Chapter Text
Wednesday, July 29th, 2020, 7:48 PM.
[Undisclosed location in Catskill Mountains, New York].
“Keep going, you’re good! I’ll let you know when to stop!” A facility member said, helping direct the delivery semi back into a loading dock using various hand and arm motions.
The hulking, mechanical heartbeat of a chugging diesel engine fills the late afternoon air, accompanied by the alarming tones of a reversing Freightliner semi-truck. Constant huffing and puffing of the pressure relief system briefly exhaling could be heard, alongside the giant heavy-duty tires slowly crawling across the concrete ground as the brakes screeched out here and there. The truck carries a big trailer at the end, with the driver being careful not to cause any jackknifing as it eases towards one of the many loading docks.
Inside the Reefer, a sinister payload resided, expensive and somewhat experimental in nature, but brave-killing when soon put to its anticipated use.
The payload wasn’t the next illegal nose candy that would bring even a skilled high school scientist down to their knees…
…Nor was it some experimental virus made by some evil corporation obsessed about a handheld rain canopy, capable of wreaking havoc on the population if released…
…It was something far sinister…
…One that’ll aid ███████’s progression into becoming the most notorious mafia in American history, if not the world’s history…
…One that could perform even more grotesque things on the human body, possibly even damage the integrity of one’s humanity permanently…
…Especially under the ominous light of the full moon…
Moments pass, and the truck’s trailer clicks into the loading dock, the person guiding the truck signaling the driver to stop. The driver shifts the truck’s gears into park, a clangorous PSSSSSHHHHHH!!!!! emitting from the vehicle’s pressure valves, before killing the ignition soon after.
Two workers in the cargo delivery wing unlocked and opened the trailer’s doors, the ear-irritating squealing and creaking of metal hinges filling the wing’s reverberant atmosphere. As the hefty metallic doors slowly drew open, a trove of wooden crates with the macabre payload faintly revealed, the darkness of the trailer cloaking them in a sea of muted dark greys and blacks. It wouldn’t be long until the doors were fully open, and the trailer’s interior LED lights turned on, casting a harsh, industrial white light in the cavernous cargo space and onto the wooden crates ready to be unpacked. The payload resided in the unnatural glow, able to intimidate even the police if anyone other than facility members laid eyes upon them.
A flurry of other facility members with hand forklifts came over and began to unload the payload from the massive trailer, exercising extreme caution and care to not even put a dent in any of those crates or the eighteen pallets they resided on. Causing any damage, even the slightest ding, can be seen as a sinful taboo to the unloaders, as they do not want to experience the most horrid punishment of their lives; keep in mind that whatever is in those crates is a stupidly expensive and highly-coveted payload, each small individual box inside thirty-six of those crates containing $540 worth of product. The facility members would exchange small talk, chatting about how excited they were to see the new, improved product.
“...higher efficiency rate!”
“...should be getting into action soon…”
“...three hundred ninety-two boxes in every create…”
“...over $423k per pallet…”
“...enough to last over half a year…”
“...new werewolf types…”
Meanwhile, Reichard carefully entered the boss’s office, informing him of his presence and the news. The office perfectly balanced the vibes of both cozy and futuristic, with an authentic vintage bear rug on the spotless floor and oil paintings adorning the black wood-printed walls. Comfy chairs and leather sofas invited welcomed guests to relax, while an extra-large cat bed provided a perfect napping spot for the boss's sleepy pet Persian, with said Pokémon sleepily curled up. The wooden desk with its sleek glass top was meticulously organized; pens and office supplies had designated spots, wires from the ominous-looking PC were neatly arranged, and not a speck of dust marred the surface. An advanced Logitech mouse sat ready for use, possibly worth hundreds of dollars. The office even featured a genuine fireplace, adding a touch of home-like warmth to the professional, high-tech ambiance.
“Great news for ya; so far, it seems the delivery arrived at the facility safe and sound. Not even a single scratch.”
The Boss would let out a sinister, menacing laugh, replying in an ominous yet satisfied voice, “Perfect…”
Our mystery-cloaked Italian-American mafia Boss ploddingly turned around, soon revealing himself: a middle-aged man with a professional short black haircut, and a handsome, ageless face that can strike trauma-inducing terror into fearless SWAT and military officers; even a drill sergeant would back away in dread. His luxuriously crafted yet inquietude-inducing attire infused more brave-sapping peril into the atmosphere surrounding him. Consisting of a dark black, notch-collared, button-down blazer coat with a red letter “R” on his left chest, a crimson business shirt underneath, carbon black formal business pants with a comically luxurious, handcrafted black leather belt, with a dark, polished silver buckle, and show-stopping matte-black Italian business shoes, also handcrafted and made by a privately-owned apparel manufacturing company Oxgnaw. Lastly, to put an evil black cherry on top of the trepidating cake, a brown mahogany desk name stand with red engraved letters stood on the right side of his desk.
That chilling nameplate spelling out one, menacing name…
A name so evil, that even the devil would have egregious nightmares at how iniquitously sad*stic, villainous, abrasive, cynical, and frost-burn-blooded the Boss’s goals, motives, and actions are…
A name so bone-chilling, even FBI and CIA agents brave enough to dare reveal his identity or find out anything about him will be given severe cold sweats…
And a name so unforgetting, even a glance or slight earshot of it will be engrained into the deepest parts of your memory…
That one name is no other than…
…
Giovanni.
He would continue with an evil, blood-curdling smile, “Just what I’ve anticipated on hearing, Reichard.”
“Glad to see you happy, Boss. And I bet Johnson would be beyond proud of us.”
“I bet he’d be mindblown and starstruck to the point where words wouldn’t match how proud he would be,” Giovanni chuckled.
“I wish to see the new blowdarts and guns in action. Let’s head on over to the testing labs, shall we? Something within me wants to give them a good test drive myself on a live subject.”
“Oh à coup sûr! À coup sûr! As you wish.”
“Brilliant. Not too long from now, this state and country shall know what power truly looks like…
…And they shall stand and watch in fear.”
~~~~~~~~~---------~~~~~~~~~---------~~~~~~~~~---------~~~~~~~~~---------
7:56 P.M.
Research And Testing Lab Of ███████
Nestled within the heart of the facility, laid the Research and Testing Lab, its appearance taking on modern shades of dark gray, and the atmosphere sprawling with the pursuit of curiosity and the craving to push the limits of research. Meanwhile, the air is a little less inviting, as the strictly controlled temperature of the lab was similar to that of a crisp early spring day, cold enough to tickle the skin with goosebumps. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a clinical pallor on the polished surfaces and stainless steel countertops. The hum of advanced machinery echoes through labyrinthine corridors, each guarded by electronically sealed doors, concealing the clandestine experiments transpiring within.
But within the sterile confines hides a nasty, grim secret; in a special wing behind heavy-duty titanium doors with locks locked tighter than that of Fort Knoxx, experiments are conducted on kidnapped humans, animals, and Pokémon without their consent, hidden from the prying eyes of ethics committees and oversight. At times, the experiments get gruesome enough to the point of blood-curdling torture, and even so extreme that many were horrifically mutilated to their deaths for ███████’s gain in their horrid research. Occasionally, you could faintly make out a human screaming for mercy or an animal wailing in pain. However, the sounds aren’t very noticeable, as they usually get drowned out by the digital humming and bleep-blooping of machinery that relentlessly fills the laboratory’s curious yet stern atmosphere.
The laboratory had numerous rooms to conduct usually inhumane experiments on their hopeless victims. Victims would reside in a white room with nothing besides a square LED-powered light overhead. There was another room for facility members and workers to study the victim as the experiments progressed, the observation glass being a one-way mirror. Unmarked files, tucked away in secure cabinets, conceal the details of experiments that defy ethical norms and challenge the very essence of scientific morality. The faces of specialized laboratory facility members (also more commonly known as “Specialty Boffins” in the facility) betray a grisly tension, a tension heavy enough to seep through their monotonous full-face respirators and into one’s soul, a shared knowledge of the unsanctioned, law-rebelling pursuits occurring within the shadows of the facility’s lab wing. Whispers of discontent circulate among the researchers, their consciences burdened by the weight of the dark, traumatic truth they guard. As the line between ethical exploration and nefarious experimentation blurs, a discernible sense of discontent permeates the sickeningly sterilized dystopian air.
And at one of those rooms that have seen things that would not dare let others see or imagine, Reichard and Giovanni arrive for the anticipated, loathsome demonstration. One of the Specialty Boffins comes up to Giovanni, granting him entry into the test chamber, just before giving the Boss the aqua-colored box of blowdarts and the gun. The gun resembled a typical handgun in a dystopian-esk shade of carbon grey, with a narrow barrel for the blowdart to be loaded into and shot from, with the propellant being highly compressed CO2. It even had a futuristic pistol sight on top, the lens covered in a protective thick sheet of highly reinforced lavender aerogel.
Putting the gun in his pocket, two curious hands carefully opened the box, revealing three blowdarts with a hundred milligrams of the improved lycanthropium solution, the pressurized serum taking on an unnatural shade of pale blue. A cream-colored stopper covered the needle ends of them, and the feathered ends were an unyielding hue of red. Giovanni felt a sinful smile creepily grow by the second, excited to begin the testing.
A demanding finger points to one of the Specialty Boffins, with Giovanni ordering, “Would you mind bringing in a human subject to test on? One that is very young to be precise.”
“Are… are you saying… a child?” A female SB would question.
Giovanni looked at the SB with a somewhat disgruntled look.
“What else did you think I wanted? A 20-year-old special needs douchebag? Of course I meant a child. Just get me one and don’t question it.”
“Y-y-y-you’re not going to use a literal child as a te-”
Giovanni seized the SB by her suit, yanking her close while staring daggers into her soul. "Listen here you worthless film of pond scum. Fetch me a damn child or take their place as the test subject!"
Eyes widening with fear, she replies hastily, “S-s-sure thing, boss! I’m on it!”
“Good. Obey my commands and things won’t be personal. That includes all you members as well.”
As the SB went to grab a child for the Boss, Reichard would come over and take a gander at the new blowdarts, his eyes lighting up with amusem*nt. Giovanni gives him one, the French man basking in all of the glory of the Aussie man’s pièce de résistance two point oh. The pale-blue serum-filled and FDA-violating blowdart slightly glistened in an ominous yet wonderful fusion of reflected, glimmering, ethereal light. It seemed to silently pulse with a mysterious, supernatural energy, hinting at its potent contents and what horrors it can make unfold within a human’s body.
Not much time has passed, and two SBs arrived with a little boy kicking and begging to be let go. Reichard returns the blowdart to Giovanni and heads into the observing room with the other SBs, the sealing door closing behind him.
“I wanna go home! I want my mommy and daddy! Let go of me!”
The other male SB, absent of any patience, roars to the child, “Shut up! You best obey Operation Rocket or you’ll regret it, you little runt!”
Soon enough, the kid gave up, crying in defeat as the SBs got into position, them facing Giovanni with the kid facing the opposite way. Taking the blowdart gun out of his pocket, he took one of the blowdarts and carefully loaded it into the barrel. Giovanni then awaits the go-ahead, in the meantime getting into a shooting position and ensuring the gun’s aim onto the child’s back.
“Please don’t hurt me…”
The male SB gave the go-ahead, giving a thumbs-up. “You’re free to pull the trigger.”
Giovanni’s finger did not hesitate, applying quick pressure on the trigger. It clicked back, causing a short burst of compressed CO2 to propel the blowdart out the barrel at high speed, the gun recoiling back slightly. To his surprise, it wasn’t as loud as expected, only as noisy as a conventional Nerf gun you would find at a toy store.
The blowdart forcefully punches into the kid’s back, piercing through the shirt’s fabric and injecting the lycanthropium solution within a second. A deafening wail from the kid’s throat abruptly filled the room, startling the two SBs but not being able to faze the boss in the slightest, and another fit of horrible crying ensued. Giovanni walked to the sobbing kid, and yanked the blowdart out of the child’s back without any regard for any amount of suffering, the SBs letting go of them onto the floor.
In the meantime, part of the wall opposite the observing room folded up, revealing a glass-concealed compartment with a chunk of dusty moon rock. A bright ultraviolet light flickered to life, bathing the room in a pale blue glow that mimicked the macabre luminescence of Earth’s natural satellite. The eye-protection technology embedded into the two SBs full-face masks activated instantly. Giovanni put on some UV-protective glasses, and the UV-resistant film on the one-way glass protected Reichard and the other facility members from the somewhat harsh UV light. Suddenly, moments later a feeling of mysterious dread filled the boy’s body, and he whimpered in fear of what could happen to him.
As soon as that feeling devoured his body, a stinging sensation of pins and needles tortured him, starting at his hands, fur, as brown as the earth, pushed through the little boy’s young, soft, and delicate skin. He would continually cry out “Owie!!” as more dog-like fur sprouted out, eyes widening in trepidation and welling with a tsunami of tears at the sight. The flesh within the boy’s fingertips and palms slowly swelled, the skin on the increasingly puffy parts becoming pink, taking on a somewhat rough, callus-like texture but still retaining a reasonable amount of softness. With leathery yet soft paw pads uncomfortably materializing into existence and making their skin painfully tight, his nails darkened into a rich, earthy color, growing longer and more canine.
“What’s happening to my hands?! What are you doing to me?!” the poor, confused child cried out, desperate for Giovanni's sympathy, only to be met with a sinister and remorseless grin.
With hands folded neatly behind his back, Giovanni replied, “That should be the least of your worries. How about you worry about nothing else besides obeying Operation Rocket and keeping quiet, hmm?”
Unbeknownst to the boy, the changes would get gruesome, and rest assured anyone, it isn’t gonna be pretty in the slightest.
With the brown fur stopping at his wrist and now venturing up the poor boy’s arm as a lighter shade of brown, nerve-stabbing changes and rearrangements of the skeletal structure in his hands soon took place. The moment when bones began to explode apart, dislocate, fuse, and reshape haphazardly, a startlingly strident shriek of torment bellowed from the kid’s throat, him clutching his hands as the dexterity of them gradually atrophied. As the kid screamed out bloody murder, the female SB cowardly looked away, and even the male SB could not help but cringe slightly at the sight and earshot of it. However, Giovanni did not show a single emotion or hint of sympathy as he just stood there, menacingly.
More changes relentlessly continued as the artificial moonlight performed its dark, spine-chilling magic onto the boy, him now undergoing a horrendous pain-fueled fit of extreme sobbing. Flesh and tendons stressfully tore apart and healed back up, reconstructing into another mammal no longer recognizable as human. Most blood vessels within the increasingly dehumanizing hands would tear apart, temporarily bleeding and shifting about. The furry digits, looking closer to that of a canine with their current features, shrunk down in length and became significantly diminutive. Both thumbs started deflating like balloons and moved further up to their wrists, becoming nothing more than useless dewclaws.
While the first changes occurred, Reichard couldn’t help but put his face close to the protective glass with his hands resting against it, much like a young child seeing the coolest featured Christmas toy being proudly showcased for all to see. Everything (sometimes mostly just important observations) during the test run was written down onto big yellow notepads by the other spectating researchers.
Eventually, the progressing changes on his hands came to a hesitant halt, the pain diminishing greatly but still cramping an awful lot. Just one glance, one at his now mangled-up mess for hands and the UV-illuminated moonrock, was all it took for him to realize what was happening.
“NO!!! DON’T MAKE ME BECOME A WEREWOLF!!! I’M SCARED OF THEM AND HAVE NIGHTMARES INVOLVING THEM!!! DON’T DO THIS TO ME!!!”
Giovanni did nothing but chuckle at the kid, not caring about the agony or trauma he had to go through, but instead of how the experiment results would turn out. The poor, suffering boy began to hyperventilate, his muscles tightening up due to the body’s natural instinctual defenses, which will do nothing but cause more unwanted pain and agony.
“PLEASE!!! I DON’T WANNA BECOME MY WORST FEAR!!! I BEG Y-AWOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
As the kid begged relentlessly for mercy, another shot of pain caught him off guard, this time at his tailbone. This made him howl like a dog in pain, sounding much like a puppy. Out of sheer shock, he swiftly covered his mouth, his heart skipping a few beats. His voice was on the verge of changing!
Small yet nerve-stabbing amounts of flesh steadily pulled outwards from around the tailbone and body, with calcium being sucked away and collected together to form new vertebrae to extend the end of the spine. With a new appendage forcing its way through the boy’s pants, the kid could not help but wail his eyes out in physical torment while writhing in excruciation, the tail curling up while also growing a fluffy coat of cream-colored fur. During this, a wave of light brown fur sidled down his back and sides, with the same cream-colored fur from the tail tearing through the skin on his chest, belly, and crotch.
The kid’s body temperature steadily rose as more fur traveled down his legs. The world around him seemed to grow with each passing moment, Giovanni and the SB’s looking as if they were becoming giants. Eyes glistening with overflowing tears, he looked up at Giovanni, hoping to find at least a drop of sympathy from the evil Italian mobster.
Test Subject Boy used Normal-Type Status Move “Tearful Look!”
Giovanni’s Hidden Ability: Iron-Fisted Empathy.
It did not have any effect on Giovanni.
Giovanni’s Ability: Intimidate.
Test Subject Boy’s Attack dropped!
Giovanni used Dark-Type Status Move “Menacing Look!”
Test Subject Boy has been frozen in place with fear! He cannot flee and may not be able to attack!
Test Subject Boy’s Attack Accuracy has severely dropped!
The newly growing appendage ripped through the boy’s pants, leaving a hole and ruining them. New nerves grew and flared to life, his still-developing brain being fed new yet confusing information about the alien appendage, new muscle tendons materializing and programming themselves. With a new way of expressing emotions, the boy tucked his newly formed tail between his legs, letting Giovanni know more clearly of the intimidation and traumatizing levels of pain he’s forced to undergo.
But alas, he didn’t give one single f*ck about the boy’s well-being, instead basking in the glory of some poor kid becoming a werewolf, or in this instance, a werepuppy.
The horrid orchestra of pain kept on strumming its hellacious strings, performing a symphony of torment to the tempo of the devilish conductor's dramatic, exaggerated, yet rhythmic dance. All thanks to the lycanthropium solution and the artificial moonlight, effectuating the unfolding memory-scarring spectacle.
As a wave of soft brown fur began coating the kid’s feet, he growled out with tears in his eyes, “You’ll eventually pay forrrrr doing this you f-ARF!” just before covering his mouth once again in shock.
“Like as if an insignificance such as you would do anything against a tyrant who should be feared. Why not cry about getting revenge against me to your parents instead? Oh wait, you can’t; you’re stuck here with me while they are worried sick about your sorry ass.”
The elongation, a poignant echo of the transformation in his fingers, unfolded with mesmerizing grace, gradually shaping the toenails into a more pronounced canine form. In tandem with this evolution, the toenails embraced a deepening shade, mirroring the earthy hues that adorned his front paw claws. The tapestry of change continued its intricate weaving as the pads of the boy's feet, previously unnoticed in their ordinary state, emerged as a canvas of profound alteration. Swelling and expanding with an ethereal yet unnerving elegance, they underwent a tangible metamorphosis, adopting a newfound plumpness and softness akin to the tender pads found on the paws of a young puppy, the skin fading into a delicate shade of pink.
Pain, sharp and relentless, coursed through every nerve ending, repeatedly stinging him like a swarm of aggravated Beedrills as his flesh and bones reconstructed into a more canine anatomy. Distressing sounds of bones cracking and exploding apart almost deafeningly echoed in the surrounding UV-lit whiteness, and flesh screamed in protest with the traumatizing paranormal sensations of metamorphosis filling his legs and feet. The digits of his feet swelled and expanded, becoming more evenly sized and stubbier by each passing moment. His big toe shrunk down, traveling up his foot like a nomadic tribe during the shifting seasons, before losing any leftover dexterity within them, becoming meaningless dewclaws. His ears changed, becoming somewhat elven-shaped, clemently covered in a soft coat of fur, brown for the tips, and the light variety for the rest, as they moved up towards the top of his head. Their ability to hear went away briefly, drowning him in the deafening symphony of silence.
Simmering with more pain, the flesh and bones within them began to reconstruct into something more quadruped. Fibers within the muscles shredded apart, his flesh pulling and folding in agonizing display, with multiple blood vessels breaking open, causing significant bruising underneath the skin. The formerly human ears have finished their migration, resting atop their head before flopping forward like an Espurr’s ears. Bones audibly cracked apart in a traumatizing symphony of hurt, the artificial moonlight powerfully beckoning the reprogramming of the boy’s legs as he regained his hearing, but this time, things seemed louder to the child from the increased eardrum sensitivity.
Despite the transitorily yet agonizingly ponderous, morbid metamorphosis that kept dancing about in the artificial moonlight, the little boy astonishingly mustered everything left within his waning power to get onto two feet, his resilience clinging to the edges of consciousness. He kept on powering through the changes, his heels moving up his legs before the bones in his heels morphed into a canine hock joint. Toughing it out from the onslaught of sensory-depraving hailstorms storming his nervous system, the poor, suffering boy growled at Giovanni, struggling to take every step closer on his ever-changing legs. His legs trembled similarly to a plucked guitar string, his ability to stand upright slowly becoming more of an unachievable yet alien feat, his canines sharpening into fierce yet little fangs.
Giovanni sensed a growing threat from the now half-human-half-werepuppy, realizing the possibility of the half-human child throwing paws at him angrily. His menacing smile soon bent backward, more facial muscles working to create a hostile facial expression. Giovanni’s dagger-throwing stare warned the kid to think about his motives twice before discovering the consequences. But an unknown wave of bravery overcame the kid; he ignored the non-verbal warning, still walking forward with unsteady steps that had the stability of an ever-growing Jenga tower. At the same time, many sharp and dark brown stones pierced through the skin around his neck, with some cream-colored fur sprouting around the neck.
Observing that his menacing disposition didn’t have any effect on the child, he sternly says while pointing a finger, “You listen here, damn child. If you so dare lay a finger on me, I will revoke your right to live, and I have no problem doing so toward any test subject that dares not obey me, Operation Rocket, or ███████.”
To no avail, the kid kept growling at the Italian mafia boss, powering through the hellish agony of lycanthropy, trying to take another increasingly wobbling step forward. This surprised Giovanni somewhat, since his menacing atmosphere that overpowered anyone else’s usually was the one to do the talking for him. Being the boss of a nearly three-decade-old Italian-American mafia and having next to naught patience with a petite fuse, seeing the kid dare try to show any amount of bravery and defiance against him didn’t sit very well.
“Very well then. If my words aren’t enough to scare you into obeying, then my five-fingered friend will do the talking instead.”
With a swift, suppressive move, Giovanni clenched his right fist and got himself into an offensive stance, pulling back his arm. Then, the wrecking ball that was his fist came forward at steeply increasing speeds, hurling toward the kid’s left cheek like a diving peregrine falcon. The slowly changing kid had next to no time to react, his eyes widening in fear just before the screamingly raging fist met his face.
Before anyone could react, his fist had reached the kid’s left cheek, smashing right into it, similar to a doomsday asteroid crashing into earth.
An ear-shattering, piercing squeal of pain that sounded more like a puppy’s scream than a human’s, filled and startled the room for a good second. He instinctually covered his face as he fell onto his side, beginning to wail and howl horrendously in torment. The female SB shuttered immensely in horror, her eyes widening in disbelief at what Giovanni had remorselessly done, overwhelmed emotions consuming the specialty boffin. However, out of fear of being punished for showing emotions to test subjects, she had no choice but to suck it all up. With the floodgates that kept the crying flood at bay mewling under the depressing pressure, she did everything in her power to not show any emotion with tears trickling down her cheek.
While those floodgates sprung many leaks, still giving their all to fulfill their protective duty despite the waning supply of strength, she closed her eyes while waging war with the traumatic memories that hauntingly ate at her from inside.
“NIE… (NO…)
Proszę… (Please…)
Nie chcę pamiętać… (I don't want to remember…)
Jaki ból i cierpienie musiałam znosić… (What pain and suffering I had to endure…)
Jakie nadużycia wywołane wódką musiałem tolerować… (What vodka-induced abuses I had to tolerate…)
To, co mój okropny mąż zrobił mojej jedynej córce… (What my horrible husband did to my only daughter…)
Chcę odwrócić wzrok, ale nie mam innego wyjścia, jak tylko zostać i patrzeć, bo inaczej zostanę ukarany za swoje tchórzostwo… (I want to look away, but I have no choice but to stay and watch, otherwise I will be punished for my cowardice…)
W co się wpakowałem? (What have I gotten myself into?)
Jakie jeszcze straszne plany ma ten potwór? (What other terrible plans does this monster have?)
Gdybym tylko mógł zrobić coś innego niż być czyimś pionkiem i wykonywać ruchy, przeciwko którym nie mam nic do powiedzenia… (If only I could do something other than be someone's pawn and make moves I have no say against…)
...Byłbym w stanie wymierzyć sprawiedliwość mojej drogiej dziewczynie Grażynie. (...I would be able to bring justice to my dear girl Grażyna.)”
Sudden trauma to the face agitated the progressing changes, causing them to hasten much quicker and radiate almost radioactive levels of affliction. A tidal wave of light brown canine fur flooded outwards from ground zero, where Giovanni’s fist of tyrannizing iron came into contact. The tsunami of fur covered the kid’s face in a soft layer not even moments later, with the mouth and nose area covered in an earthy brown color. Finally, the shrinking of his body came to an abrupt halt, just before a solar flare of pain grew to hellish heights around his mouth and nose area.
Deafening and increasingly canine wails stormed within the chamber-like room, with the poor kid’s screams of agony escaping into the laboratory’s halls. His pain receptors screamed zip-bomb levels worth of information to his still-developing brain, overloading his senses as his face mercilessly elongated by the centimeter. Giovanni couldn’t help but burst into joyful yet cold-blooded laughter, seeing the “test drive” slowly become a success while euphorically taking in the child’s suffering. He didn’t just find it music to his demented ears, no…
…He basked it all in with both ears and tear-glistening eyes as if it were a sacred symphony composed by a god, with every inky note delicately composed by every blessed stroke, written with a fountain pen of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds onto sugar paper lovingly infused with gold and silver leaf, inside none other than possibly the holiest place on earth, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre!!!
The awful, traumatizing caterwauls were enough to trigger the female SB further, causing more horrid memories of her abusive ex to begin drowning her in a pit as inescapable as tar. As her troublesome past returned to haunt her full force, the urge to cry suddenly vanished, starting to feel numbed by the PTSD-inducing experiments Giovanni demanded ███████ to conduct with an iron fist. Her eyes would even lock into a mindless thousand-mile stare, much like a World War II soldier silently recalling their days out on the battlefield, watching their comrades get mowed down by Nazi-driven forces as they fought for what they were taught as right, and trying to protect the vision of an American dream that would unfortunately never turn out to become a reality.
Even worse, she was the only one in the testing chamber who had not only sympathy for the child, but a thought process not rotted away from feeding the evil that hungrily lurks within the minds of every person.
Surprisingly, as eternal as the agony and unstoppable changes seemed, it was all over in a heartbeat. Small last-minute transformations quietly took place within the werepup’s body, starting to feel tension on his spine while mustering out whines from his ravaged vocal cords. The kid had no more energy left to scream out in pain, simply laying limp on the barren white floor, hesitantly admitting defeat against the blinding ultraviolet.
But just when he thought it had all finished up, his spine snapped into a different position, letting out a blood-curdling CRACK!!! This made being quadruped instinctually natural while making being biped more…
…Awkward and challenging to do.
“ROCKRUUUUUUUUUFF!!!!!!!!!”
The opposing Test Subject Boy suddenly fainted from the excruciating pain…
Giovanni has won!
And just like that, the test run concluded, the UV light shutting off as the bit of wall folded back into place, concealing the compartment into a solus, solitude of darkness. UV-protecting eyewear was deactivated or removed shortly after, with silence following to process the boy’s unethical new abilities. Inky blueish-black letters that formed words, quickly but neatly written with salient events, flooded every line within the notepads’ hopeful yet grim yellow pages. The room was left in astonishment, silently echoing with the torment that the kid had gone through. Everyone could hardly fathom the reality that unfolded before their own eyes, even if they had seen it when that Aussie psycho was still kickin’ and makin’ the facility a better (and more sinister) place.
Some may find themselves morbidly amused, unable to take their eyes off the grotesquely beautiful trainwreck that is lycanthropy in action. Others may be horrified, their primal fears triggered by the sight of a creature that defies the laws of nature. And still, others may be left speechless, their feeble human minds devoid of such horrors, being left with no reasonable path to attempt to comprehend the sight presented to them.
Reichard, brimming with joy and nostalgia at witnessing his partner in crime’s creation in action again, exclaimed, “It's… perfect…!”
Meanwhile, Giovanni just stood there, slowly clapping with a look of satisfaction, eyes closed alongside a prominently growing smile.
“You fellow scientists and researchers never fail to impress… Pat yourselves on the back and color me amused.”
He continues, pointing at the female SB, “You can impress me more if you suck it up and not whimp out so often. I’ll leave you to do the rest.”
Her eyes widened, feeling her soul leave her body. Had he noticed her sympathy for the child this entire time? Did he see the tears trickling through the cracks of her stoic facade?
Terror gripped her as she contemplated the consequences, envisioning the gravest punishments she might ever receive. The weight of the situation pressed down on her, suffocating her with its severity. But amidst the silent yet poignant turmoil, a flicker of resignation emerged. It's better to accept her fate and comply with the boss's orders, no matter how unjust they seem.
Sucking up her tears, she gets onto one shaky knee and gently picks up the Rockruff-ified child, its body limply hanging in her arms, echoing a familiar yet hauntingly lifeless aura. Pathetic memories of what she lost years ago drowned her in a deathly riptide of despair, the deafening inner thoughts disorientating the SB beyond focus.
“Quit having sympathy for the child, you pitiful excuse for a human being! Drop that heart of gold and do what the boss says!”
Giovanni diffuses the dilemma long before it has time to pick up, calmly yet sternly speaking out, “Hey, Gavin! Enough. I’ll deal with her later; you don’t have to do my damn job. Just make this easy for all of us and get rid of the test subject now, that's all I ask.”
“Ugh, fine. If she wants to be the wimp she’s always been, then I’ll do it my damn self. Stupid retards wasting their feelings on a test subject…” He voiced through tightly clenched teeth.
He roughly grabs the poor fainted Rockruff kid from the female SB’s arms, grabbing onto the scruff of the neck as if it were a cat in big trouble. The door unseals from the wall, providing an exit for the unnecessarily disgruntled male SB.
“whor*!!!”
A silence of deafening atmosphere pierced the two rooms, instilling in everyone a brief moment of disconcertion as if the child's suffering wasn’t even considered one in the first place. Meanwhile, the other SB could no longer hold in her bottled-up emotions, sobbing softly as they fully knew the others had seen their sympathy for the child. She didn’t care about keeping it in anymore, even if the others saw her as being weak because of it.
Sympathy for a test subject is, of course, naturally human, but here at ███████? Suffice it to say, as cruel and unruly as it may be for some to accept…
…it's rather frowned upon.
Especially when you consider the fact that the whole place is run by an Italian mafia boss devoid of any heartfelt emotions…
…alongside mobsters of varying backgrounds willing to perform the gruesomest actions, all for wealth…
…for luxury
…appraisal…
…drugs and sex…
…power…
…secrecy…
…and unfair superiority over the public to further fuel their insatiable egos.
“I understand that I can get much at times, but him? Not very acceptable, I need to talk with him about his behavior. Reichard has many other behavioral issues but controls them much better than he does. And for Anelia? She’s not exactly in trouble, but I may need to have a word with her,”
He sighs, the relieving sensation filling his usually toughened, tight-muscled body.
Quickly following up calmly yet proudly, he continues, “But regardless, I loved every moment. You scientists and SBs continue to impress me in the most extraordinary ways. Experiment dismissed.”
As everybody in the two rooms parted ways, off to do other jobs and document the new blowdarts, Giovanni folded his hands behind his back, Reichard following in tow. The two rooms were soon emptied of people, with the boss and Reichard now exiting the sterile confines of the grim laboratory. Warmer yet still cool air, musty with the summer heat yet familiar enough to be separated from the now mixed air, enveloped them in a wave, feeling close to that of gassy water.
While walking with Giovanni towards their office, Reichard's phone vibrates a few times. Wondering what notifications managed to burst through his phone’s “Do Not Disturb” mode, he reach into his pocket before pulling it out.
Ripples: Super Secure Messaging Network For Businesses
A2. Carlos has sent you 3 messages. Click to view more…
“Yo Holmes!”
“That ‘Someone-Someone’ I mentioned last week is available to arrange plans with you and the boss.”
“LMK when you’re ready ASAP!”
The devious French man smiles, a newfound excitement unlike anything else filling him like a car at a gas station.
“Just in time, mon ami.”
A2. Carlos is about to make a ripple…
“Ah, am I, esse?”
“Couldn’t have been more spot on.”
A2. Carlos is about to make a ripple…
“Alright! I’ll let ███ ████████ know! He can’t wait to make a good game plan with the boss!”
Giovanni turns around and sees Reichard on his phone texting away to Carlos. A raised eyebrow could be seen on the boss’s face.
“Any new information arising, Reichard?”
Reichard puts away his phone shortly after sending one last text…
“Come to his office when you can.”
…before uttering two words.
“He’s ready.”
<=To=Be=Continued=\\\
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