Detective Paul Harrison adjusted his cap and glanced around the dimly lit briefing room, the flickering fluorescent lights casting uneasy shadows. The usual group of night shift officers lounged in their seats, sipping stale coffee and chatting in low murmurs. The smell of cigarettes and stale coffee mingled with the faint odor of sweat, creating an atmosphere that reeked of fatigue and anticipation.
“Alright, listen up,” Harrison’s voice boomed, silencing the room. He strode to the front, his polished shoes echoing off the linoleum floor. “We’ve got a new priority tonight.”
He paused, his eyes scanning the room, making sure he had everyone’s attention. The officers straightened in their chairs, a mix of curiosity and apprehension on their faces.
“We’re looking for a man named Jack Reynolds,” Harrison continued, flipping open a manila folder and pulling out a grainy photograph. “You might know him as the guy in the Hawaiian shirts who pretends to be a tourist, even though he’s a regular at every bar in town.”
There were a few chuckles, but Harrison’s stern expression quickly quelled them.
“Thing is,” Harrison went on, “Reynolds isn’t just any barfly. He’s shown signs of something… unusual.”
He glanced down at his notes, then back up at the officers. “Over the past few weeks, several reports have come in about his behavior. People say he’s been more aggressive, that his eyes sometimes glow in the dark, and he’s been seen with what looks like fur growing on his hands and face.”
A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room.
“You’re saying he’s a werewolf?” one officer scoffed, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m saying we need to be cautious,” Harrison replied, his tone flat and serious. “He’s dangerous, and we need to bring him in. Alive, if possible.”
Harrison started to scratch at his neck, an unconscious movement that drew a few curious glances. He ignored them and continued. “If you encounter him, don’t approach alone. Call for backup immediately.”
He cleared his throat, the sound rough and throaty, almost a growl. Some of the officers exchanged uneasy looks.
“What should we look for, sir?” a young officer named Martinez asked.
“Besides the Hawaiian shirts and the fur?” Harrison’s attempt at humor fell flat. “Look for the eyes. They say they shine yellow in the dark. And he’s got this habit of scratching at himself. Can’t seem to stop.”
As if on cue, Harrison’s hand moved to his neck again, scratching more vigorously this time. His breath hitched, and he coughed, a deep, guttural sound that made a few officers shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“Everything alright, Detective?” Sergeant Jameson asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Fine, just a dry throat,” Harrison rasped, taking a sip from his water bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, noticing a few tufts of hair that hadn’t been there before. His stomach churned with a mix of fear and confusion.
“Let’s get this bastard off the streets,” he said, trying to regain his composure. “But remember, he’s dangerous. We don’t know what he’s capable of.”
He turned to the board, pinning Reynolds’ photograph alongside the other wanted posters. The act of reaching up caused his shirt to pull taut, revealing an unusual bulge along his spine. He felt a sharp pain there, like something was pressing against his skin from the inside.
“Dismissed,” Harrison growled, the word coming out harsher than intended. He turned away quickly, hoping to hide the grimace of pain contorting his features.
The officers filed out, casting worried glances back at him. Harrison remained, leaning heavily on the desk, his mind racing. He had heard the rumors about werewolves, but had always dismissed them as nonsense. Yet now, as he felt the strange, burning itch spread across his body, he couldn’t ignore the possibility.
He stumbled into the restroom, locking the door behind him. His hands trembled as he splashed water on his face, looking up into the mirror. His reflection stared back, eyes glowing faintly yellow, his skin rippling with the hint of fur.
“No,” he whispered, backing away from the mirror. “This can’t be happening.”
He collapsed against the wall, feeling his body contort and change. His uniform grew tighter, the fabric straining against his expanding muscles. He bit back a scream, the sound coming out as a low, menacing growl.
As he writhed in agony, Harrison’s mind flashed back to his encounter with Reynolds a week ago. The friendly man in the Hawaiian shirt had bumped into him at the bar, spilling a drink and laughing it off. But there had been a moment, just a brief second, when their eyes met and Harrison saw the wolf lurking behind the man’s genial smile.
A loud rip echoed through the restroom as his uniform finally gave way, bursting apart to reveal the monstrous form beneath. Harrison’s eyes widened in terror as claws extended from his fingers, his teeth elongating into deadly fangs.
“No, no, no!” he roared, the sound a horrifying blend of human and animal.
He thrashed wildly, knocking over stalls and smashing the mirror. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion, battling the primal urges that threatened to consume him.
In a moment of clarity, he stumbled back to the briefing room, clutching the torn remnants of his shirt. He had to warn them. He had to tell them what was happening to him.
But as he burst through the door, the officers stared in shock and horror. Harrison’s transformation was nearly complete, his body a grotesque fusion of man and beast. His eyes glowed fiercely, and a deep, resonant growl emanated from his chest.
“Stay back!” he tried to shout, but the words came out as a snarl. “Reynolds… did this… to me.”
The officers reached for their weapons, panic spreading through the room. Harrison could see the fear in their eyes, mirroring his own terror.
With a final, agonized scream, he lost the battle for control. The wolf within him surged forward, taking over completely. He lunged at the nearest officer, his instincts driven by a primal need to hunt.
Gunshots rang out, but Harrison felt no pain. He was beyond human sensation now, a creature of pure rage and instinct. The room erupted into chaos as officers tried to subdue the monstrous form that had once been their colleague.
In the midst of the carnage, a single thought pierced through the haze of his mind. He had to find Reynolds. He had to make him pay for what he had done.
With a howl that echoed through the station, the werewolf that had been Detective Paul Harrison smashed through the window and into the night, driven by a relentless, animal fury.
The officers were left in stunned silence, the shattered remnants of their briefing room a testament to the horrors they had just witnessed. The hunt for Jack Reynolds had taken on a new, terrifying dimension, and the night shift would never be the same again.