The Society

"Sir, your feet must be hurtin'."

I break my gaze away from the tiled flooring of the cafe.

The cafe's owner: John, was looking at me curiously.

I simply nod to him, keeping my gaze lowered, even though he couldn't possibly recognize me with this new body.

John chuckled, scratching at his flimsy white beard thoughtfully, and continued:

"You seem familiar, have you been in here?"

"No."

I say immediately. The deepness of my reply startled me, and I brush my fingers against my adam's apple lightly.

How much did my testosterone increase? Jesus Christ...

To my relief John shoved his curiosity to the side.

"Must be gettin' forgetful in my age,"

He chuckled, innocently.

"But I swear I've seen those green eyes somewhere."

He asked if I needed something, and when I politely dismissed him, he busied himself once more with his pile of dishes at his sink, stepping away from me.

I take a seat at the counter and paying no attention to the black and white film displayed on it, I daze off at the television.

Images of Jason shifted placidly over my vision, images of my friends that had become my family growing up in Starkfield.

I see Jason's naked and wet body strutting out of the shower. I see his clothes rip as he slowly turns into the beast, I see my own body as I become that beast. The beast he made me into.

I could feel that power as I sat in my daze, just beneath my skin, waiting to show me how unhuman I was now. I could smell the men and women behind me and their morning coffees. The sharp scent of their sweat, the shallow, rhythmic inhalations of their breath that cooed in my eardrums like quiet music.

I must had been sitting there for nearly an hour in my gaze, when the chiming of the door bell stirred me from my thoughts.

I look over to see a man and woman stepping into the cafe, their expressions alert and observant as they scan the cafe.

The man wore an ordinary shirt and tactical pants, while the woman sported jeans and a leather jacket.

It wasn't their appearance that caused step away from my seat at the counter.

It was their scent.

I take a deep inhalation of the odor, remembering the familiar scent on Jason, when he would sit on the couch beside me, sweaty, after an afternoon walk.

It was a musky scent that lingered with an undeniable trace of animal.

I step towards the Therians slowly.

I could hear the woman under her breath, towards the man, as she scanned the cafe a few more times.

"He's not here, Mike."

Their gazes met questioningly with mine as I approached.

I look over my shoulder, making sure John was not watching. He was busy with a customer at the counter.

"Jason O'Ryan sent me."

I say, but it came out shakily.

The two Therians glare at me.

I flinch as they forcibly take me by each arm, and walk me out into the morning air, the cafe door chiming behind us. They push me into the alleyway.

My heartbeat pulses violently in my throat as the man, Mike, draws a firearm from a holster on his belt and aims it steadily at me.

The woman, her voice as plain and cold as her blue eyes, speaks.

"Who the fuck are you? Where's Jason?"

I steadily back up, nearly tripping, my hands wavering out in front of me.

"He's dead. The Night Blades killed him. He was living at my place."

The woman's eyes widened, while Mike's eyes narrowed questioningly. His voice was sharp, sounding raspy and hollow, as if he were a long time smoker.

"Jason informed us he was staying with a human, not a Therian."

There was a long pause, nothing but the subtle sound of traffic wafting between us and the gun pointed at me.

"He turned me into one."

The two Therians were taken aback. They exchange expressions I found difficult to read. Mike's aim on me wavered slightly.

Finally, the woman spoke.

"Why would lieutenant O'Ryan make you into a Therian. Why?"

Lieutenant O'Ryan?

I was speechless, my hands still splayed out before me.

Mike lowers his weapon, and clasps his hand on the woman's shoulder, he looks steadily at me with hard grey eyes.

"We will test your DNA at headquarters. If you share Lieutenant O'Ryan's blood, you're telling the truth."

The man slides past the woman, and pulls handcuffs from his pants.

I obey immediately and put my hands behind my back. I flinch as the metal sets tightly against the skin of my wrists with a click.

From behind me, the man speaks plainly:

"Give us any reason to be suspicious, and we will shoot you where you stand."

With that, I'm pushed forward out of the shade of the alleyway, and into the sunlight of the crisp morning.