WARNING: This post is written from the viewpoint of the protagonist from my novel Dog World. Normally when I write insights into my books I just post them, but this time the post gets a disclaimer. My wife, Tabitha, was so disturbed by how the character Karl Vance thinks that she suggested I type this to say “this is not one of my normal posts and might be a little…much,” but I know you all can handle it. With that said, enjoy.
This world will be mine sooner than I had originally planned. Iraq was an unparalleled success except for a few minor complications. Getting those complications transferred here to Fort Detrick was not a problem though. However, killing them will prove more problematic than I care for, but it can be done.
I’ve just concluded a meeting with the human survivors of one of my attacks. Frankly, being around them induces my anger to levels even I find frightening.
Most of them are human and cannot be treated as anything more than a minor threat. Only four pose a challenge, but I can deal with them. Two of the four are werewolves such as myself, and a third is a standard asshole type Brit but it’s the fourth, an unusual human that sends me into a rage. The Walinski woman is the one I find the most infuriating.
For most of my four hundred plus years of existence I’ve always hated the British and never thought to find someone who could rival the utter hatred I have for them. Brenda Walinski is that someone. How in the fuck could anyone, let alone a human, gain the power to discern werewolves from humans and good from rotten?
It’s her “abilities” that could undo what I’ve crafted for the better part of two and a half centuries. My doctors tell me that she was infected by lycan blood when her helicopter was brought down but why didn’t she change?
The useless cunts told me that it had something to do with heat, melting composites and some other bullshit that possibly could have done something but they weren’t sure. The variables were too many especially with the head injury she suffered. If I’d been there I’d have removed that chunk of metal and replaced it with another type of rod. I would’ve skull fucked her to death. She’s human but she’s fuckable.
I’d love to get my body into hers. If anything she needs to be taught she can’t feel her way into anyone’s psyche. How revolting it was to feeling her probing my mind. I’d eat to her but I’d be afraid I’d get some catchy new form of human disease. It seems the crash was able to mutate the virus so who knows what else is possible. Still, breaking her spirit and watching her slowly burn will suffice.
Admittedly, the useless science-cunts weren’t so useless I guess. They gave me a basis but still, they failed me. I don’t want theories; I want facts. I told them from the get-go to give me facts or they would be punished. Maybe I should have been a little more specific. Regardless, they left a goddamn mess for my people to clean up but at least the vamps in the basement levels ate well.
To get back on topic, I will have to make sure Walinski’s not just killed but that her body is disposed of properly. I’m honestly afraid that the accident could be recreated and that is something I can’t have.
The British asshat, Shelby, is my secondary concern. He’s a soldier’s solider or in his case, a Marine’s Marine. I’ve read his jacket and it’s a laundry list of bravery this; honor that with a splash of fearlessness that will pose a problem. His MI6 standing doesn’t alleviate worries either so I may need to take a personal hand in these matters. If for no other reason than rending his tea sipping, derby wearing, black John Stead looking-Avengers ass apart.
The other two threats are fellow lycans though one is not expected to live past this week. Cameron Mitchell and Susan Sutton would make fine breeding stock if it weren’t for their human love weakness. I’d love to subjugate them to the breeding pens but I won’t have mongrels or bitch curs soiling the Aberration blood lines. Our hour is at hand and there will be no need for those like them.
When the moment is right, my dogs in hiding will come forth and stamp out the pack traitors.
I just read the line above and I feel like goddamn Snidely Whiplash. I should be twirling my mustache and chuckling, if I fucking had one. No matter, in 41 days that bullshit won’t be of consequence. It’s the age of the wolf now.