgun, then” I said.
    “I’ll take the .50 cal,” Brandon smirked. Nick snapped his fingers in a dejected sort of way.
    “Well crap, I guess I got the Stinger then.” We looked at him funny. He just grinned in a sadistic way. I laughed and climbed into the truck. Soon, we were on our way.
    “Ryan, did you get your laptop?” I asked.
    “Man, you know I always carry it,” he said, looking ahead at the road. Traffic was surprisingly light, so we were cruising right along. We did get some funny looks, though, because of the .50 cal. Nick was smart enough to keep the Stinger missile launcher out of sight.
    After about twenty minutes, we were where we needed to be. It was starting to get dark, and there was going to be a full moon that night. Great, I thought, just what we need. Now they’re going to be even more aggressive. We spent that time loading our guns. We knew that tonight was going to get crazy. They would be out in a force. Suddenly I was glad we packed all that extra ammo. Soon, night was full on and the street lights flickered to life. I jacked a round into the chamber of my Glock-17, put it away, and stood up.
    “Well, lets get started, shall we?” I said.
    “What’s the plan?” Brandon asked.
    “Simple,” I said. “We go in and take out the alphas. Without them, they won’t know what to do.”
    “What about the betas? If we just kill the alphas, then they will take over,” Ryan said.
    “Then we waste them too,” I said. “Let’s move out.” With that simple phrase, the job began. Ryan was off like a flash, looking for the perfect place to snipe from. Brandon and Nick stayed with me.
    “Zeus, keep us updated on where you are, got it?” I said into my radio.
    “Naturally,” he said. I looked in the direction that he ran.
    “Where you thinken ‘bout goin?” Nick asked.
    “I was thinking about going the top of the Kiel Center and moving with you guys.” I still don’t see how Ryan climbs from building to building with his pack on. It just doesn’t look like his climbing gear will go over it all.
    “Right,” I said. “Common, you two. Let’s go frag us some weres.” We started walking slowly down Clark Avenue. We didn’t want to take any chances. I reached over my shoulder and grabbed my MP-5AB and cranked a round into the chamber. I heard the [Big Ben] of a shotgun behind me and I knew that Brandon was ready. So was Nick. He took care of that even before we left base.
    “Mav! You’ve got a crapload of weres coming in fast down North Tucker! They look like they’re out for blood!” Ryan said all of a sudden.
    “I copy. Puma, go check it out,” I said. Nick ran down the road. I heard a loud gunshot and knew that Ryan had opened up.
    “There’s gotta be at least fifty-five!” Nick yelled. Brandon and I ran up to join him. Nick hadn’t been kidding. The street was flooded with werewolves. They looked like wolves that could stand upright, but their claws and fangs were far too long. Shards of cloth clung to there massive bodies. Their fur was thick and most was black to grey, but some were reddish and others brown. At least three were pure white. Huge muscles rippled under their fur and flesh. Their eyes were a strange amber color, though they shone red in the dim light. An eerie feeling of intense power crept down my back. I shuddered involuntarily. Right away, Nick and Brandon opened fire. The loud shotgun blasts and the constant droning of the M-16 echoed through the streets, as well as screams from frightened civilians. I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The silver bullet tore through a werewolf’s throat, splattering his comrades with blood. The power of Brandon’s shotgun and its silver slugs were taking them out with one well-placed shot. Nick dumped ammo into them, showing no mercy. Another loud gunshot echoed through the street. One of the white werewolves crumpled, a bullet hole between his eyes.
    “Zeus has spoken!” Ryan shouted. “The white ones are the betas! I’m sure of it! Look at how the others are acting around them!”
    “I gotcha Zeus! Puma! Knight! Aim for the white ones!” I said. Brandon cursed as his shotgun clicked empty, followed shortly by Nick.
    “Cover us, Maverick!” Brandon yelled. I whipped out a pair of throwing knives and barely took time to aim. The knives flew from my hand. One hit a white werewolf in the shoulder and the other brained a brownish one. I opened up in full auto with my MP-5AB until it clicked empty. It’s always a surprise when you run out of ammo in a situation like this. Nick came up behind me, his Glocks in hand. I turned to face him.
    “They’re yours, man! Take ‘em out!” I shouted as I dropped my gun and went for my magnum. With two well placed shots, the white ones were dead. Yet that didn’t stop the others from their rush. I brought up my magnum and fired. The high-powered round made a hole in a werewolf’s chest big enough to put my head through. I emptied it and put it away. I went for my triblade as they got a little too close for comfort. I heard the shotgun [Big Ben] again as Brandon finished reloading. More shotgun blasts echoed through the night. I dashed up to the closest werewolf and brought my sword down hard on its neck. I both felt and heard its neck snap as the blade bit into the werewolf’s neck. It slumped to the ground, blood spurting from the giant gash.
    “What the heck is he doing?!?” Ryan shouted, obviously spotting me in his scope. I rammed the secondary blade backward into another werewolf’s mouth before answering.
    “What does it look like I’m doing?” I said, slashing vertically and hitting a werewolf across the belly, but not deep enough to kill. I quickly reversed the blade and drove it upward through the werewolf’s breastbone as it lunged at me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around, ready to strike. It was Nick.
    “We need to fall back!” he shouted, firing over my shoulder. “They’re coming too fast!” I wasn’t about to go anywhere, but I reluctantly agreed.
    “Fall back!” I shouted, scooping up my MP-5AB and ran towards the truck. I hated the fact that I was leaving those two knives behind. Nick and Brandon ran behind me.
    “Look out! They’re right on your butt!” Ryan shouted through the radio. I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, they were not more than ten feet away, closing fast. Apparently, our sudden retreat threw them off. As we got back to the truck, Brandon leapt into the back and gripped the handles of the .50 cal. I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life and I popped it into gear. Nick jumped into the back just as I floored the gas pedal. Silently, I thanked God that the street was empty. People had fled the area when they heard the gunfire. I turned the wheel hard to the left and sent the truck into a controlled spin. After we were facing the way we came, I heard the rapid gunfire of the .50 cal and the dull foomp of a grenade launcher. An explosion blew a large hole in the street. Shrapnel peppered the werewolves, killing several. The .50 cal bullets tore into the werewolves, tearing a few in half. Blood splattered the buildings. Within a few seconds, all but fifteen were dead. They turned and ran in the other direction.
    “Are we going to let them go?” Brandon asked, tapping the roof of the cab.
    “I don’t know. What do you guys think?” I said.
    “I say waste ‘em.” Brandon said.
    “I agree.” Nick said.
    “Let’s ice the freaks.” Ryan said. I grinned and floored it. The powerful Cummins diesel engine roared and the truck lurched forward. Bullets vomited from the .50 cal., killing the rest of the weres, except one. There was no way that Brandon would be able to hit it. Suddenly, a loud shotgun blast echoed through the air and the werewolf crumpled. I hit the brake and the tires squalled as the truck came to a stop. A woman walked out of the shadows with a 10-gauge shotgun over her shoulder and a couple of what looked like knives in her hand, her black trench coat billowing slightly in the breeze. She looked about our age, in her twenties. Her blonde hair went down to her shoulders and was tied back. Her eyes were ice blue, and it felt like she could look straight into your soul. She was wearing all black, like us, except she was wearing all leather. Her clothes hugged her slender body like a glove. A bulging, black leather pouch was at her side, and she had a short sword lashed to her back. A small radio was in her ear, with the microphone away from her mouth. She walked over to the truck slowly, watching her surroundings.
    “Who’s that?!?” Ryan blurted, spotting her in his scope. I rolled my eyes, put the truck in park, and got out. I knew what he was thinking.
    “Zeus, chill, ok?” I said. Nick and Brandon jumped over the sides of the bed and walked with me to meet her.
    “Loose end?” she said, smiling. My mind went blank.
    “Err….thanks,” I stammered. Ryan’s voice sounded in my ear.
    “She’s hot and all you can say is ‘err…thanks?’ Jeez man, you need to get out more.”
    “Zeus, shut up.”
    “Excuse me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow
    “Oh, no, not you. One of my friends.” I said quickly.
    “Hmm….ok. Are these yours?”
    “Yea, thanks. Who are you?” I asked taking the knives. I wiped them clean and sheathed them.
    “Tristan Brown, Indianapolis faction. My call sign is Angel.” Nick studied her for a moment, then spoke up.
    “I remember you now! You joined a couple of years ago.” Tristan looked at him and smiled again.
    “Yep,” she said. “So I naturally know you guys. Nick, a.k.a. Puma, Brandon, a.k.a. Knight, and Ken, a.k.a. Maverick. Wait, weren’t there four of you?” I heard Ryan’s voice come over her radio.
    “Look up here.”
    “Look where?” she asked, looking around.
    “Up here. On top of the Kiel Center.” She looked up and saw a flash off of Ryan’s scope.
    “I see you now, Ryan. Or should I say Zeus?”
    “Don’t matter. Anyway, It’s nice to see you again.”
    “Common, y’all. We got a lot more to do. Plus, I don’t think that it’s a good idea to stand around talking.” I said.
    “He’s right, you know. Soon, the alphas are going to wonder what happened to their betas.” Tristan said, swinging into the passenger side of the truck. I wiped my sword clean and put it in its scabbard. If you don’t wipe the blood off of a blade, it will gum up the scabbard. Believe me, I’ve done it before.
    “Are you going to stay up there, or are you gonna come down?” I asked Ryan.
    “I told you, I’m gonna move with you guys up here,” he said.
    “Whatever. Anyway, we’re gonna head over to Washington Avenue. Remember, keep us updated on where you are.”
    “I’m not stupid, ya know. I will let you guys know where I am.” I rolled my eyes and kicked the truck into gear. I drove slowly up the road, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. I don’t know why, but I had the strangest feeling that we were being watched.
    “Yea, they’re out there, all right.” Tristan said. I looked at her for a second, then focused on the road.
    “Now I remember. You always had that knack for weirdin’ me out, especially when you seem to read my mind.” I said. She laughed and smiled.
    “I remember that,” she said, still laughing. A voice hissed in my ear.
    “Ya know, I can give you a few pointers,” Brandon said. I scowled.
    “Brandon, shut up. I didn’t ask for your help. If I was going to ask for advice, I’d ask someone like me, someone who was engaged, not you, who probably hasn’t had a date in God knows how long.” I snapped. He took the hint and didn’t say anymore on the subject. Tristan put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. I gripped the wheel until my knuckles were bone-white. I didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
    “You see what I have to put up with every day?” I said, still a little angry. Tristan nodded.
    “People like that seem drawn to people like us,” she said. I agreed. Suddenly, a bullet slammed into the windshield. Both Tristan and I ducked as the bullet hit the seat between us. I jerked my head up and looked for the source of the shot.
    “Holy crap! Someone’s shooten’ at us!” Brandon shouted.
    “Thank you, Captain Obvious!” Nick yelled at him. Even with someone shooting at us, those two could still make me laugh. My left hand dropped to my right hip and I grabbed my Glock. I hit the butt of the gun against the power window button until it was all the way down. Keeping my right hand on the wheel, I leaned out the window, Glock pointed down the street. A lone figure stood at the end of the block, a pistol in his hand. He had a wicked grin on his face, and I could quite clearly see his unnaturally long canines. Combine that with his deathly pale skin and you get only one thing; a vampire. And in St. Louis, they rarely travel alone. I knew he had buddies around somewhere. I hit the breaks and the truck screeched to a stop, throwing all of us forward.
    “What do you want?” I asked the vamp, avoiding eye contact and leveling my gun at his heart. They can play some serious mind tricks on you if you do meet their gaze.
    “I want nothing,” he said, his voice icy. “Except your blood and your head to show the Akita.” I slowly opened my door and got out of the truck, keeping my gun level.
    “Stay in there,” I told Tristan. She nodded shortly, then shot a glare at Nick and Brandon as they got ready to jump. I made a mental note to stay on her good side. “I thought werewolves were lead by an alpha male.”
    “Then you thought wrong, human,” he said. I noted the hatred that emphasized the word human. I smirked as I lowered my gun.
    “If you want my blood and head, freak, your gonna hafta earn it.” I said, shrugging off my pack.
    “Do you really think you can beat me, weakling?” he said, sounding skeptical. He had a point. After all, vamps can bench press cars. I was more that a little worried.
    “Need me to tag ‘em?” Ryan asked. I whispered into the mike.
    “No, I’ll take him. But keep an eye out for his friends.”
    “Copy that.”
    I unsheathed my sword, but let it hang limply at my side. I had set my Glock on the road a few minutes ago. I fixed a steely gaze at the vampire. “What’s your name, so I can etch it on my armor after I kill you.”
    “I am known only as Lucas. I know who you are, Ken, and I plan to have your head mounted for my wall, for I’ll be the last being you see.” My eyes widened a little. Apparently, I had a reputation among his kind.
    “What about my friends in the truck? You kill me, they kill you.”
    “You can’t kill me, even with your little blade there, so I doubt that they will be able to. And besides, they kill me, the pack will hunt you down and devour their flesh.”
    “Well, Lucas, shall we get this started? First off, though, drop your crappy Bretta.” I heard a clunk as the gun hit the ground. I brought my sword up as he rushed me. Vampires move a lot faster than most people give them credit for. I had less then a second to react. I sidestepped his rush and slashed downwards, creasing his back. A thin trickle of blood flowed down his bare torso and pooled at the waistband of his jeans. If looks could kill, I would have been dead then. He glared daggers at me. I just smirked and lunged. The blade kissed his right arm. I felt his hand close around my left wrist. I heard the bones pop under his vice-like grasp. Lucas twisted my arm around behind my back. Even though it hurt like none other, I still laughed. In hopes of wrenching my arm from its socket, he forgot about my sword.
    “No wonder there isn’t that many vamps in St. Louis. They’re all too stupid to survive!” I said through gritted teeth. That made him jerk upwards. Fiery pain shot through my arm as my shoulder popped loudly. I gasped at the pain. I had enough. I thrust my sword backward into his belly. Warm blood splashed on my back as I felt his hand slid off of my wrist. My shoulder was throbbing, and every movement sent searing pain through it. I spin around, intent on driving my sword through his black heart, when he punched me across the jaw. I crashed at least twelve feet away full length into the street. The triblade went flying from my grasp and landed next to the truck. Before I knew what was happening, he was on top of me, trying to sink his fangs into my throat. Thank God I had that leather choker on. I whipped a knife from my belt, grabbed his jet-black hair, and pulled his head to where his ear was next to my mouth.
    “Adios, sucker,” I said, though my jaw throbbed, as I sank the knife between his ribs into his heart. Blood pumped over my hand as I slid the knife out and his limp body slumped over me. I pushed the corpse off of me and got up. It was then that I noticed blood flowing down my left arm, and it wasn’t Lucas’s. I carefully lifted my sleeve and, sure enough, saw at least three long, deep lacerations. I wiped my knife on his pants and returned it to its place on my belt. Picking up my stuff, I limped back to the truck. I must have twisted my ankle slightly when I hit the ground after he punched me. Tristan ran out to meet me.
    “You ok?” she asked, concern in her voice.
    “Yea, or at least, I will be once I get these wrapped,” I said. As I was speaking, my jaw popped, so it felt better. Tristan handed me the first aid pack as I tore off the left sleeve of my shirt. I didn’t want it to get in the way as I wrapped the lacerations with gauze.
    “You’re a moron, you know that?” Nick said, climbing out of the truck. “You’re the only person I know that would take on a vampire in hand-to-hand combat.” I glared at him as I tore the tape with my teeth.
    “Maybe I like the challenge,” I said, spitting out the tape bits in my mouth.
    “You’re just lucky he didn’t get thorough that choker,” Brandon said.
    “I know, Brandon. I’ve been bitten before. We all have, and we know that holy water burns like crazy,” I said, swallowing a couple of Advil. I started to shrug on my pack when my shoulder flared, taking my breath away. I knew that a few ligaments had been torn. Tristan started to put my arm in a sling. I shook my head and waved her away.
    “I don’t need a sling, Angel. I just need something ridged to wrap around my shoulder.”
    “But, if you don’t keep your arm stationary, it will only get worse,” she said. I pulled a semi-ridged, six-inch wide strap out of the kit.
    “This will do the job,” I said, wrapping it around my shoulder. Tristan pinned it in place.
    “What about your wrist?” she asked.
    “My glove is stiff enough,” I said. I turned at a shriek from behind. A female vampire was hugging Lucas’ body.
    “You stupid jerk!” she screamed. “You killed my husband!” I glared at her as I reached for my rifle. A gunshot echoed loud and clear. The vampire slumped over, a bullet hole through her forehead.
    “Nice shot, Zeus,” Tristan said.
    “Thanks. You better watch it, guys. They’re everywhere,” Ryan said, his voice crackling over the radio.
    “I figured as much,” I said, putting my gear back on. I climbed back into the truck, which was still running. Soon, we were on the move again. The ride was quiet. No one said anything. It was almost creepy. We arrived at Washington Avenue after about ten minutes of silence. We weren’t really that far away, but we went slowly, watching for our targets. We got out of the truck and pulled our guns.
    “Ryan, where are you at?” I asked. Ryan’s voice sounded forced.
    “I’m on an old, abandoned building near Washington Avenue, and you’ll never believe what I found.” Tristan and I looked at each other. Nick and Brandon had went ahead to scout, but I know that they heard.
    “What did you find?” I asked. I could hear clacking, like a keyboard, so I knew whatever it was had to be on a computer.
    “Plans,” he said simply, though I knew they were more than that.
    “What did you find?” I asked again, putting a little more emphasis into it.
    “Documents and e-mails detailing how to start a war.”
    “What kind of war? And who wants to start it?” Tristan asked.
    “A war on humanity. Vamps and weres. Man, this isn’t good.” Tristan’s jaw hung slack as we looked at each other again. I heard Nick and Brandon running down the road after Ryan answered Tristan’s question.
    “Ryan, copy those documents onto your laptop and get down here. This mission just changed for the worse. We gotta get this to the cops and military,” I said, though my voice quaked. I knew this was worse than worse. This was disastrous. There are only a little over one thousand Slayers in the U.S. It wouldn’t be enough to stop a war. The military was our only hope, yet I knew that the government didn’t supply them with sliver bullets, and even if they did, the death toll would be high, because they have no idea how to kill these things. But we had to try. Millions, no, hundreds of millions of lives depended on it. We are their only hope. We are the Slayers.


    To be continued…


    NOTE: There isn't that many character descriptions because everyone knows everyone else at my school
    Sorry that it ran so long. Critazisims welcome!


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