( 013 ) Ω ( VIDEO + SPAM )

[Spam for Stiles | Day 1]

( things could be worse. )

[Private to the pack | Day 2]

Chris is one of us, now. I'm showing him the ropes, but keep an eye on him until he's got a grip on it. It won't be long, he's a smart guy. Remember, we look out for each other.

[Somehow, he can play at being the caring alpha, and it all sounds right, but he looks almost bored. A glint makes its way into those red eyes when he changes the subject.]

I'm heading down to the surface to check it out. Don't start a party without me.

[Private to Daneca | Day 2]

Hey. You're not affected, right? [He says this like it would be the most annoying thing in the world.] I'm heading out, you should come with.

[Spam for Lydia and Stiles | Day 3]

( a growl fills his throat )

[Spam in port | Day 4]

[All his time in port was well spent, and though a couple days really isn't enough time, it'll have to do. He wanted a stronger pack, but he'll settle for a bigger one. It's not like he'll need them to really fight. He just needs them to die.

Scott stalks out of the city, toward the Barge. Behind him, his new pack follows, numbering somewhere in the teens. He lost count after twelve. They'll be enough, but not enough to stop him. Not him. He's the alpha. They are all half turned, commanded by his voice, commanded to follow and obey, and they are not strong enough to fight it like he was. They don't have anchors.

A hundred yards from the Barge they stop. Scott grins over his shoulder.]

Ready to see something new?

[He turns back to the Barge, leans forward and roars. This is how wolves signal to their pack. The one behind him winces, he can feel it, but every wolf left on the Barge will hear him. They'll know exactly where he is, and that he's calling them to war. Against who is a little less clear.

Then he starts to change. He's always red eyed and fanged and clawed, always has that hair along his face, but now he really changes. He twists, like he's cracking his neck, except his face shifts and pulls, his jaw extends grotesquely, and all his teeth sharpen and grow. Fur grows down his neck, over his hands, and soon he's more beast than boy.

And when his new pack is staring in shock or awe or fear - fear, he tastes fear, there is so much fear here - he turns to the closest, and claws his throat out. Systematically, he goes through the pack, fighting off the ones that howl with rage, breaking necks, clawing faces, dragging his claws through skin. Only some run. Most die.

Strength matters everywhere, and the more he kills, the stronger he is. He'll take any of them on.]