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Description
The Lone Wolf by mt1608

"A Lone Wolf," stated Mr Weatherman darkly, "is either a survivor, or a brute. Or in some cases both of them, and badly in need of extermination." He adjusted his freshly pressed brown suit as his tongue passed over the last word, without so much as a blink or frown of discomfort at the ramifications of his statement.

"Sir," ventured Silov, hard pressed to match his brisk pace, "Is that not a little, um, extreme? Given that we have not... even..."

The smaller man in the tweed jacket and his shaky speech shriveled up before the withering gaze of the larger man in the power-suit.
"That," muttered Weatherman in a tone of ice, "is precisely why we are making this trip to the City of Filth. Just in case our dear 'Jackal/Jekyll' turns out to be agreeable to pack laws." If anything, his scowl only managed to deepen as he absentmindedly shredded with his strong fingers the tourism pamphlet previously offered by an overly chirpy flight attendant. '-ollywood' in bright gold letters fluttered away on the wind.

"You sound doubtful, sir," Silov said quietly. Weatherman snorted loudly, more than a little irate from having to fly (fly!!! what kind of self-respecting wolf takes off from the ground!) in a metal confinement unit in crowded proximity.

"When is it ever a good day, mutt?" responded the Alpha wolf with no particular vehemence (status high or low was status after all). "My experience from lone wolves in the past has never been pleasant."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jackal/Jekyll was different from other lone wolves.
For one, whereas most lone wolves make an appearance in the local papers under the crime or supernatural section (page 26-35, 56-57 respectively, Weatherman had long since memorized the only relevant pages that required reading), Jackal/Jekyll made it onto the front page. Of the International Tribune. Three days consecutively. Not to say anything of the amount of celebrity magazines and tabloids eagerly soaking up the newest sensation in Hollywood.

His first debut had been on a Thursday morning in a printed, coloured image on the newspaper under the headlines "Lone Wolf Bares All" (Weatherman had, according to rumors within the pack, subsequently choked on his tobacco and developed a violent wrecking cough that only intensified as more news continued pouring in)

Whatever rules, regulations and oaths dedicated to secrecy that the packs had created since the industrialization era, Jackal/Jekyll seemed intent on breaking them all.
And he did so with the glorious style of one born for showbiz.

And so Weatherman had sent a single letter, adorned with the thumb (or claw) prints of other equally distinguished Alphas.
A single invitation to a face to face meeting was the response, together with a free T-shirt that might have made a killing on E-bay, had Weatherman not immediately shredded and torched it.

So here they were: two seemingly ordinary men in fancywear before the human bastion of pop culture entertainment. Silov swallowed hard with nervousness as a trio of burly security guards looked over their papers and granted them entry.
He wouldn't consider himself courageous, or even remotely brave. But he was a first class survivor, whether it involved wheedling before the true werewolves, or lying low during a storm, or simply avoiding danger.

Right now, danger was in the air. It wasn't just the fact that Jackal/Jekyll could have prepared an elaborate trap for them ("two's a company, three's a crowd", the letter had stated explicitly); but Hollywood itself reeked of the many things that darkened human hearts—ambition, power, money, and the ever present lust of fame—all hidden under the facade of glitter, glamour and gold.
One glance at the tightness of Weatherman's expression told Silov that his Alpha felt the same discomfort.

But there was something else as well that permeated the air, and rode alongside the imminent danger like a heady perfume. Even as his nervousness grew with the progression of scenery, Silov found himself strangely... exhilarated

Weatherman only scowled harder.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The designated meeting point was disturbingly absent of life, if not lights. No guards stood around the compound, and a deep breath revealed no snipers in the vicinity. That meant that any immediate threats would have to be either magical (in Hollywood? Unlikely) or mechanical (of that, there could be little guarantee).

It wasn't a particularly glamorous building either—more of an observatory or studio than a place to stay. But the receptionist in the spotless lobby gave them directions and made to leave. Weatherman stopped her with a barely controlled snarl.
"Boss' orders," she shrugged without any pretence to her confusion, and that was that.

But any doubts the duo had were silenced when the final set of doors opened to reveal a large acoustic chamber that was empty save for musical and recording instruments and three chairs. One of them had a person in it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Silov had seen the pictures in the papers, and (secretly) the numerous performance videos that had become the present mainstay of Youtube. However, the Jackal/Jekyll sitting in the chair now was not the wild, raucous, raunchy beast of the electric guitar stardom, but a quiet, tired looking young man.
At the sound of their arrival, the celebrity rose in an instant, a brilliant white grin lit up his face, and suddenly he was the Jackal again.
"A pleasure, Mr Weatherman, sir!"
Whatever stinging remark Weatherman had prepared died on his lips as he took in the full figure of lone wolf before him. Certainly, Hollywood frequently embellished its pictures and videos, but this was it, him...

Silov guessed the Alpha's words even before they rolled out.
"A pup!" Weatherman shook his head half in disbelief, but the confusion dissipated rapidly to be replaced by fury. "Do you realize what trouble you have caused, pup?"
The Jackal swallowed hard, and nodded. "I know."

Silov had seen the Alpha in action before, but he wasn't prepared for the sudden burst of speed, rage, and terrible grace of a livid elder. It all happened so quickly that a human would have imagined a massive beast materializing out of thin air—in a second, Weatherman was surging forward, shedding and shredding clothes with inhuman savagery as the transformation seized his body and fine-tuned it into the bristling white killing machine that sent the celebrity flying. Even as the Jackal cried out in shock, a set of massive paws pinned him to the floor, and cold blue eyes, hardened with wrath issued a decree of silence.
"YOU WILL RETURN TO THE PACK WITH ME, AND YOU WILL LIVE BY OUR LAWS UNTIL YOU ARE DEEMED MATURE ENOUGH TO..."
"No."

At that point, Silov closed his eyes and held his hands over his ears to block out the imminent sounds and sights of mutilated flesh. He doubted that the Alpha would spare even a pup in his current state.
But the eight foot tall beast was struck dumb by the sheer audacity of the response. In a rare comedic moment, the Alpha's tongue lolled out of his mouth and formed a puddle on the tiled floor.
The Jackal squirmed under his grasp, wincing. "I'm not a pup. I turned 21 last week—check my ID if you want. The adoption law doesn't apply."
Silov whimpered as not-quite-Weatherman's gaze narrowed.
"THEN YOU KNOW THE PENALTY FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS?"

The lone wolf gritted his teeth. "There's no one in the building except us—I made sure of that. There aren't any functioning cameras, and there's... there's a body bag..." The boy, as Silov suddenly thought of him—suddenly helpless, scared shitless and on the verge of breaking into tears—waved somewhere behind him, choking back a sob.
For what seemed to be an eternity, they locked gazes: one defiant and terrified, the other furious, confused, and... hurt?

"WHY?" rumbled the Alpha. "WHY THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY WHEN YOU COULD HAVE..."
The Jackal shook his head. "Could have what? Cut myself off from my adoptive parents, my chums? The entire world of humans? Just because I'm not one of them?"
Silov tried to pacify the boy, but his mumbling was lost as the Jackal continued, his voice rising from a whisper. "Someone, needs to send a message. Someone needs to make a stand. SOMEONE needs to take a risk."
Not-quite-Weatherman snarled, baring all his teeth in a magnificent display.
"NO, YOU FOOL! THE LAWS EXIST TO KEEPS US SAFE THROUGH SECRECY. WE CANNOT..."

"Bullshit!" spat the Jackal vehemently. "Take a look around you! Times are changing! People aren't going to shoot us just because we show ourselves!"
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT FOR CERTAIN!"
"Well, I'm still alive! Maybe you're right and some...secret government force is going to kidnap me and cut me up or whatever BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I! DON'T! CARE!"
The Jackal gasped for breath, and fatigue and despair returned to his features.
"I'm sorry, Alpha. But I... I feel alive when I'm rocking it out without trying to hide what I am. I'm happier now as a lone wolf within a human world than I ever was as part of the pack. Hiding... Trying to be something you're not... That's no life, man..."

He turned his head towards Silov. "You... You know what I mean, right? You tried to fit in amongst the humans, so you wouldn't be lonely... But it's not about species is it? It's about finding a place where you belong."
"And I belong here."

"JACKAL..." The words that rumbled from the Alpha's chest sounded pained. "DO YOU, BY YOUR OWN WILL, REJECT THE LAWS OF THE PACK, AND THUS THE RIGHT TO LIVE UNDER ITS PROTECTION?"
"Sir...? Perhaps we could..."
"SILOV, WE HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES TO THE PACK. EXCEPTIONS ARE NOT ACCEPTABLE. IF WE ARE EXPOSED THERE IS NO TURNING BACK."
"In that case, sir..." Silov reluctantly tore his gaze away from the boy.

"BUT I WILL MAKE ONE EXCEPTION FOR TONIGHT..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When the headlines announced the tragic, suicidal end of the musical genius known as Jackal to some, and Jekyll to others, the news was greeted with mixed feelings. But it was collectively agreed, at his funeral, that his final performance, single-handedly filmed in his personal studio, was his finest ever.
The video was never officially named, but fans who experienced the tentative, mournful undertones of the prologue, the racing, driving beat of the transition of man to beast, and the grand, joyous howling of a song and electric guitar finale voted unanimously for the title:

"Loneliness."

Description
The Lone Wolf by mt1608

"A Lone Wolf," stated Mr Weatherman darkly, "is either a survivor, or a brute. Or in some cases both of them, and badly in need of extermination." He adjusted his freshly pressed brown suit as his tongue passed over the last word, without so much as a blink or frown of discomfort at the ramifications of his statement.

"Sir," ventured Silov, hard pressed to match his brisk pace, "Is that not a little, um, extreme? Given that we have not... even..."

The smaller man in the tweed jacket and his shaky speech shriveled up before the withering gaze of the larger man in the power-suit.
"That," muttered Weatherman in a tone of ice, "is precisely why we are making this trip to the City of Filth. Just in case our dear 'Jackal/Jekyll' turns out to be agreeable to pack laws." If anything, his scowl only managed to deepen as he absentmindedly shredded with his strong fingers the tourism pamphlet previously offered by an overly chirpy flight attendant. '-ollywood' in bright gold letters fluttered away on the wind.

"You sound doubtful, sir," Silov said quietly. Weatherman snorted loudly, more than a little irate from having to fly (fly!!! what kind of self-respecting wolf takes off from the ground!) in a metal confinement unit in crowded proximity.

"When is it ever a good day, mutt?" responded the Alpha wolf with no particular vehemence (status high or low was status after all). "My experience from lone wolves in the past has never been pleasant."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jackal/Jekyll was different from other lone wolves.
For one, whereas most lone wolves make an appearance in the local papers under the crime or supernatural section (page 26-35, 56-57 respectively, Weatherman had long since memorized the only relevant pages that required reading), Jackal/Jekyll made it onto the front page. Of the International Tribune. Three days consecutively. Not to say anything of the amount of celebrity magazines and tabloids eagerly soaking up the newest sensation in Hollywood.

His first debut had been on a Thursday morning in a printed, coloured image on the newspaper under the headlines "Lone Wolf Bares All" (Weatherman had, according to rumors within the pack, subsequently choked on his tobacco and developed a violent wrecking cough that only intensified as more news continued pouring in)

Whatever rules, regulations and oaths dedicated to secrecy that the packs had created since the industrialization era, Jackal/Jekyll seemed intent on breaking them all.
And he did so with the glorious style of one born for showbiz.

And so Weatherman had sent a single letter, adorned with the thumb (or claw) prints of other equally distinguished Alphas.
A single invitation to a face to face meeting was the response, together with a free T-shirt that might have made a killing on E-bay, had Weatherman not immediately shredded and torched it.

So here they were: two seemingly ordinary men in fancywear before the human bastion of pop culture entertainment. Silov swallowed hard with nervousness as a trio of burly security guards looked over their papers and granted them entry.
He wouldn't consider himself courageous, or even remotely brave. But he was a first class survivor, whether it involved wheedling before the true werewolves, or lying low during a storm, or simply avoiding danger.

Right now, danger was in the air. It wasn't just the fact that Jackal/Jekyll could have prepared an elaborate trap for them ("two's a company, three's a crowd", the letter had stated explicitly); but Hollywood itself reeked of the many things that darkened human hearts—ambition, power, money, and the ever present lust of fame—all hidden under the facade of glitter, glamour and gold.
One glance at the tightness of Weatherman's expression told Silov that his Alpha felt the same discomfort.

But there was something else as well that permeated the air, and rode alongside the imminent danger like a heady perfume. Even as his nervousness grew with the progression of scenery, Silov found himself strangely... exhilarated

Weatherman only scowled harder.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The designated meeting point was disturbingly absent of life, if not lights. No guards stood around the compound, and a deep breath revealed no snipers in the vicinity. That meant that any immediate threats would have to be either magical (in Hollywood? Unlikely) or mechanical (of that, there could be little guarantee).

It wasn't a particularly glamorous building either—more of an observatory or studio than a place to stay. But the receptionist in the spotless lobby gave them directions and made to leave. Weatherman stopped her with a barely controlled snarl.
"Boss' orders," she shrugged without any pretence to her confusion, and that was that.

But any doubts the duo had were silenced when the final set of doors opened to reveal a large acoustic chamber that was empty save for musical and recording instruments and three chairs. One of them had a person in it.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Silov had seen the pictures in the papers, and (secretly) the numerous performance videos that had become the present mainstay of Youtube. However, the Jackal/Jekyll sitting in the chair now was not the wild, raucous, raunchy beast of the electric guitar stardom, but a quiet, tired looking young man.
At the sound of their arrival, the celebrity rose in an instant, a brilliant white grin lit up his face, and suddenly he was the Jackal again.
"A pleasure, Mr Weatherman, sir!"
Whatever stinging remark Weatherman had prepared died on his lips as he took in the full figure of lone wolf before him. Certainly, Hollywood frequently embellished its pictures and videos, but this was it, him...

Silov guessed the Alpha's words even before they rolled out.
"A pup!" Weatherman shook his head half in disbelief, but the confusion dissipated rapidly to be replaced by fury. "Do you realize what trouble you have caused, pup?"
The Jackal swallowed hard, and nodded. "I know."

Silov had seen the Alpha in action before, but he wasn't prepared for the sudden burst of speed, rage, and terrible grace of a livid elder. It all happened so quickly that a human would have imagined a massive beast materializing out of thin air—in a second, Weatherman was surging forward, shedding and shredding clothes with inhuman savagery as the transformation seized his body and fine-tuned it into the bristling white killing machine that sent the celebrity flying. Even as the Jackal cried out in shock, a set of massive paws pinned him to the floor, and cold blue eyes, hardened with wrath issued a decree of silence.
"YOU WILL RETURN TO THE PACK WITH ME, AND YOU WILL LIVE BY OUR LAWS UNTIL YOU ARE DEEMED MATURE ENOUGH TO..."
"No."

At that point, Silov closed his eyes and held his hands over his ears to block out the imminent sounds and sights of mutilated flesh. He doubted that the Alpha would spare even a pup in his current state.
But the eight foot tall beast was struck dumb by the sheer audacity of the response. In a rare comedic moment, the Alpha's tongue lolled out of his mouth and formed a puddle on the tiled floor.
The Jackal squirmed under his grasp, wincing. "I'm not a pup. I turned 21 last week—check my ID if you want. The adoption law doesn't apply."
Silov whimpered as not-quite-Weatherman's gaze narrowed.
"THEN YOU KNOW THE PENALTY FOR YOUR TRANSGRESSIONS?"

The lone wolf gritted his teeth. "There's no one in the building except us—I made sure of that. There aren't any functioning cameras, and there's... there's a body bag..." The boy, as Silov suddenly thought of him—suddenly helpless, scared shitless and on the verge of breaking into tears—waved somewhere behind him, choking back a sob.
For what seemed to be an eternity, they locked gazes: one defiant and terrified, the other furious, confused, and... hurt?

"WHY?" rumbled the Alpha. "WHY THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY WHEN YOU COULD HAVE..."
The Jackal shook his head. "Could have what? Cut myself off from my adoptive parents, my chums? The entire world of humans? Just because I'm not one of them?"
Silov tried to pacify the boy, but his mumbling was lost as the Jackal continued, his voice rising from a whisper. "Someone, needs to send a message. Someone needs to make a stand. SOMEONE needs to take a risk."
Not-quite-Weatherman snarled, baring all his teeth in a magnificent display.
"NO, YOU FOOL! THE LAWS EXIST TO KEEPS US SAFE THROUGH SECRECY. WE CANNOT..."

"Bullshit!" spat the Jackal vehemently. "Take a look around you! Times are changing! People aren't going to shoot us just because we show ourselves!"
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT FOR CERTAIN!"
"Well, I'm still alive! Maybe you're right and some...secret government force is going to kidnap me and cut me up or whatever BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? I! DON'T! CARE!"
The Jackal gasped for breath, and fatigue and despair returned to his features.
"I'm sorry, Alpha. But I... I feel alive when I'm rocking it out without trying to hide what I am. I'm happier now as a lone wolf within a human world than I ever was as part of the pack. Hiding... Trying to be something you're not... That's no life, man..."

He turned his head towards Silov. "You... You know what I mean, right? You tried to fit in amongst the humans, so you wouldn't be lonely... But it's not about species is it? It's about finding a place where you belong."
"And I belong here."

"JACKAL..." The words that rumbled from the Alpha's chest sounded pained. "DO YOU, BY YOUR OWN WILL, REJECT THE LAWS OF THE PACK, AND THUS THE RIGHT TO LIVE UNDER ITS PROTECTION?"
"Sir...? Perhaps we could..."
"SILOV, WE HAVE RESPONSIBILITIES TO THE PACK. EXCEPTIONS ARE NOT ACCEPTABLE. IF WE ARE EXPOSED THERE IS NO TURNING BACK."
"In that case, sir..." Silov reluctantly tore his gaze away from the boy.

"BUT I WILL MAKE ONE EXCEPTION FOR TONIGHT..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When the headlines announced the tragic, suicidal end of the musical genius known as Jackal to some, and Jekyll to others, the news was greeted with mixed feelings. But it was collectively agreed, at his funeral, that his final performance, single-handedly filmed in his personal studio, was his finest ever.
The video was never officially named, but fans who experienced the tentative, mournful undertones of the prologue, the racing, driving beat of the transition of man to beast, and the grand, joyous howling of a song and electric guitar finale voted unanimously for the title:

"Loneliness."