The morgue's cold air bit into Jacques' skin as he stood before the metal slab. Sprawled across it was the corpse of a werewolf, its fur matted with dried blood and grime. The beast's muzzle was frozen in a snarl, yellowed fangs still visible.
Jacques' partner, Eugene, stood beside him.
The creature's claws, each as long as a human finger, curled slightly inward. Its muscular frame, even in death, hinted at the raw power it once possessed.
The fluorescent lights overhead lit harsh shadows across the creature's form, accentuating every gash and wound on its body. The morgue's sterile smell mixed with the musky odor of wet dog, creating a nauseating cocktail.
As they stared at the dead werewolf, Jacques couldn't help but wonder what kind of fight had brought down such a formidable beast.
"How in the hell this happened?" Jacques scratched the back of his head.
"That's really a good question," Eugene replied. "I don't even know what to say."
