You flee on all fours, your digitigrade legs and extended arms covering ground far faster than any human could ever hope to match.
The cracked surface of The Q Bridge is worn and battle-scarred. During the years of the Purge when the werewolf packs of the northeast had dug in here in a defensive position, The Q was the site of several deadly battles as the human ground forces attempted to drive the wolves out from the city and into the sea. It was rumored that hundreds of werewolves had lost their lives defending this very span.
You're so wrapped up in your thoughts and the heady glee of freedom that you're shocked senseless when an explosion under your feet throws you and Tiva into the air.
Time slows to a crawl, and through a red haze of pain you wonder why Lapu and Dena are upside down. Your ears are ringing…everything smells like burnt hair.
The minefield! In your haste you'd forgotten about the minefield! You twist and turn, seemingly weightless, plunging down toward the water's dark surface below. Falling…falling for the second time in as many hours. Your mind, shocked by the sudden detonation and sharp descent, plays through recent events in slow motion, and you briefly wonder if it might be for the best if you disappear beneath the cold waves forever.
No, you decide moments before you hit the water. It doesn't end here at all. This is only the beginning….
Two Hours Ago
The grit of a crumbling concrete foundation bites into the pads of your paws as you lope easily up the slope of a dilapidated wall, masonry chipping off twisted steel beams. You rise to a pinnacle of freedom, gazing down at the labyrinthine twists and turns of roads and alleyways that once played host to thousands of men and women going about their daily lives, blissfully unaware of the havoc that the Purge would one day reap.
You cast an idle glance to the west where you find the sun prepared to settle gently into a soft bed of cloud for the night. Good. There's still time, you think to yourself. You coil the muscles of your legs together tightly, springing with acrobatic grace to a higher platform, a leap that no human would have considered.
From here the ruins of the great city spread out below you in intricate detail, and you idly fancy yourself a giant, gazing over its dominion with a faint sense of pride and belonging. Lord of all you survey.
Haven. The refuge is all you've ever known, from your birth in the squalor of a small waterfront apartment to this very moment, perched atop the ruinous hulk of a long-abandoned office building.
Yours is the first generation of werewolves born and raised in captivity, a stark contrast to the green wilderness and freedom your elders speak of in the hush of the evening as they huddle in groups around the fires to keep warm. You've seen trees before, struggling for life between the cracks of empty patches of roadway. Scraggly bits of wood hardly worth the mention.
Let the elders lament the passing of their great wilderness. You're a new breed of lupine explorer, having traded in the forests for an urban jungle of steel and concrete.
Without warning, the floor beneath your paws crumbles, sending you tumbling into a free fall. It's quickly arrested by a bone-jarring crunch when you land on your back amid splinters of wood and stone. You manage to sound out a brief bark to alert your companions to your location before a cloud of blackness swallows up the sky and all becomes nothingness.
Claw Back the Darkness