Black Aura

A helicopter rampages through the air, over the beauty and richness of countryside grounds. It tears through the thick wind towards a large horse shelter that resembles a warehouse, and drops acceleration, settling down slowly on the grass field.

As soon as the landing skids make contact with the ground, Jackson drops from the helicopter in his big black hoodie and bounces towards the horse shelter in gangster pride. His crew of five accompany him each in their uniforms; black hoodies.

The Man, a gentle white man in his sixties, fashioned in a long black coat and a cowboy hat, stands at the entrance of the warehouse watching them with his fingers pushing towards each other in impatientness.

"Jackson. Oh, Jackson, bringing you on board is beginning to appeal to me as a big mistake," The Man spits out words in his Texan accent as Jackson nears him. He gets into his face but unaggressively, "What're you doing? You think getting the government on us is a good idea? Oh, and what about the wolves!" The Man throws his hands in frustration. "We have a secret to protect, son."

"The wolves don't need to know anything," Jackson interrupts. "And the government won't find us that easily."

"You think!" The Man gets mad suddenly. "Get to work, load the crates. We'll discuss when the day is done."

He turns around and enters the building, strolling through the horses, horse keepers, and the hays on the ground all the way to a wall. He puts a finger on the solid wall and in few seconds it shifts sideways, revealing a freight elevator. He gets in and hits the button.

In the horse shelter, Jackson halts on a spot with his crew watching The Man in a neutral expression as the elevator doors shut gradually.

Pip! Pip! Pip! The door of the elevator opens again delivering The Man to the ground under the horse shelter. It's a pretty busy place, a lot of people moving to and fro in the spirit of duty, grinding and packaging a new kind of powder drug called Wolftale. Welcome to the cartel.

The Man takes a sharp curve walking towards the dark void instead of to the workers. In the darkness he reaches a hallway and pauses to take a breath. Then he walks right into it, this time in hasty steps.

With the absolute silence and darkness that persists in the hallway, the sole of his shoes beat against the ground with the resonance of a floor tom, as does the air of his breath, echoing like a wild wind blowing through a vacuum. If you listen closely through the silence, you may hear his heartbeat hawking the booming sound of a bass drum.

At the end of the hallway, The Man meets a steel door and twist the handle in the same speed of motion he came with, exposing us to a long steel stairway that leads down to a dark room that has a slight resemblance a basement.

At the side of the door he unhooks an electrical latern and turns it on, climbing down the stairs to meet the heart of the pitch black room where everything is in shadows. With every step he takes making a loud tang against the surface of the steel stairs.

Now at the center of the room, he raises the latern up squinting his eyes to gain better focus as he looks around. "Something tells me you're already here."

"He messed up again...didn't he?" A cold loud, shiver-inspiring voice echoes from the darkness.

The Man gives a silent treatment.

"Kill him," The voice speaks a second time.

"I can't. He has played a great role in getting this business to where it is now. We can't just execute him, he's one of us now," The Man defends.

"Centuries ago our kind were hunted by yours. They deemed us demons, they deemed us pests. This is the only way we can survive from those days of war, this is not business, this is a pillar of hope."

"And I'm the cement holding that pillar straight," The Man proclaims.

"In those days when your ancestors met with mine, we shared our sorrows. We shared our pains," Thick dark red eyes shine over the darkness. 

"They said the world has suddenly turned into a harsh place to live in overnight, they said the system is against them, they said a lot." A creature, a beast, a being, perhaps what kids and many adults will label a monster, walks out of the darkness clothed in the skin of a wolf and the size of a mother beer.

He comes close to the latern in The Man's hand, and stares the man down in wolf eyes. If you haven't figured it out by now, it's a werewolf.

He walks around The Man, gradually transforming from his gigantic wolf state a normal human being. He's Herod, a old alpha wolf with a pale white skin and scary red eyes.

"Even though my people didn't understand exactly what they meant by the world turning harsh, overnight...we made a deal with this humans," Herod continues the lecture. "Since our kind can't coexist with yours, my people will produce the drugs, while yours will distribute..."

"I know the stories," The Man interrupts.

"Then it seems that you have forgotten the gravity of the consequences that'd arise if the government and those fancy nabobs ever discover us," Herod halts on a spot near The Man's shoulder, staring into his eyes.

"I saw something in Jackson!" The Man raises his voice over Herod's mainly to break his suspicion. "I acted based on instincts," his voice gets back calm. "The same instincts that has grown our cartel in the past forever years. The same instincts that has kept your kind in existence."

"If the government ever finds out about us...watch your back." Herod threatens with a grin as he leaves The Man's shoulder and walks into the dark.

"Don't throw harsh threats at me old wolf," The Man challenges. "We both kinda put foods on each others table you know. In the meantime..." he walks to Herod and puts a hand on his shoulder. "...I'd invite Jackson over to have a talk with you."

The Man walks up the stairs wearing a smile like he's just had one great meeting.

"Yeah...bring him to me," Herod whispers faintly to himself. "I'd kill him myself."

As soon the steel door bangs shut, a pair of blue eyes shine through the darkness. Megan, his beta walks towards him, "What do we do now?"

"It seems inescapable," Herod tells, transfixed at the darkness like he can see the doom that'd befall them in the near future. "Our kind will go to war again, in this generation."

"Then what do we do?" She asks again in a bold tone.

"Our ancestors couldn't stand their bewitched rage," he turns to Megan in puzzled eyes. "I don't know."

...Black Justice Headquarters

Jake sits on the steel chair of an interrogation room, with his hands cuffed to the table. He rests his head on it in a posture that tells he's given up on life already.

No one messes a with nabob in this world, he would've known better. He would've seen it coming. The thought of him dying today seems a bit of a shock, but he has to accept his fate and die an happy man, or at least pretend to be happy.

Just then the door is banged open by Chief Gilbert, who walks up to him in a completely uninterpretable facial expression and takes a sit at the other side of the table.

At this point, Jake didn't care much about who enters the room or who leaves. At least he's gonna spend his last days on Earth not giving a damn about anything.

"Jake," the chief's aged bold voice echoes in Jake's ears like a beckon of hope.

He raises his head instantly in a bid to salute, "Chief."

"I've got a task for you," the chief tells briefly.

Jake is struck by surprise as his brain processes through the words, "I thought the law has condemned me to die."

"It's been overlooked. You should be grateful to Lord Robert," the chief breaks the news. "However, I need you to survey someone for me. You're the best spy for the job."

"He's just one man, why don't the law rain chaos on him as it used to," Jake is confused.

"The government thinks Jackson might be hiding something, maybe an illegal infrastructure, he seems rich..." Gilbert elaborates. "And the authority can't find a angle to manipulate his wealth."

"So what're you asking me to do?"

"We need a man on the inside. So when we crush Jackson, everything else that ever inspired his boastfulness will crash down with him," he reveals the task to Jake. "Do you understand and accept your mission?"

"I understand," Jake stands up on his feet in confidence even though the cuffs doesn't allow him to stand upright. "And I accept."

"Now let's get this chains off you," the chief pulls out a key from his pocket and frees Jake's hand from the cuff and table.

Jake takes a moment to sooth his reddened wrists as the chief moves to the door.

"And Jake," he turns back to Jake like he forgot something.

"Chief."

"How's your girlfriend?" The chief questions wearing a face that's hard to tell whether or not he's kidding.

Jake's face softens, "We both know I don't have any."

"What's the matter? You haven't found the right one yet?"

"No chief, I, I..." Jake is lost in thought.

"I know your scared of it cause of what your dad and mom went through. But I assure you, I've seen your dad, and you ain't the same man he is." The commander orates. "Meanwhile, all informations to be shared on this mission should strictly be done telepathically." Gilbert demonstrates with a finger to one side of his head. "Do you understand?" 

Jake returns the demonstration, "I understand, chief."

Gilbert walks outside, and Jake resumes the personal massage on his wrists.

"And again," Gilbert comes back through the door. "We have an intel on Jackson's possible whereabouts..."