I am a werewolf hunter...

[annwfyn.livejournal.com]

I am a werewolf hunter.

Let me guess. You're about to say 'but you don't look like a werewolf hunter'.

You're right. I don't. Werewolves hunters are traditionally big with the macho. They are everyone's favourite stereotype. Scars, guns, and a hat is normally expected. I've no idea why the hat, but everyone expects one.

Me? I'm 5'3", like pretty jewellery, and still sleep with a stuffed pig that an ex-boyfriend gave me when I was in college. He's called Pigmond, by the way. Don't laught at his name. He'll get upset.

But anyway, where were we?

Oh, yeah. I don't look much like a werewolf hunter. I mean, how the hell did a nice girl like me get into this anyway? And why would I do that? Werewolves aren't that common, and I know a lot of people think they are kind of on the soft side of supernatural anyway. They aren't vampires, who'll suck you dry or enslave you, mind and soul, as soon as look at you. They aren't demons, or possessed humans, who destroy for the joy of it. No, werewolves are just people who turn into wolves. They want to save the world, some of the more knowledgeable of my acquaintances say.

I nod and smile, and then I open the folder of stories I've got, and I know that that's all bullsh*t. Werewolves are monsters, as much as vampires, as much as demons. They aren't furry eco-warriors. They are killers. I know this. I've seen the scars.

It all started a year ago. A friend of mine was killed. Her name was Shelly, by the way. She was a nice girl. She worked as an administrator, dyed her hair a different colour every six months and was a big fan of blues music. She had just got a new job, working for some kind of government operation. She wasn't able to talk about it a lot, but she was really excited by it. She had a decent pension plan, really good holidays, and proper sick pay. As she'd been temping for eight months before she landed this job, it was a big deal.

She died on her first day.

'But what's that got to do with werewolves?' I hear you say.

Well, it's like this. Shelly wasn't the only one who died that day. Her whole office did. The official reason given was a terrorist attack, but I spoke to her mother just before the funeral. Apparently Shelly's body had been ripped apart. The undertaker had never seen anything like it. There was no chance of an open casket funeral - christ - Shelly's family never even got her head back.

Shelly, my harmless bouncy goth PA friend, died, and I wanted to know why.

I began poking around. I managed to get some statistics on how many people died in that office. It was over eighty. I poked around, and discovered that not one of those people had an open casket funeral or a viewing. That's pretty unusual. I asked questions. I got a lot of dirty looks and requests to shut up, but found out that Shelly wasn't the only one to be ripped apart by claws and teeth.

And that got me hunting.

Since then, I've got a lot of stories. I've sat and watched an old man cry. His wife had her head ripped off while arranging flowers at her local church. It was literally ripped off - as if by some massive force. There were clawmarks on the body, though, and a couple of crazy reports of giant dogs in the area. Nine people were killed in that church. No one was ever charged. One man was arrested, but the charges were mysteriously dropped.

Werewolves aren't just feral forces of nature, you know. They are smart as well.

I've talked to the family of two Catholic priests who were kicked to death, by a girl of amazing strength, who was never charged with anything, but was quietly removed from a hospital by mysterious doctors. They have never been given any answers about what happened to their brother, or to their uncle.
Outside of London, I've sat in a mental ward, and heard the faltering testimony of the squaddie who still maintains, in the face of everything, that he saw his platoon ripped apart by giant monsters - half man, half wolf - during routine exercises. I've also been to Reading, where the rumours in the right places are that the fifteen girls that went missing in the last year may well be the victims of werewolf kidnappings, their bodies twisted from human to wolf, now kept as slaves to be used as breeding stock.

I've seen the survivors. I know what the body count is.

And you know what I think the worst thing is?

The closer I get to them, the more I realise that they don't think they are doing anything wrong. I've managed to track down a couple of people - not actual werewolves, but those who are related to them - and I've heard them talk. The werewolves think they are doing something too important to worry about humans. They have no rules amongst themselves which say that human life matters. Oh, they are big on secrecy - I've had the threats and the dire warnings for even asking questions - but human life doesn't matter to them at all. Even vampires know, on some level, that what they are doing is wrong. I've met a couple of vampires. Most of them didn't chose to be what they are, most of them would rather not drink the blood of the living, but they don't have much choice.

Not werewolves. They chose to fight. They chose to kill. And they don't feel a shred of remorse.

So I won't feel that bad when I take them out as well.

Comments

[twicedead.livejournal.com]

There's nothing in source setting the Fangs as patriarchal, it's just part of the bad press they get. (power mad = patriarchal woman-haters)

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

But for large portions of history, being patriarchal wasn't bad, it was just the way things were. Especially in Russia.

They don't hate women, any more than they hate Galliards or Philodox. It's just that a male Ahroun is the one for the job, just as it takes a male to perpetuate the bloodline.

Katrina's thought processes scare me.