15 Years Ago...
The harsh fluorescent light pierced through his consciousness like a blade, forcing his eyes open despite the searing pain that followed. Every nerve ending in his body screamed in protest as awareness slowly returned, accompanied by an orchestra of unfamiliar aches and sharp twinges that seemed to radiate from his very core.
Through the haze of his disorientation, voices floated around him, speaking in a language he couldn't comprehend. A woman's voice, soft but clinical, whispered something that sounded like "Er ist wach, Dr. Jinks." The words meant nothing to him, but the tension in her tone was unmistakable.
A man's voice boomed in response, the sharp Germanic consonants echoing off what must have been sterile walls. The female voice returned, this time with an edge of excitement, followed by the sound of rushing footsteps that grew fainter as their owner hurried away.
As his vision gradually cleared, like a camera lens slowly coming into focus, he found himself staring into the face of an older man. The doctor – he assumed it must be Dr. Jinks – had thick blonde hair cropped close to his head and eyes as blue as arctic ice. It was then that the boy became acutely aware of the cold metal restraints pressing against his wrists and ankles, binding him to what felt like a surgical table.
The doctor's lips curved into what might have been meant as a reassuring smile, but something about it sent a chill down the boy's spine. Words in that same foreign tongue flowed from the man's mouth, but they might as well have been random sounds for all the meaning they carried.
After a moment of confusion, the doctor's expression shifted. He reached for a piece of paper, his eyes scanning it quickly before understanding dawned on his face. "Oh, you, the american! Sorry about that," he said with a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's your name?"
The question should have been simple, but as the boy searched his memory, he found nothing but darkness where his identity should have been. The void where his memories should exist terrified him more than the restraints or the strange laboratory. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice rough from disuse.
"How about... Relikt, or relic in english," the doctor suggested, testing the word as if sampling a fine wine.
"Rellik?" the boy repeated, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
"Yeah..." Dr. Jinks reached for something on a nearby table – a small handheld mirror. "Look at you," he said, positioning it before the boy's face.
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The reflection that greeted him wasn't human. Where there should have been skin, there was jet-black fur. Instead of a nose and mouth, a lupine muzzle protruded, filled with sharp teeth that gleamed under the harsh lighting. Yellow eyes, wild and predatory, stared back at him in equal shock, framed by pointed ears that twitched with every small sound. His body, though humanoid in shape, was covered in the same dark fur, and behind him, a tail – his tail – moved with agitation.
Horror and fascination warred within him as the reality of what he was seeing sank in. He was a werewolf, something that should have existed only in horror movies and folklore, not in the cold reality of what appeared to be a medical facility.
"What'd you do to me?..." The question emerged as barely more than a whisper.
Dr. Jinks set the mirror aside with a grunt that might have been satisfaction or dismissal. "I perfected you, made you the next step."
"The next step of what?"
"Evolution."
Before the full weight of that revelation could settle, the door burst open. A new figure strode in – an older man in his sixties, wearing a general's uniform, his walrus mustache and thinning gray hair giving him an air of faded authority. He barked out words in German, his hazel eyes fixed intently on Rellik.
Dr. Jinks snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute. "Ja, General Michel." The two men exchanged more words in German, their tone suggesting satisfaction with whatever experiment had transformed him.
Finally, General Michel approached the table where Rellik lay restrained. Looking down at him with an unreadable expression, he uttered two words: "Viel Glück." Good luck.
The words hung in the air like a promise – or perhaps a threat.
June 6, 2507
Current location: Neu York - Noir plaza
6:45 am
Amidst the chaos of gunfire, Rellik stood on the rubble, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun was just beginning to rise. Despite the devastation Noir had wrought, the world's resources drained, the air choked, and all plantations destroyed, the sun still shone, a reminder of why Rellik fought on. Though he had once been one of the Werewolves, he had now dedicated his life to stopping Noir.
"Rellik!" a rebel's voice called out from behind a jersey barrier. Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past Rellik's face.
"What are you doing?" the rebel shouted.
Rellik jumped down from the rubble and kneeled next to the rebel.
"I was just scouting the area," Rellik replied calmly.
"There's no need for scouting! We just have to get to Krankenhaus," the rebel, named Will, ordered.
A grenade came flying towards them, and Rellik and Will dove out of the way as it exploded, showering them with rubble and shards.
Rellik sprang up and began firing at the group of soldiers, dressed in the red and black uniforms of Noir, the symbol emblazoned on their chests. He managed to take down four of them.
"Take that!" Rellik shouted.
Suddenly, a bullet struck his shoulder, and he winced in pain.
"Scheisse..." he muttered, ducking back behind the rubble.
"Where's Will?" he asked himself, and a quick glance to his left revealed the answer. Will lay sprawled on the ground, a chunk of shrapnel embedded in his skull.
"Schei?e!" Rellik cried out.
He grabbed the machine gun from Will's hands and stood up, unleashing a barrage of fire on the remaining soldiers. They fell like bricks, one by one, until they were all down.
Rellik tossed the machine gun aside and said, "Let's go save some folk."
