I wrote this for the short story contest, but it is decidedly much longer than the original proposed story length, so I'll leave it here instead. It features some familiar characters, though they may appear somewhat different than their original forms...
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Many Strange Happenings #117: A Sliver of Silver
Ragged breaths echoed off the brick walls as erratically as the shadows cast by flickering gas lamps down the labyrinth of narrow alleyways. As bright as the full moon shone, casting its pale glow over all from its place among the starry expanse, the light was lost to the crowded rooftops, three, four storeys above, which lay almost on top of each other, twisted as the architecture of the town lay.
As the breaths grew louder, the clomping of footsteps joined them, and unmistakably, a single pair of hooves.
Slumping against the wall of a dead end, Stroppy McHorseguy, horse doctor, former ninja and veteran of Many Strange Happenings, wiped his brow with the sleeve of his physician's coat while trying to still the heaving of his chest. "Great." He managed between heaves. "All the doors are locked." After another pause, "It's like a ghost town."
Out of the darkness, a tall, burly man with manly eyebrows and even more manly ponytail slipped to stand beside him, hands firmly esconced in the deep pockets of his navy trenchcoat, his chest heaving noticeably less. "That's because if nobody locked their doors, everybody would be ghosts." Characteristic of the GovernCen, Strop thought, and characteristically uninformative, too.
"Well then, why are WE stuck outside?" huffed Strop indignantly, adjusting his physician spectacles. "And why are we in such a hurry?"
"That's on a need to know basis, and you don't." GovernCen replied, deadpan.
"Don't what?" Strop asked.
"Need to know." GovernCen replied, still deadpan.
"Then why do I even need to be here!" Strop groaned, clearly exasperated. "This is just like that time when you wrecked my apartment chasing that life-ripping-"
"Lifemarked," GovernCen corrected him.
Strop took another breath, combing his mane back into place (he could swear it was thinning in parts). "Look, all I'm asking for is a little information on why I'm in yet another of these Many Strange Happenings, and why every time it happens, it's because of you two." Strop pointed accusingly at the GovernCen, before frowning. "And where's Kai?"
"You shouldn't blame us for everything," came the gleeful reply from behind. Strop whirled around just in time to see the lithe redhead shimmying down a gutter along the wall at the end of the dead-end. "Last time, the door opened on you. This time, it shut on us."
"Please," GovernCen held up one palm as if to admonish Kai. "You'll scare the newbie."
Strop sighed. "Put it this way, I'm a doctor now. I stopped being a ninja like years ago. And I wasn't even a real ninja. What I mean to say is, if you can't drop me off back wherever it was I came from, can't you at least tell me what we're dealing with so that I-"
It was precisely at that moment, that a piercing howl ripped through the dead of the night. It sent shivers through Strop's spine, and he almost very nearly involuntarily whinneyed and bolted.
GovernCen shrugged. "Well, I guess that answers most of your questions."
Ears still prickling, Strop hazarded a wild guess. "Wolves?"
"Werewolves!" Kai gleefully amended.
"Where?" Strop started looking this way and that, though he knew it was futile.
More howls rose to the heavens, spreading far and wide, as more and more voices joined the symphonic chorus.
"Everywhere!" Kai spread his arms out wide, with a maniacal grin just as wide. In the flicker of the gas light, Strop could have sworn that there was a twinkle in his teeth. "And now, we shall play the game of the hunter and the hunted!" He reached into the darkness, and out of nowhere, produced a long, shining blade.
"Wait wait wait," Strop frowned. "Who's whom?"
"Both of us are both! Shotgun not dying!" Kai burst into a fit of giggles as he pranced into the alleyways, brandishing his sword. "BRB!" he yelled as he disappeared from view.
"What a twerp," GovernCen grumped, finally removing his other hand from his trenchcoat and fiddling with the straps. "He just didn't want to get stuck with you is all."
"So what am I supposed to do now?" Strop asked, picking up his big back of medical goodies and rifling through it as if it might be of some use. "Administer first aid?"
"You should focus on not dying. I guess I'll just have to cover you." GovernCen opened his trenchcoat, revealing no less than half a dozen loaded ornery looking handheld implements of Death By Molten Lead. He picked up two of them, one in each hand, and ratcheted the slides ominously. "Let's move."
Strop didnât need telling twice, but even while he started on a brisk jog, he couldnât help but ask. "Are the guns really necessary?"
"Am I going to regret it if I asked you what you thought?" Cen shot back.
"It's just that if they're werewolves, then staring at a full moon causes them to turn right?"
"Your point?"
"They were people before. I'm bound by duty to non-maleficience. Besides, it would kind of suck if we had to kill these guys because they were werewolves. Isn't that, like, discrimination?"
There was nothing but the clopping of hooves and boots on cobblestone for several seconds. Finally, "You're an idiot, Strop."
Strop snorted indignantly. "I'm a horse doctor! You should expect me to be a bit more attuned to the nuances of potential hypocrisy in this!"
In two broad strides, GovernCen caught up to Strop and grabbed him by the collar, the barrel of one of his guns inadvertently jammed into his chin. "And you should be a bit more attuned to the potential hazards of dying. Now would you shut up and save your breath for running so we can find an extraction point before we run into a whole pack of-"
Too late, for the snarling that came from all around them, and the two dozen pairs of glowing eyes and snarling fangs visible through the darkness, told them plain and simple that they had been completely surrounded.
"Too late." GovernCen groaned. "Well, what you do is your call. But maybe you'd like to duck. Just saying."
Strop ducked.
GovernCen's hand cannons barked, a great mighty percussive woofing that shook Strop to the core. A great dual barrage of fiery metal lanced out from the barrels and cut a swathe through the night air. Slugs buried themselves in the furred flesh and sinew of the werewolves, some tumbling back, leaving trails of blood on the stone, others launching forward, running on all fours, and then rising to their hind limbs, displaying the full extent of their hybrid monstrosity as they pounced, tracing an arc through the air towards the GovernCen. Casually, GovernCen sidestepped one, ducked under another, and as he turned, he stretched his arms out wide, bringing his guns to bear on two more werewolves in mid-leap, blowing a trail of teeth, skull and brains into the air to be lit up by the light of the full moon. But even he masterfully turned to face the next wave of charging werewolves, he squeezed the triggers, the hammers clicked, and nothing happened.
Without hesitation, he threw his guns at the nearest werewolf, then delved into his trenchcoat, pulling out another two guns in one smooth motion. But alas, that moment's delay was all it took for the werewolves to overtake his aim, and he had to dive backwards to avoid a savage swipe, whipping his guns up and letting rip. Even as one, two fell, another took their place, and lying on the ground with no room to move, GovernCen gritted his teeth as he prepared to get uncomfortably close and personal with the toothy beasts.
The werewolf suddenly yelped and twisted sharply to the side, spinning over and over until it hit the ground with a bone-jarring crack and lay still. Over it, Strop stood, his hoof still raised.
"Don't count me out just yet," Strop huffed and flicked his tail with just a hint of pride. "I was a ninja, after all."
"Not bad," GovernCen admitted, rising to his feet and standing with his back pressed to Strop's. Together they surveyed the situation. The bodies of eight werewolves lay on the ground, blood trickling into the cracks of the road. But where the eight were downed, another dozen had taken their place, and the snarling circle had grown. Worse, several of the werewolves, alerted to the abilities of their targets, stood upright, wary and waiting for an opening.
"Got any smart ideas?" Strop whispered.
"No." Cen whispered back. "You?"
"No." Strop confessed. "But I have a really dumb one."
"Is it better than me running out of ammo and both of us dying?"
"Maybe."
"Does it involve relying on Kai remembering that we exist?"
"I know better than to do that."
"Good enough. Let's do it then." With that, GovernCen brandished his guns again and charged, crossing his arms and loosing another barage to the side. Strop stuck close to his back, praying that for one, no werewolf would take a bite out of him, and for another thing, that GovernCen was as telepathic as he looked seeing as he had launched into action without even waiting to hear his dumb idea.
Amongst the carnage and the deafening cacophony of gunshot and snarling and howling and yelping, Strop saw it clear as day. Towering above the rest, a grizzly figure with scars crisscrossing deep through shaggy fur stood impassively, watching the action and waiting for the moment to launch the decisive assault. Strop shook GovernCen's shoulder. "THERE'S THE ALPHA!" he yelled, in an attempt to rise above the din.
"YEAH? SO?" GovernCen didn't turn around to look, because he was too busy blasting underling werewolves still coming at him from all sides. Running dry, he flicked one of his guns out, catching one werewolf neatly in the throat, and flipped the other over, and pistol-whipping another with a broad backhanded swing. Strop narrowed his eyes and crouched slightly, as if pondering his changes. Meanwhile, Cen fished out the final two guns from his coat, and started firing again.
"OKAY, COVER ME." Strop shouted, then took off in a sprint without waiting for a reply, his physician's coat billowing behind him.
"I'M A LITTLE BUsy-" GovernCen trailed off as he realised the werewolves were no longer aiming for him, but for Strop. "Well, ****, that really is a dumb idea," he muttered to himself, before taking off after the horse.
A horse is a talented runner, of course, but werewolves are wolves on ultra super enhanced steroids. The dumbness of Strop's idea quickly became apparent, for they were quickly snapping at his heels. He managed to slide past one, and vaulted over another just as it lunged at him, but he simply wasn't quick enough to dodge the one that sprang on him from behind, its teeth closing around his calf. But suddenly, the jaws went limp, as several bullets whizzed by, some ripping into the werewolf with a smacking sound.
"Thanks, Cen," was all Strop had time to think, before the Alpha wolf, roused into action by this audacious and suicidal challenge, dropped into a fighting stance, and charged at him.
A ninja he may have been, but Strop was not prepared for the raw power the wolf threw at him. Even with his slightly-rusty block, a giant paw collected him and scooped him clean off his hooves, sending him tumbling. He tucked in his shoulder and rolled to a crouched position, barely in time to get a faceful of Alpha wolf fangs, snapping so close to his nose that he could feel globules of drool pattering onto it. Instinctively, he coiled his legs up and kicked out, striking the Alpha on the nose and causing him to recoil with a plaintive yelp. Then he froze, suddenly realising that he didn't have any plan to actually win this fight, which was what his whole plan depended upon.
"Oi!" GovernCen shouted, distracting the werewolves. "I've got the big guns!" And with that, he rained more molten lead down upon them, causing the werewolves to scatter temporarily.
And then he ran out of ammo.
"Well, ****," GovernCen muttered to himself, throwing his now useless guns aside. The Alpha, sensing victory, stalked towards him, the other werewolves slinking in to file alongside. Strop, lying forgotten on the bloody ground, surreptitiously looked over and realised that his back of medical goodies was lying just out of reach. Shimmying over on his shoulders, he snuck his hand inside, rummaging around until it closed around a familiar object. Smirking triumphantly to himself, he rose all ninja-like to his hooves, waiting for the perfect moment.
"Come on, mother****ers, I'm not afraid of you," GovernCen mouthed, cracking his knuckles. "And even if you eat my face and tear all my limbs off, I'll still kick your butts." He raised his fists in a fighting stance. "And even if I don't kick your butts, Kai will dice you into cubed wolf steak." By this time, the Alpha wolf was standing directly in front of GovernCen, and it was only now that the size difference was apparent. GovernCen was a husky man of a man, but the Alpha Wolf was nine feet of muscle and pointy bits. Really sharp pointy bits, that showed in abundance as he smiled maliciously, ready to taste his victory.
"This sucks." GovernCen said.
Framed by the moon, a silhouette rose into GovernCen's view directly behind the Alpha Wolf. GovernCen must have involuntarily twitched, for the Alpha Wolf froze, as did all the other werewolves. Then, as the gas lamps flared, Strop's visage, right down to the whites of his eyes, appeared.
"EAT THIS!" Strop yelled. "SECRET MIDAZOLAM SHOT TECHNIQUE!" And in a moment of ironic absurdity, he pounced on the Alpha wolf's back, and, limbs wrapped around the Alpha's torso, administered a shot to the heart, straight through the breastplate.
The Alpha wolf howled, except it was no ordinary howl. It was more a shriek, that tore the skies apart. Strop fell to the side and rolled around, covering his ears from the agony. Even GovernCen could not stand still in the face of the audio onslaught, taking one step back as he grimaced. Then, miraculously, horrifyingly, the Alpha wolf started to shrivel up, fur falling off, muscles and flesh melting away, the eyes becoming sunken, the claws becoming more and more prominent until the Alpha was no longer a wolf but just the skin and bones of a human, and the shriek had turned into a rasp, and then a rattle, and then nothing at all. Then the former Alpha fell to the ground, dead.
Seeing their leader defeated, the other werewolves turned tail and fled for their lives, scattering into the darkness.
GovernCen strode over to the corpse and prodded it with his toe. "Nice, Strop," he said. "You killed him."
Strop sat up, shaking his head, then looking vaguely horrified. "Aw man, seriously?" He groaned and facepalmed. "That was not my intention."
GovernCen smirked. "Oh, really now? Then what was your intention?"
"To sedate him." Strop clambered to his hooves and retrieved the syringe, showing it to GovernCen. "Not my fault that he obviously had an undocumented allergy to midazolam."
GovernCen took the syringe and turned it over, studying its antiquated metalwork, the stylised plunger, and the bevelled needle.
"No, not midazowatchamacallit." He finally declared. "But silver."
Strop blinked. "What?"
GovernCen handed the syringe back to the confused horse. "This syringe is made from Sterling silver. If you hit the right spot, it takes but a sliver of silver."
At that moment, a youthful redhead brandishing a remarkably bloody sword burst onto the scene with a whoop. He then stopped, and looked at the piles of werewolf corpses, the several hundred casings, the puddles of blood, and the one dead naked human in the middle of it all.
"What did I miss?" Kai quipped.
