Watch Dogs 3- The Lost Boy
#8 of Watch Dogs
Ya hear him howlin' around your kitchen door
Ya better not let him in
Little old lady got mutilated late last night
Werewolves of London again
Werewolves of London- Warren Zevon
"Ugh, what the hell was I drinking last night" moaned Edward Skye as he awoke with his face stuck to the carpet. "Oh God" as he caught sight of in this order, an empty litre bottle of glens vodka some discarded lighters and a pair of used syringes and on the collapsed bed the savaged body of a pale student. "Oh God" he repeated as fragments of last night came back to him like shrapnel passing through his head. "He picked her up in one of those clubs that seem to crop up like mushrooms in dilapidated buildings all around the city. After the clubs were shut they went to a off-licence and picked up the aforementioned bottle of glens and en route he picked up his usual pick-me-up from good time Georgie thankfully even if his call was running a little weak because of how hard he'd been using it recently the bargin basement vodka and the sticky cocktails she was gulping down in the bar was keeping her nice and compliant. Then they came and in a blizzard of freebasing cheap E and downing cheaper vodka they banged brutally into the night.
This was followed by a complete blackout so he guessed it was the time he changed. The result was staring him in the face now, at least he was human when he picked up the girl, not like that time when he was younger and tried to restrain the beast and its appetites, he ended up changing in the middle of a party when he was still trying to keep a patina of normality heed been reining the beast for so long that when his blood started pumping he changed and his call was so strong that all the boys and girls there were basically lobotomised by their desire for him, when he awoke he was a room full of bodies so badly mauled that he couldn't tell the difference between the corpses, this wasn't the first time this had happened so at least he could set a fire in the building, the first time he had no idea what to do so he ran and the police were still looking for the killer.
He manically looked under the pile of clothes in the corner for his little kit. It contained some waterproof matches, some rags and a small brick of tar. He hurried into the kitchen and hit a likely looking panel that contained the pipes leading to the gas cooker, still throbbing with primal strength from his recent feeding, and wrenched at one of the pipes. The rusty old pipe gave under the hideous strength and the smell of gas hit him, he wrapped the tar in the rags, grabbed his clothes put them on, took the stained overcoat hanging on the other side of the door to cover the blood spatters as he strolled out of the dilapidated flat, lit the bundle with the matches and tossed it through the doorway. As he stepped into an alley out of site of the cameras, one of the floors of the grey monolith of the block of flats burst out spitting flames, he smiled to himself with the satisfaction of a job well done, and that should keep him safe for a month or so.
He waited until evening as he knew that he would have to get some new money his wallet had to stay in the flat because of the blood spatters on it, and so as he walked into the twilight street to try and spot a suitable mark, he did spot a suitable one strolling down a relatively quiet street he walked closer as the man turned into an empty alley he really could not believe his luck, no witnesses and out of sight of the cameras.
He walked faster and reached the now he saw rather old man "even better" he thought to himself, there'd be less of a chance of him putting up a fight, which even this close to his feeding would start messy and end worse.
"How about some charity" he growled as he grabbed the man's shoulder, He knew how it was supposed to go and this was really not following the script, the old man grabbed his hand and span around whirling his briefcase towards his face he instinctively recoiled and the old wan grasped his umbrella and twisted, and... this old man had a damn sword in his umbrella and before he could move the sword was on his throat, and looked at him, after a few moments his face broke into a thin little smile "oh, god is good after all his favours still you end up with me, well you're a lost boy now, and this means your fair game."
"Whu... what are you talking about, and how are were you able to tell what I was" he stammered as he recoiled from the faintly shining sword, "ugh silver" he thought as he remembered touching a silver locket that he was told was his mother's, it burned coldly on his skin and called him to vomit all down his front, he remembered it as it was the first and the last time he ever felt ill.
"why I'm well, an old friend, yes a friend of you fathers, he went wild before you were born and was put down like the dog he became. I promised him you would be let alone by our world if you ended up human or were able to show some self-control, but no, you broke and now your mine. And just so you don't run off I'll put a leash on you." And with that his fingers snapped towards his chest and his skin burned with the heat of a furnace and he passed into peaceful oblivion.