An airship, as colossal as the Titanic, cut through the sky with an imposing presence. Unlike the luxurious ocean liner, this vessel was a fortress in the clouds, brimming with weapons, ammunition crates, and bombs. The air hummed with the latent power of destruction.
In the midst of this steel and firepower, a man stood quietly. Jamie, a figure of contrasting heritage, bore the tan skin of his Native American lineage and the striking blue eyes of his European ancestry. His dark hair was cut short, framing a face hardened by experience.
Jamie's attention was fixed on a wall embedded with a thousand knives, each blade meticulously arranged. The knives gleamed ominously under the dim lighting, reflecting the turbulence of his thoughts. For now, the werewolf within him was dormant, leaving only the human to ponder the cold steel before him.
Jamie pulled out his own knife, a blade so strong it could pierce steel. Examining the other knives, he noticed words etched onto them-the names and dates of and the times they were expected to return home. Some of these inscriptions had expiring quotes, some humorous, and others defiant of their grim reality.
With a determined expression, Jamie retrieved a marker from his pocket. He carefully wrote the date, 2118, and added a quote: "Men's eyes are the only thing you can never hide." Underneath, he inscribed the word "home" followed by, "Never found one, and maybe I never will."
Jamie stepped back, placed his knife among the others, and stabbed it into the wall. He paused, reflecting on every step of his life that had led him to this moment.
Jamie took his leave and headed to the mess hall to grab a bite to eat. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Why pray to the gods of people who hate you? Why seek solace from spirits who disowned you? Jamie had never done anything wrong; he simply looked wrong to those who clung to neatly wrapped stereotypes. As a mixed-race man, he didn't fit into the rigid categories the world desperately tried to enforce.
Both his tribe and the Americans would sometimes blame him solely for the way he looked. In their eyes, Jamie was never a person; he was whatever they needed him to be. He knew he would never have it easy, never receive the same treatment as everyone else. To them, he was a bastard, a complicated person in a world that demanded simplicity.
Jamie pushed open the heavy metal doors and entered the mess hall. The large room was a stark contrast to the rest of the airship, furnished with long, utilitarian tables and benches. The walls were bare, save for a few faded posters and the occasional motivational slogan. Overhead, harsh fluorescent lights cast an unflattering glow on everything below. The air was filled with the mixed aromas of reheated food and stale beer.
Jamie made his way to the serving line, where he grabbed a sloppy joe and a side of overcooked vegetables. He scanned the room and spotted his uncle Koda, passed out at a table surrounded by empty beer bottles. Jamie sighed and took a seat next to him.
As he stared at his uncle's sleeping form, a thought crossed his mind: "Fine, I'll be the one thing most people aren't ambitious enough to be-a human being."
Before he could take a bite of his sloppy joe, he noticed a tiny field mouse scurrying up to his plate, trying to snatch a morsel of food. Jamie quickly grabbed the little creature. The mouse struggled in his hand, and he softly said, "I know it isn't fair."
This is what evolution dictated, Jamie thought, letting the creature dangle from his hand as it desperately struggled. "You were meant to reproduce and breed and nothing else. You were meant to be livestock to an apex predator like myself. Nothing more than a mere snack, an insignificant part of the food chain. I should eat you up right now."
But then he sighed. "But lucky for you, I don't give a damn about the natural order of the universe." Gently, he released the creature, and the mouse scurried off, finding refuge in the jacket of Koda.
Koda awoke like a slumbering giant, grabbing Jamie's arm. "You leave them alone, you son of a bitch," he boldly stated, his voice thick with the haze of alcohol. "If you're going to harm them, you'll have to go through me," he added, nearly vomiting.
Koda bore a striking resemblance to Jamie, with rugged features that made their familial connection obvious. However, it was clear he wasn't Jamie's father. Koda looked more traditionally Native American than Jamie, with tanned skin and hazel brown eyes. He appeared to be in his early forties, with a few gray hairs running through his long, jet-black hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. Clean-shaven like Jamie, Koda's features spoke of a hard life, tempered by resilience.
"Great, you couldn't give me the satisfaction of dying. You live another day, old man," Jamie stated.
Koda responded with a grin, "Yes, and I will torture you till the day you die, you ungrateful son of a bitch. You should be thankful to be in my mighty presence." Koda rubbed his eyes and splashed water on his face from a water bottle.
The two had always had a strange relationship, but at the end of the day, they still cared about each other.
"Damn, I was hoping the 30th beer would have got to you by now, but I guess I'm never that lucky," Jamie said.
Sharply, Koda argued, "I've been abusing my liver for years. You'd have to bring a lot more than this to do me in. I'm like the Energizer Bunny of alcoholics; I just keep going and going."
"Oh, trust me," Jamie replied, "my credit card often tells me the severity of your drinking habit. I keep changing the password, and yet somehow you keep using it."
Sarcastically, Koda said, "Whatever do you mean?" followed by a malicious smile.
Jamie couldn't help but smile back.
Jamie pulled out a book-it was a Bible written in a Native American language. He flipped to the notes section and read a message: "You need to stop abusing your liver. If you start to look too old for Infantry, the other soldiers are going to start questioning why you're here. And that's the last thing we need." The note was also written in the Native American language.
Koda glanced over and said, "I know. It's my favorite Bible verse," his words laced with sarcasm. What he actually meant was, "Yes, I realize that." They often used the Bible to communicate covertly when they felt watched, disguising their conversations as religious discussions.
Koda grabbed the Bible, flipped to Exodus, and pointed to a verse about the Israelites leaving Egypt. Jamie understood the implication: "It's pointless; we'll be gone soon."
"You still misrepresent the point of the passage," Jamie said angrily.
Smiling, Koda replied, "Most of it is subjective anyway. We can discuss this someplace else."
"The point is still there, even if it's subjective. You need to stop," Jamie insisted.
"Bless the ones who are doing good things, rather than those who lazily think all they need to do is believe." Koda said
Jamie chuckled. "I bet your liver would love for you to actually believe that. All things aside, let's get out of here."
Above all, the men always needed to hide their intentions from both their enemies and their comrades. Werewolves were best used covertly, blending in as normal men during the day when they were most vulnerable. Over the years, they developed multiple ways to communicate secretly if needed.
Koda knew the ship well, including the locations of all the cameras. As they left the mess hall, pushing open the heavy metallic doors, Jamie made sure not to forget his sloppy joe-about the only thing he actually liked from that place.
Once they reached a spot with no cameras, Koda began to communicate in sign language. "All right, we're here," he signed.
" Something tells me this isn't about my drinking habits," Koda signed.
Jamie signed back, "I'm not doing this anymore. No more war, no more violence. I don't care what happens to me. I'm not going to another battlefield. Everyone hates me, and I'm not doing this anymore."
Koda, visibly frustrated, rubbed his eyes and took a swig from a flask he had in his shirt pocket. "Look, take some vacation. You have about a year's worth of downtime you can take. We're not U.S. soldiers technically. We're part of a tribe that fights on behalf of the United States. You can switch your position afterward and start training other werewolves," Koda signed with a sigh.
A whirlwind of anger and emotion flashed across Jamie's face. "I don't care what tradition dictates. I don't care that we're doing this out of some sort of repentance for our tribe siding with the enemy 200 years ago. I'm not doing this," Jamie signed with a sigh.
Koda did his best to dissuade him from making such a decision. "Look, I went on the run for about 50 years and the outside world it's not what cracks to be. The rest of the world isn't going to take too kindly to you. You've seen what can try to kill you and come after you. Our tribe is one of the safest places in the world for you and our kind. Trust me, best-case scenario, you're living in a dump in some wasteland or joining that cult trying to kill humanity," Koda signed, then sighed.
Angrily, Jamie signed back, "I'm not joining that cult. You know I'm a half-blood, and I'm far stronger than anything else out there. I'll be fine."
Koda smacked him, then signed with intensity, "Don't ever say that word. That's a dangerous concept that does not exist. You forget that you are that. If the world finds out, there will be chaos and riots."
Koda sighed as Jamie reached into his uncle's shirt pocket, took his flask, and drank from it. "Don't ever hit me again," Jamie said out loud. "You know it sucks, and you know it's unfair."
He quieted himself, and both men spoke in whispers.
"I'm not going to start training younger men to die in who knows where," Jamie said, taking another drink from the flask. "Just when I think the monsters can't get more ridiculous or the war more cruel, it just keeps surprising me."
"Look, just don't run," Koda whispered. "I'll get you out of it so you at least don't have to see combat or try another gig. But Jamie, you're labeled. There's no running from this, and if you run, something far worse than the United States is going to come after you."
Koda pulled out a cigarette. "Let me see that note. It's too conspicuous." Jamie handed him the note, and Koda wrapped it inside the cigarette paper.
"If the powers that be find out what you are, you're more than fucked," Koda whispered.
Jamie was about to respond when a door opened down the hall.
Almost in a panic, Koda lit the cigarette and put his arm around Jamie as best he could, given that Jamie was about a foot taller than him. He began to make small talk, "Just take some time off and spend some time with that girl."
Emerging from the door was the ship's Commander. He was a reasonably fit white man in his 50s, with gray hair. Other than his rank being displayed, there was really no difference between what he wore and the other men-basic Marine attire. He was holding a tablet, the light reflecting off his glasses, almost legible to read. He looked in a panic, muttering under his breath, "They tell me this now!"
There were several Allied Forces on this ship, and he was the commander of all of them. Koda formally said, "Commander."
They would make small talk from time to time, but privately, both men hated each other.
"Get all the natives ready," the Commander said. "We're heading out sooner than expected."
"Yes, sir," Koda replied.
The Commander slammed open another door and left their sight, but before he did, Jamie heard him mutter under his breath, "Fucking Redskins."
Jamie let out a long sigh saying, "The commander is slightly angrier than usual."
Koda normally would have laughed to see the bastard frustrated, but the way the Commander was acting had him on edge.
Jamie then said quietly, "I felt his heartbeat. It's beating faster than a race car."
"Well, I guess I'll gather the boys up. Stay on alert. I don't like this," Koda replied.
Twenty minutes later, the debriefing room buzzed with tense energy. The room was a utilitarian space, with several tables scattered throughout, each surrounded by soldiers from different nationalities. On the walls, maps and strategic plans were pinned, displaying the latest intel and mission updates. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow, highlighting the diverse group of soldiers assembled.
The Americans occupied one table, their uniforms crisp and their expressions stoic. A few of them were engaged in small talk, discussing the latest rumors and speculations about their next mission. At another table, a group of French troops exchanged murmured conversations, their accents adding a melodic undertone to the room. Further down, a contingent of British soldiers stood with a mix of calm composure and quiet readiness, occasionally making wry comments about the situation.
Jamie and Koda sat together at a table, accompanied by two other Native Americans. Talo, from their tribe, had sharp eyes and a focused demeanor. Takoda, from a different tribe, had traditional tattoos peeking out from under his uniform sleeves, adding a touch of cultural heritage to the military formality.
The atmosphere was awkward, with soldiers making hesitant attempts at small talk across the tables.
"So, how's the food on your side?" one of the British soldiers asked, trying to break the ice.
"Not much better than yours, I'd wager," replied a French soldier with a chuckle.
Jamie overheard and leaned over to Koda. "At least the sloppy joes are edible," he said quietly, trying to lighten the mood.
Koda nodded, though his expression remained serious. "Just stay alert. I still don't like this."
As the conversations continued, an American soldier across the room glanced over at Jamie, his gaze lingering. The look was hard to read-curiosity, suspicion, perhaps a mix of both. Jamie met his eyes briefly before looking away, feeling the weight of the scrutiny.
The door at the front of the room creaked open, signaling the imminent arrival of the Commander, and the room fell into an expectant silence.
Jamie's hearing was far better than any man's, often catching rude comments whether he wanted to or not. He heard an American soldier whisper, "What are they even doing here? I mean seriously, they take our fucking jobs and now they're even here."
Frustrated, Jamie looked the soldier in the eye. The soldier wore a beret and sunglasses, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Noticed this, did you? You heard that, didn't you? While it's true, you're not Rangers, you're not Navy SEALs, hell, you're not even Coast Guard. So get your Comanche ass out of this room."
Takoda stood up, ready to engage in a fistfight with the man until Jamie grabbed him and said, "Stop. It won't go the way you think."
Takoda seethed, "The fight wouldn't even last a minute. Let me at him!"
Koda interjected, "It's not that. You'll go to prison for the rest of eternity, and there's no lawyer on Earth that can get you out of it. Just stay down."
Takoda took a deep breath and settled down.
But the soldier wasn't done agitating everyone in the room. "You guys are almost as useless as the French over here and are useless cousins," he sneered.
The room erupted in anger, arguments breaking out from every corner until the door opened and the Commander stepped in. Everyone went silent and stood up. It wasn't until the Commander said, "At ease," that everyone sat down.
As the Commander tried to regain his composure, the door to the debriefing room swung open again. A steady stream of people began filing in, adding to the already crowded space. Cooks in their white uniforms and aprons, engineers with grease-stained coveralls, and even a few civilians with worried expressions all crowded into the room. The sudden influx of non-combatants created a sense of unease.
Following closely behind them were armed guards, their presence signaling that this was not a routine meeting. The atmosphere grew tense, whispers of confusion and concern spreading among the assembled groups.
The Commander cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "This affects everyone," he said gravely, "and no one can leave until we figure this out."
"Well, I'll get straight to the point. We have an infiltrator," the Commander announced. "To whoever the infiltrator is, come forth now and no harm will come to you. You'll be protected under the Geneva Convention, and no harm will come to you. If you hesitate, I can't guarantee your safety."
There was a very long and tense pause among the crowd, quiet whispers exchanged between anxious faces. After a few moments, the Commander sighed. "Fine, I figured as much," he said with a nervous chuckle.
" What exactly infiltrated us?" Jamie asked, his voice cutting through the tension.
The Commander grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote on the board: *Skinwalker*. He then commented to himself, "I can't believe we still use these."
This revelation caused an uproar even greater than before. It was as if the Commander had unveiled one of the most immoral acts imaginable. Shouting and yelling erupted, and even Jamie, who had seen a lot, was shocked. He didn't think it was possible to make the curse worse.
The Commander yelled, "Enough! What's done is done. All's fair in love and war. As a man who's been divorced three times and fought in two wars, I wish the statement wasn't true, but it is. Everyone's probably doing it if we are too."
Jamie gave Koda a look and saw a calm expression on his face, as though he had expected all of this. Those 200 years of experience were kicking in. Jamie was amazed at how cunning Koda could be when he wasn't drunk.
One of the French soldiers asked, "So they were with us when we stopped at that town?"
The Commander replied, "Most likely."
A British soldier asked, "What exactly are they after? Intel or our lives?"
"We don't know exactly," the Commander said.
Talo asked, "Who's guarding the control room or the engine room?"
"No one," the Commander said. "The ship practically flies itself. It's on autopilot now, and if they decide to destroy the ship, they'll likely go out with us."
A random civilian then asked, "Why haven't they destroyed the ship?"
Jamie then said, "It's possible they want to keep the ship so they can sell it or use it themselves. They're probably not going to destroy it."
Then a woman in her 50s, dressed in a very professional blue dress, spoke up. "How do we know that you're telling the truth?"
"Ambassador Kelly," the Commander said, then added, "Well, for the civilians in the room, I suppose you should see what you're up against."
Two armed guards brought in a suitcase. The case reeked and smelled, and they set it down carefully.
The two soldiers opened the military-style case, which was large enough to carry a rifle. As they did, a foul smell filled the room. Inside was the skin of a man, peeled off like a candy wrapper, with hollow eye sockets and a length that was twice as long as expected. One of the audience members even threw up, and some of the soldiers were visibly disturbed.
The Commander explained, "The reason why it's so big is that the human's largest organ is their skin. They rip it off and use it to disguise themselves."
A projector screen began displaying different images. In their base form, the skinwalkers looked like skinless, muscle-bound figures straight out of a medical textbook. Other images showed them disguised as various people, with virtually no difference. Another screen even showed them disguised as animals, as long as the creature was decently sized.
The soldier with the sunglasses asked, "How the hell are we supposed to tell the difference?"
The Commander pulled a scalpel from a desk. "There are two ways to find out. The first way is to put your blood through a test scanner and have a doctor verify the results. The other way isn't so pretty," he said, holding up the scalpel to get his point across.
Ambassador Kelly protested, "Commander Connor, this is ridiculous! This violates all our rights. If you put anyone through this, I will have you court-martialed."
"Ambassador Kelly, this is what I'm ordered to do," the Commander replied. "We don't have an expensive computer or the time to figure out who the skinwalker is this way. None of you are going to die in the process, but it ain't going to feel nice."
Koda calmly said, "The process doesn't hurt that bad. As long as you're not a skinwalker, you'll be fine." He tried to reassure the group, then asked, "What else can you tell me about them?"
Commander Connor explained, "These skinwalkers have been hunting escaped refugees from the vampire breeding cities, where vampires get a good chunk of their blood. A lot of these refugees have been escaping to the Alps and the French countryside. After this group escaped us, they took mercenary work for wealthy vampire clientele. There have been several revolts in the mainland of Germany-or the Federation, as they call it-and the vampires' manpower has been stretched thin. So, they're hiring these escaped science experiments to handle the refugees. We know this because the vampires originally told us about them after they betrayed the vampires, and our intel and spies have been able to confirm it. They massacred an entire village of German civilians because of a late payment. The German government didn't know what to do, so they called us to deal with it in exchange for a ceasefire."
The Commander took a deep breath and continued, "An unspoken rule of this war is that when our monsters go AWOL, that side cleans up its own mess. That's what we've been caught up in. They sent a team to deal with it and that team has gone missing, and now we find ourselves here. That's the story that command has at least been willing to tell me."
"Please line up, everyone. Let's begin the process. The sooner we find this thing, the sooner we'll be safe, so let's not wait any longer," Commander Connor said, his voice firm.
A sense of unease settled over the room as people began to line up. The atmosphere was thick with tension; the air seemed almost heavy. Jamie and Koda exchanged a glance, both steeling themselves for what was to come.
The line moved slowly. Each person approached the makeshift testing station, a small table where a medic with a scanner waited. On the other side, a burly soldier with a scalpel and a small torch stood ready. The first in line was a young French engineer. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing a trembling arm. The medic made a quick incision with the scalpel, then applied the torch to the wound. The engineer winced but held still.
A tense silence filled the room. Everyone's eyes were on the wound, waiting to see if it would heal instantly. It didn't. The scanner beeped, and the light turned green. The engineer let out a shaky breath and stepped aside, visibly relieved.
Next in line was a middle-aged cook. She too rolled up her sleeve and flinched slightly as the scalpel made a small incision. The soldier applied the torch, and the scanner beeped, showing a green light. She exhaled in relief and moved away from the table.
Jamie could hear every heartbeat in the room, each one a drumbeat of fear. He watched as a young British soldier stepped up. The soldier tried to put on a brave face, but his hands shook as he extended his arm. The process was the same: cut, burn, scan. The light turned green. He joined the growing group of the "cleared."
As more people went through the procedure, the tension only seemed to grow. Each green light was a temporary reprieve, but the fear that the next person might not pass lingered heavily in the air. The line grew shorter, and soon it was Koda's turn.
Koda rolled up his sleeve nonchalantly, his face calm. The scalpel made a quick cut, and the torch was applied. The scanner beeped, and the light turned green. Koda nodded slightly and stepped aside, joining the cleared group.
Jamie was next. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears as he approached the table. He rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. The cut was quick, and the torch was applied. The scanner beeped, and Jamie felt the weight of everyone's eyes on him. The light turned green. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and joined Koda.
The process continued, each person facing their moment of fear. The medic and the soldier worked methodically, their faces betraying no emotion. Each green light was a small victory, but the unease remained. The line dwindled, but the tension never abated, as everyone knew the real test was far from over.
Commander Connor grabbed Jamie and Koda, pulling them into a small broom closet. The confined space was dimly lit by a single, flickering bulb overhead. Shelves lined with cleaning supplies and old, rusted mops crowded the room, making it feel even smaller. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and dust.
"It's you two, isn't it? You're the werewolves, aren't you?" Connor's voice was low but intense.
Surprised, Jamie blurted, "What? How did you-?"
Koda, ever the cool head, said, "Well, I'm surprised it took you this long to figure out."
"Stop messing around," Connor snapped. "Listen, you two have been given an order. Once you transform, which is about an hour from now, kill anyone you perceive to be a threat."
Jamie protested, "You can't be serious."
Koda muttered to himself, "It can't be her. I mean, if they're going through all this..."
"What the hell do you mean, 'her'?" Connor demanded.
Koda let out a dark, humorless laugh. "I'm afraid you're all already dead if it is she."
Jamie, puzzled, asked, "Okay, old man, who is she? Another urban legend like yourself?"
Koda, smiling grimly, replied, "Maybe."
Connor grabbed Koda's shirt, pulling him close. "Koda, who is she?"
Koda explained, "Back when I went AWOL, the other monsters in the Wasteland told stories of a shapeshifting woman who would wipe out towns and villages now and then. But then again, just a legend."
Connor, knowing he wouldn't get more out of Koda, turned to Jamie. "Once you two transform, you'll know how to find them?"
Jamie, still processing, replied, "I've never encountered them, but I know how to find them."
Connor nodded, resigned. "All right then, come on."
They took their leave of the cramped, musty closet, stepping back into the chaos that awaited outside.
The woman removed her sunglasses with a dramatic flair. In a swift, brutal motion, she snapped the neck of the guard. Blood pulsed violently from the guard's mouth, and the room gasped in horror.
"Isn't that right, half-blood?" the skinwalker taunted, her voice dripping with malice. As she spoke, her own eyes fell from their sockets, dropping to the floor like two flopping fish. Behind them, glowing eyes began to emerge, casting an eerie light.
From the shadows, twisted, deformed versions of humans started to materialize tall, grotesque figures resembling something like mannequins desperately trying to wear human flesh. The female skinwalker then tore off the soldier's face like a mask, revealing the exposed muscle, red flesh with glowing yellow eyes, the horrific sight even made Jamie's blood run cold.