Attison District, Temple City (3040).....
The sweltering heat had not appeared to have let up as Baddwulf found himself in search of a bar for a cool drink to stave off the effects. He had been sweating up a storm, but managed to keep his head level as he moved about the street he wasn't too thrilled about his father having used Amanda Smalls of all people to track him down for the offer as he had known all too well that the redhead and his son had a history. It was a steamy undeniable history but there was always something to be said about a wolf chasing after a girl in red. Baddwulf had been halfway toward his office on the main street when he was suddenly ambushed by two goons in hoodlum attire that pushed him into a nearby alley. He wasn't surprised when they held him at gunpoint and started talking really tough.
Of the two, one was the shortest and wore a dark brown suit with matching dress shoes and a worn fedora. He was a pale fellow with dark brown eyes and light brown hair barely visible beneath his hat. His awful yellow-striped tie was enough to make anyone nauseous after looking at it. The taller man was a bit above average in height and below average in brain function due to the fact that he let the pipsqueak do all the talking and stood with his gun in hand trying his best to look tough and deadly.
Unfortunately for the two of them, Baddwulf had not been easily shaken.
"Fuck is this an initiation to join the single man's circle jerk?" he asked while holding his hands up and facing the nearby brick wall.
The stench of piss and old water was an overpowering thing as the men glared at him with their guns behind his back. Baddwulf could tell by the way the barrels felt that the guns were old and modeled after the ones used in the old era, and he'd have just enough time to make his move before the bullets even left the chamber. He stood there trying to ascertain why he'd been targeted but of course, he knew it had something to do with either his line of work or his after-hours activities which always involved some cheating dope's wife riding him until sunup.
"Blacky Clay sends his regards, Wolfieboy." said the shorter man in the brown suit.
Baddwulf arched a brow at the mention of this name and eventually rolled his eyes. He had no time for two-bit hustlers trying to make a name for themselves.
He had been of the mind to tear both the numbskulls in half but opted against it given how stupid they seemed to have been. It wouldn't have been a fair shake for them to be stupid and maimed, one handicap was enough to put a damper on life but two?
Baddwulf was a lot of things, but decidedly cruel for the sake of being so wasn't one of them.
He decided to try his hand at obtaining more information in case he had to deal with the likes of Blacky Clay's hoods again, and he had no doubt in his mind that he would. If his time in the slums had taught him anything it always remained that: Bottom feeders like Clay had always been tenacious bastards.
"You fellas mind telling me why in the hell Blacky Clay has it in for me?" asked Baddwulf.
The shorter man in the brown suit seemed all too prepared to sing his boss's praises.
"There's been word around town that you were a Giraffe and that some very angry people want you gone so they paid a pretty hefty sum of black pennies to see it done."
There was that word again.
A Giraffe, or as they were commonly called Graffites. Those who have been either born genetically spliced or infected with the disease that made it possible. Being a kid born in the Gaelic Isles, Baddwulf was very much a Graffite, and it wasn't through his own volition. The mutation he was given when his body was riddled with illness had been a strain of augmented Canis Lupus DNA and as a result, he eventually became a shapeshifting Dick with a badge.
Other infected either became Ferals or shifters just the same. Most of the lower wards had been infected with Ferals for the sake of keeping everyone at the bottom of the totem pole in Temple City in line.
"Well...you got me there fellas," said Baddwulf as his eyes began to glow a slight red hue and his voice deepened into a full-on growl as his fangs became bare. "Now how do you suppose you'd stop me if I was a shifter... it's not like I can't just rip you two idiots to shreds."
The smaller man in the brown suit stuck the barrel of his gun harder into Baddwulf's back. The second gunman, who had proved to be the smartest one of the bunch after all took a step back sensing the immediate danger they'd been in. Baddwulf's ears perked at the sound of blood rushing through their collective veins at an alarming rate. He could hear the terror in them from the rapid beating of their hearts as the fight or flight instinct the digital vids had been going on and on about when it came to combat situations in the old era, kicked in, and within a split second, Baddwulf swiftly evaded the guns and knocked the shorter man to the ground leaving the taller one trembling and dropping his gun as he held his hands up.
The sheer terror that filed across his face when he saw Baddwulf's fangs and glowing red eyes had been more than enough for him to make a swift evaluation of his current life choices. He had come to the conclusion that working for Blacky Clay had not been as beneficial to his life as he had initially believed it would and effectively retired as a thug at that moment.
"I don't want no trouble Baddwulf." he stammered for the first time. "You let me go, you'll never see me again...I'm going straight...no more trouble outta me Mack you'll see."
"Blacky ain't gonna like hearing that you turned tail and fled Morris!" hissed the smaller man in the brown suit.
"Blacky Clay can suck my left nut Cal." replied the taller man known as Morris. "He wants to take out The Big Bad Wolf here he can do it himself, I don't need that kind of shit in my life...black pennies or no black pennies."
Baddwulf nodded his approval and Morris took off with the promise of going straight and staying away from all things Blacky Clay and Thug related.
The man in the brown suit known as Cal, seemed intent on earning his bruises as he attempted to tackle Baddwulf and found himself in the tussle of his life when the stronger man slammed him against the nearby brick wall and crushed his back. The annoyed detective seemed to have used more of his strength than intended as Cal had been in excruciating pain, but proceeded to get up and attempt to fight him trading blows for a time before being rammed into the wall a second time and the cracking of his bones had gotten Baddwulf's attention.
"In for a penny in for a pounding," remarked Baddwulf as he rammed his powerful right fist into the still struggling thug's now bloodied and heavily dented face and knocked him out cold once and for all. He held back just shy of killing him outright, but he knew he'd be in a world of hurt once he regained consciousness.
It would be a wonder if Blacky Clay didn't send someone to finish him off for his failure or if the police came to box him in for information about his organization.
Either way, the fight was over as quickly as it began and Baddwulf turned his attention to scooping his fedora off the ground and relighting his cigarette that had fallen in all the commotion.
"Fucking Morts." he snarled as he puffed on his newly lit cigarette and took his leave of the beaten man in the alley.
"Morts" had been the stigmatized term for Mortals whenever a Graffite had been in earshot of their prejudice and dislike. The regular normies had their terms and people like Baddwulf had there's and thus the circle of life in Temple City kept on going. With another puff of his cigarette and Baddwulf continued his venture down the main street toward his office building. He didn't doubt that his younger partner and fellow detective Jake Summers had something cooking up in the way of another case to tide him over until he could make a move on the thing for his father.
And why not? it had always been Jake's way to help out the downtrodden.
He was a regular bleeding heart, and unlike his mentor Baddwulf, the boy was a complete saint.