'Brom Jones? Yeah, I worked with the guy before the System hit. He's a prick.'

  - Chase Peeler, Night Guard

  [Entering Instanced Area!]

  [Bring down the beasts!]

  [0/5 Reverse Werehounds]

  [0/1 Packleader Werehound]

  Brom had always viewed animal shelters as a necessary evil. Not everyone could be responsible with their pets, and some people just genuinely got screwed by life and had to surrender them. That didn't mean he liked them. His weak heart couldn't stand to see animals in cages, begging to be loved. Mostly because he felt a sickening amount of kinship. Like he, too, was a discarded beast just hoping for someone to see his value.

  But not anymore. He couldn't help but hear TJ's voice from just a few minutes ago. 'Yeah. He's that Brom Jones.' His nephew was proud. Fuck, Brom was going to cry.

  His eyes flicked to the task. From the look of it, these weren't people turning into dogs, these were dogs turning into people. He assumed the same rules applied, that he'd need silver to put them down. Like TJ had said, he was fresh out. So he was going to try to brute force his way through it first. With that in mind, he took off his jacket, hanging it on the doorknob he'd just come through.

  "Alright... time to test you two out."

  He shook out his hands, and Brom had to admit that he felt a little cool as the iron plated up his arms. Showy with a satisfying noise unlike its previous soundlessness. It was responding to him. Responding to his good mood and his readiness with a little flair. He ran his hands over his forearm, listening to the sound of heavy metal on heavy metal. It sounded ominous. Something moved, and he started, bringing his fists up, before realizing it was just himself in a large mirror.

  He looked terrifying.

  "My biceps are not that big." He flexed, the iron expanding like his own living skin, looking like he was smuggling a cantaloupe under the metal. "I stand corrected, they are in fact that big." He relaxed, folding his arms across his chest and furrowing his brows as he tried to get his head in the game. He could make cool poses later.

  "Okay. I doubt these things are standing around holding picket signs demanding extra kibble and more walkies. So if I were a dog who'd just become a man, where would I be?" He snapped his fingers. "Wherever the food is." Thumbs were bitchin', and with them came the ability to open doors. "Too bad I don't know where that is."

  He lifted his fingers to his mouth, metal receding so that he put bare skin in his mouth, and let out an ear-splitting whistle. If he didn't know where they were, he'd see if they'd come to him. From the sudden scrabbling noise, it seemed like it had worked.

  The beast that came around the corner was the size of a pony, a blur of long limbs, flying fur, and a snout that didn't quit. Some breed of sighthound, Brom didn't know dogs well enough to guess. When it saw him, it postured. Its hackles raised, lips peeling back to show teeth, tail stiff out behind it. It wasn't a posture of fear, it was an aggressive display of angry dominance. Looking like this, like it was mostly dog and not enough monster, Brom didn't want to resort straight to violence. Brom was good with slapping the hell out of a monster or beating on a creature that was a clear human threat. This just looked like a big, angry dog, and while Brom was definitely more of a cat person, he wasn't the sort that kicked dogs.

  He squared up his shoulders, raising a hand slowly, his voice level and cool. "Easy. Easy. Maybe we can solve this without vi-"

  The thing lunged, its bones and sinews snapping in midair as it began its change. Muscles bulged and rippled, nails sharpened into claws, spittle flew as Brom was forced to bring up both hands and catch it. Those claws raked down his shoulders, screaming against the metal, as he got it by the neck, fingers clamping down swiftly as those slavering jaws snapped less than an inch from his face. Brom twisted his hands, a sharp snap echoing through the room, and the creature went boneless.

  + 10 XP

  [1/5 Reverse Werehounds]

  He stood there, chest heaving from the adrenaline, glancing at his shoulders. Perfect. Flawless. The Grip had tanked the hit and hadn't even taken a hint of damage from it. Had Brom not had the armor all the way up, he'd have likely had his shoulders shredded like cheap paper. "Nice job, boys. One down, five to go."

  He stepped over the corpse of the beast and moved deeper into the facility. It had come from the right, down a hallway with a sign that read 'INTAKE' and smelled of cleaning chemicals, urine, and fear. Poking his head through the door, a ruin awaited. Where once there'd clearly been a row of holding pens, there was now bent metal, the doors ripped off, and the bedding inside shredded. The lights had been shattered, leaving only what bled through the door behind Brom.

  He shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and propped the door open, having no desire to go in deeper without it. He moved quietly, his head slowly sweeping back and forth, one arm held chest high, ready to intercept threats. He wished he had a layout of this place, surely there was one on file with the city that could be handed out as part of a kit, but that was an idea for later. He'd raise that with the Guard when he got out of here.

  He was making his way through what looked like a grooming room, the place where dirt was washed off, and fur was sheared to keep fleas and ticks under control, when the second came for him. The poodle had been napping in the bathtub, and Brom had missed it in the shadowed gloom. He'd kicked a collar, the buckle jingling, and then suddenly it had launched at him from his left. He went down, slamming against the cold-treated concrete of the floor, his forearm shoving at the beast's chest.

  The bite narrowly missed, skidding across his skin and getting his shirt instead, ripping with a vicious head shake as the creature's claws punched into the flooring. Brom shoved it away with all the force his awkward position could muster, sending the thing crashing back into shelves. That lured in a new beast, terrier type maybe, from a further room, the thing charging at him and flinging itself in low before Brom could get onto his feet. He slammed a fist downward, hammer blowing into the floor hard enough to crack it, whipping up on one knee and getting a fist up in time as the original attacker lunged in again.

  + 10 XP

  [2/5 Reverse Werehounds]

  Teeth clamped down on his iron forearm and Brom felt the pressure of the bite force, his body shaking as its hands locked on his wrist and elbow to keep its prey where it wanted it. Like a man trying to savage meat on a stick. Brom smashed his other fist down square on its skull. Fur, flesh, and bone parted. Blood flew as the high impact forced it out. The werehound's grip vanished, and its teeth rasped against his arm as the dead animal slid limply to the floor.

  + 10 XP

  [3/5 Reverse Werehounds]

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  He took a few moments to catch his breath. These things thankfully went down easily, no match for Brom's damage, but they were fast and horrifying. TJ was going to have to try and use Heavy Impact to pin them to things, or he was going to have to blow their joints to hell. Either way, he was going to need the element of surprise, the high ground, or a choke point. Maybe all three. Because the pack would obviously aid each other.

  He got up, brushed his pants off, and chose his next course of action. To his right, a doorway that lead outside into the kennels and runs. To his left was a door marked 'Medical'. He picked the outside first. It was incredibly dim in here, and a second door, propped open to the light, would help him explore more. He dropped his shades back down over his eyes with a jerk of his head, helping him adjust to the bright and blinding daylight outside.

  The fence was high, to stop even the most gifted jumper from vaulting over it. It was made of chain link, the bottom six feet had green plastic sections fastened to it. Privacy reasons, of course. More lengths of chain separated outdoor pens and kennels from the actual exercise yard. He saw the last two werehounds at the same time they saw him. They'd been play wrestling together in the big exercise yard, both of them perking up at the sound of the door to the inside opening.

  The moment they saw it wasn't one of their friends, both of them stood up, and up, and up. Easily seven feet, hulking shoulders, lots of teeth. Brom had never in his life thought he'd be intimidated by a golden retriever, but this one was built like a fucking truck and taller than he was. The other, some collie mix, pinned its ears and moved slowly. The way herding dogs do before they burst into explosive movement.

  The golden came for him first, charging forward with its hands outstretched. He ducked under the grab, arms going around its middle, and jerked his arms tight. The beast scream-yelped as its spine caved in. He whipped it around, slamming it on the ground in front of him, and that was when the collie hit him. It had waited, waited for an opening, a moment. It hadn't tried to go for his front, it jumped and landed on him.

  Brom reared back, pushing off the retriever, trying to get hold of the beast that was digging claws into his sides and trying to rake his front with hind claws. He caught a leg, yanked, and the thing shrieked as it nearly came off in his hand.

  HP: 785/800

  He was bleeding, smashing the thing against the chain link, stumbling away as it let go of him. His obliques had just taken a beating, the entry punctures deep but the gouges mercifully short. The retriever was snapping on the ground, trying to roll over and drag its back half toward him. The collie, back on all fours with that one leg dragging uselessly, was glaring hatefully. Worse... he was watching the damage correct itself. Watching that leg heal and that spine straighten in real time.

  "Shit."

  Fuck doing anything fancy. Fuck this grappling. Fuck letting them dictate terms.

  He walked toward them, and this time when the golden snapped, he took a knee and drove his fist through its head, just like he'd done with the poodle. "Sit. Fucking. Down." He didn't give the collie time to retreat either, seeing the thing turn and start to bolt for the door. He got it by the tail, hauled it back, and grabbed it by the snout. A sharp yank back was all it took, snapping its neck and nearly taking its skull off in the process.

  + 20 XP

  [5/5 Reverse Werehounds]

  His ribs burning, his chest heaving, he looked at the corpse. "Stay. Good boy."

  That was when the door blew off its hinges.

  - Unyielding Stance Activated!

  He'd still been standing there, ready to fight. Not searching like he had been earlier, not vulnerable, so that passive kicked in and that door bounced off of him and ripped through nearby chain link like it was string and popsicle sticks. It hurt like a bitch doing it.

  HP: 780/800

  The Packleader stepped through the doorway like he needed entry music. Like a professional wrestler here to join the rage in the cage. A husky. Black and white fur, icy eyes, and enough muscle mass to choke a bear with a suplex. The monster looked down at its deceased pack members and then slowly looked up at the bleeding Brom. The howl it let out was an awful thing, the kind of thing that had likely broken the lights inside the building.

  - Nausea

  - Deafness

  - Disorientation

  + Fear

  Icy terror slammed into Brom. Unnatural. Squirming through his guts. A kind of visceral terror that he'd only known thrice before in his life. That howl had blown out his eardrums, he could feel the blood running down his neck. That howl had kicked him into fight or flight mode. Obviously, the monster expected him to run. To flee in terror and claw at the fence, trying to get away. That was not how Brom reacted.

  Brom reacted by grabbing the metal door that was lying tangled in the fence and raising it high. He brought it down on that monster dog once. Twice. Three times. Four. Beating it up and down, up and down, his own furious, terrified shout reverberating in his chest. He pounded on it long after the noise had ended, and wet, red sounds were all that remained.

  +15 XP

  [5/5 Reverse Werehounds]

  [1/1 Packleader Werehound]

  [Instance cleared! Rewards will be sent to your inbox!]

  The door was physically whisked out of his hand as the Instance completed. He found himself, bleeding, standing in a kennel run surrounded by excited, barking animals and one very stunned Ranger who was midway through feeding them. She took one look at him and nodded. "It can be pretty rough in there. Need help?"

  - Fear

  "Nah. I got this. Just go back out the same way I came in?"

  "Yeah. We're pretty used to seeing folks wander out of the Instance now. Have a better rest of your day, hope your weapon is cool." Her eyes flicked to his arms. "Not sure it'll be cooler than those, though."

  Brom gave a tired smile. "Thanks." He turned, ready to head back out, the Grip already receding as he reached for the door.

  "No problem. Oh, and don't pass the bottle of water. It's complimentary. Got electrolytes. For the crash." She was just trying to be helpful, interjecting and letting him know. "Because you're going to crash. Your hands have the shakies."

  "Yeah, yeah. I've done this before. I know. I promise, I'll be fine. I'll take the water, though, thanks for the tip." He knew he'd crash. For the first time since the System took over, he felt the telltale hint of the oncoming downswing. It wasn't the numb exhaustion he'd felt after the event dungeon or the bone-deep weariness after the tutorial. This was a chemical crash. He hadn't been like this since, well, since his substance abuse days. This feeling. He hated it. He wobbled back the way he'd come, taking his jacket and a water bottle from the rather shocked guy at the desk, a man whose eyes didn't leave the oozing wounds on Brom's sides.

  He crushed that bottle, tossing it in the trash, and stepped into the room where TJ was happily chatting with the Guard and the Ranger. They all went silent, looking at him for a moment.

  "Ok kiddo, lets talk strategy..."