---
The scent of ozone and shattered crystal still clung to Elsa's clothes, a permanent souvenir from the Observatory. Back in the church library, the familiar smells of dust and decay were a welcome anchor. Jack, now cleaned up and dressed in dark, functional clothing, stood before the massive oak desk, which was no longer a place for quiet study but a war room.
On its surface lay the salvaged remains of Dr. Thorne's remote. It was a sleek, black lozenge of metal and polymer, its casing cracked from where it had skittered across the marble steps. Wires and a shattered crystalline core were exposed, like the guts of a high-tech insect.
"It's dead," Elsa stated, poking at it with the tip of a combat knife. "The power cell is fried, and the core resonator is dust. It's a paperweight."
"The body might be dead," Jack said, his voice low and focused. His arms were crossed, his gaze locked on the device. "But ghosts can linger."
He reached out, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't pick it up. Instead, he let his fingers hover a few inches above the scorched circuitry. He closed his eyes.
This was a different kind of hunt. Not one of scent or sound, but of resonance. The curse that lived in his blood was more than just a physical transformation; it was a connection to something primal and ancient, a thread that ran through the fabric of the natural world. And that thread had been violently plucked by Thorne's machine.
He reached for the memory, not in his mind, but in his cells. The searing, silver-white agony of the energy wave. The invasive, needle-sharp pain of the command signal drilling into his skull. He let the sensations wash over him again, not as a trauma, but as data. He filtered out the pain, the rage, the fear of losing control. He sought the signature underneath it all—the unique, harmonic frequency of the device itself. It was like trying to isolate a single voice in a recording of a hurricane.
Elsa watched him, her skepticism warring with a grudging respect for his unique talents. Morbius stood silently by the shelves, a pale sentinel in the lamplight, observing the process with scientific interest.
Jack's brow furrowed. A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in his chest. It wasn't a threat; it was a sign of intense concentration, the beast's raw perception being harnessed by the man's will.
"There," he whispered, his voice tight. "A fingerprint."
He opened his eyes, but they weren't looking at the device or the room. They were seeing something else entirely.
"It's not just a broadcast. It's a two-way signal. It wasn't just shouting commands at me… it was also listening." He looked at Elsa, his pupils dilated. "It was feeding data back. Physiological readouts, transformation metrics, neural activity. All of it."
Elsa's eyes widened. "A telemetry stream. He wasn't just testing the resonator on you; he was running a full diagnostic."
"And that stream had to go somewhere," Morbius concluded, stepping forward. "A receiver. A data hub."
Jack gave a sharp nod. "I can smell it." He tapped his temple. "In here. The signal left a trail. It's faint, already dissipating, like a scent on the wind. But it's there."
He moved to a large map of Los Angeles County pinned to a corkboard. His movements were no longer weary; they were charged with a hunter's purpose. He picked up a red marker.
"The source was here. Griffith Observatory." He drew a bold 'X'. He then closed his eyes again, his head tilting as if listening to a distant song. "The data stream… it didn't go far. He wouldn't risk a long-distance transmission with something that sensitive. It's close."
His hand moved the marker, not in a straight line, but in a slow, uncertain arc, as if following a dissipating smoke trail. It drifted east, then south, hovering over the sprawling, industrial-commercial district between downtown and the LA River.
"It's… muddy. There's a lot of interference. Industrial waste, old magic, the city' own electrical hum…" His knuckles were white around the marker. "But the concentration is here. In the Vernon district."
He stabbed the marker down, circling a large, nondescript area of warehouses and manufacturing plants.
"It's not a precise location. It's a scent pool. A few square blocks." He opened his eyes, the gold-flecked brown now blazing with intensity. "But he's there. His lab, his receiver, his next move. It's all there."
Elsa studied the map, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "A few square blocks is a damn good start. Better than anything my tech could have given us." She looked at Jack, a new appreciation in her gaze. "You're not just an early warning system. You're a bloodhound."
"I'm a target," Jack corrected her, his voice grim. "And now we know the neighborhood where they're aiming. We go in tonight. Before the moon gets any fuller. Before Thorne has time to analyze his data and upgrade his toys."
He looked from Elsa to Morbius, the leader of this monstrous legion emerging fully.
"This ends now."
The Vernon district after midnight was a ghost town of industry. The daytime roar of machinery and trucks was gone, replaced by the hollow hum of distant freeways and the occasional hiss of a steam vent. Vast, windowless warehouses stood like monolithic tombs under the orange glow of sodium-vapor lights, their loading docks shuttered and silent. The air was thick with the smells of chemical runoff, hot asphalt, and rust.
From the roof of a three-story textile factory, the trio looked down upon the hunting ground Jack's unique senses had outlined.
"It's a needle in a haystack," Elsa murmured, scanning the silent streets through a compact monocular. "Even narrowed down to a dozen blocks, there are fifty potential facilities here. We can't kick in every door."
"We won't have to," Jack said. He was crouched at the roof's edge, perfectly still, his eyes closed. He was breathing slowly, deeply, filtering the complex tapestry of urban stench. He discarded the reek of diesel, the acrid tang of a nearby rendering plant, the sweet decay of garbage in a dumpster. He was searching for a ghost—the faint, technological after-scent of the resonator's signal, mixed with something else… something he recognized.
"There," he said, his eyes snapping open. They were glowing faintly, not with the fury of the beast, but with the focused light of a laser sight. He pointed to a seemingly identical warehouse two blocks over, distinguished only by a faded "Apex Logistics" sign. "That's it."
Morbius followed his gaze. "What confirms it? The energy signature?"
"Part of it," Jack said, his lip curling in a faint snarl. "But it's more than that. I can smell the… the aftermath. The psychic residue of the people he changed. Their fear. Their rage. It's a stain on the air around that building. And…" He paused, his nostrils flaring. "I can smell him. Thorne. His cologne. Expensive. Apathetic. It's all over the place."
Elsa lowered her monocular, a look of grim satisfaction on her face. "Apex Logistics. Fitting name for a man who wants to create a master race. Alright. Let's go shopping." She slung her rifle. "Standard breach. Morbius, you're on the ceiling, silent takedowns. Jack, you're the wrecking ball. I'll handle tech suppression and anything that requires finesse."
Jack shook his head, a new, unsettling calm in his demeanor. "No. The moment they see us, they'll purge their systems and run. Or worse, they'll try to use the resonator on me again." He looked at Elsa, his plan fully formed. "You two are the distraction."
Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what are you?"
"The ghost." A ripple of power passed over him, subtle but profound. The air around him seemed to warp as his form began to change. It wasn't the violent, bone-snapping transformation of the full moon. This was a controlled, deliberate shift. His frame expanded, muscles coiling under skin that thickened and sprouted a pelt of dark, coarse fur. His features elongated into a fearsome muzzle, and his hands twisted into powerful, clawed paws. But his eyes… his eyes retained their piercing, intelligent focus. The beast was present, but the man was firmly in the driver's seat.
He stood before them in his intermediate form, a seven-foot-tall engine of destruction who spoke with Jack Russell's voice, now a gravelly baritone that resonated with raw power.
"You hit the front door. Make a lot of noise. Draw every guard, every scientist, to you." He flexed his claws, the sound like unsheathing knives. "While they're looking at the storm at the gate…" He tilted his head towards a rooftop ventilation shaft on the Apex building. "…the infection gets in through the pipes."
A slow, understanding smile spread across Elsa's face. "Sneaky. I like it." She checked her ammunition. "Give us five minutes to get into position and make an entrance."
Jack gave a sharp, fanged nod. Without another word, he moved to the edge of the roof, his powerful leg muscles coiling. With a single, fluid leap that defied his size and the high gravity of the world, he cleared the twenty-foot gap to the next building, landing with a silence that was utterly unnerving. He became a patch of deeper shadow, flowing across the rooftops toward his target.
Morbius watched him go. "His control is… formidable."
"Let's hope it's enough," Elsa said, hefting her rifle. "Come on, Doctor. Time for us to be the loudest thing in Vernon."
---
Exactly five minutes later, the reinforced front gate of Apex Logistics exploded inwards in a shower of shrapnel and smoke. Elsa Bloodstone stepped through the haze, her rifle barking, firing non-lethal but brutally concussive rounds that slammed security guards into walls and shattered monitoring stations.
Alarms blared, a deafening, panicked shriek that filled the cavernous warehouse space. From the shadows of the high steel rafters, Morbius descended like a phantom, moving in a blur of motion, disarming and disabling guards with precise, efficient strikes before they even knew he was there.
The distraction was perfect. Utterly convincing.
And high above, as the chaos erupted below, a heavy ventilation grate was torn silently from its housing. Jack Russell, the Werewolf by Night, dropped down into the sterile, air-conditioned darkness of the beast's lair.
The hunt was over. The reckoning had begun.
To Be Continue...