Werewolves 3 Beta Preview -- Prologue: The Prisoner

Welcome to the second in a series of previews from my upcoming game: Werewolves 3: Evolution's End! This prologue begins immediately after the Werewolves 2 ending where you flee with Sonoma's wolves and are captured by the HSM. Some characters appearing here are variable during the game. The text for choices I've made in this preview is noted with a '#' before the text of each choice.:

Three weeks have passed. Three weeks of horror, confusion, and escape plots brought to ruin by the infuriatingly mercurial nature of your HSM hosts. A select few members of the Human Sovereignty Movement treat you as an honored guest, while the others see werewolves as something less than animals. One night you'll be treated to a well-prepared meal, and the next you're thrown a gnawed bone with sticky scraps of meat and saliva still clinging to it after the guard has already eaten his fill.

They may be treating you like dogs, but they're the ones waiting on the return of their master. You can smell it on them. The stink of uncertainty. Is that why they're letting you live? Still feeding, clothing, and housing you rather than lining you up and putting bullets through your brains? If they could be rid of you, you're sure they would have already pulled the trigger. Fear of repercussion is the firm hand on their shoulder, holding them back from fulfilling genocidal desires. They're stuck in a holding pattern, firmly entrenched in their predetermined safe houses until they receive orders to do otherwise. They've begun to stink, and food is being rationed. Eventually something will have to give—they can't keep you prisoners here forever.

 *page_break

 The pack's cells are surprisingly comfortable considering the demeanor of your hosts, and you've heard more than one human complaining about how the "animals" are better kept than they are. Interestingly, your own cell is luxurious compared to those of your packmates, which has led to several unflattering comments from Sonoma's most ardent loyalists. Dena and Bly are being held on the opposite side of the camp, and you haven't seen them for several days. A part of you fears for their safety, but logic suggests that if the HSM hasn't killed Sonoma's ferals, they won't have touched the more docile Haven wolves. For now, anyway.

There is a schism running through the Human Sovereignty Movement—it's plain to see for anyone willing to watch the signs. The force binding them together has been absent for months: their leader—your father—the former Colonel Williams. Left in his wake is an empty space begging to be filled by someone with the ambition to seize it, but the near-religious fervor running rampant through the militia's ranks suggests that they're unlikely to replace their great leader until they're certain he's gone for good.

Nature abhors a vacuum, but the HSM rarely bows to natural forces. They'd rather be torn apart in a whirlwind of humanity than submit to their instincts. It's likely that such inflexible stubbornness will lead to their downfall, but you have no intention of letting things play out on their own without influencing the outcome.

#I antagonize the faction that views me and my pack as dogs. Angry, bigoted humans make mistakes, and I'm willing to take the pain they can dish out if it means putting the HSM factions at odds with each other.

You decide to target the worst of your jailers. For starters, there's a balding muscle-bound bigot named Jerry who seems to derive a perverse amount of pleasure from throwing picked-clean bones into your cage. You spend three days collecting his discarded bones, along with the larger ones covered in scraps that some of the militants feed you for dinner. The HSM have grown complacent, and they don't think to check the corner of your cage where you've hidden the pile while you're waiting for your target to come back on duty.

On day five, Jerry comes back with a full bucket of chicken wings. He leers at you with a malevolent grin and starts chowing down, gathering the bones on the table. You wait for him to take a big meaty bite before throwing the biggest bone you have directly at his face as hard as you can. You score a direct hit, and the piece of chicken falls from his shocked hands as his head turns on a swivel to stare directly at you.

"The fuck did you just do?" he asks. "Was that fucking you? I'm talking to you, fur-ball!"

You reply by throwing another bone at him. This one hits him square in the nose.

 *page_break

"You piece of shit!" Jerry barks as he stands up so fast his chair falls over with a clatter. You can smell his rage, though it might be the secret sauce he's spilled all over the floor. "Prepare yourself for a world of pain, you stupid dog-fuck!" He approaches the cage, brandishing a long metal rod that the guards use to shock caged wolves through the bars. Fortunately, your plan goes perfectly and his anger makes him sloppy. He gets far too close to the cell for his own good.

You lash out, sliding your arm between the bars and wrapping it around Jerry's neck, jerking him off his feet and slamming him against the cold steel. He probably has the leverage to escape quickly, but for the moment he's at your mercy. A part of you considers using this opportunity to escape, but there are far too many armed humans guarding the camp to deal with. Besides, Jerry doesn't have a key to let you out—only the Head Warden carries one.

#I pull my arm around his neck as tight as I can, hoping to knock him out.

You can't help but enjoy the feeling of the militiaman writhing in your arms as you squeeze. Eventually his struggles grow weaker, and then it's only small twitches before he goes limp entirely.

Jerry hadn't even had time to call out for help, so you get to spend a solid fifteen minutes with your unconscious companion before the HSM realize what you've done and your cell is surrounded by a half dozen militants, bristling with rifles and fury.

"What the hell did you do?" one of them yells, spittle flicking toward the floor.

"Gave him a taste of his own medicine," you say. Best to play this up to pit the HSM's internal factions against each other. "I'm Colonel Williams's blood," you say. "I'm to be well treated and respected until his return. This man," you indicate Jerry, "was throwing bones at me and claimed he intended to beat me within an inch of my life. Is that the way to treat your leader's child?"

"You've taken this too far," one of them snarls. "I don't care who you are, dog. You're dead meat!"

Another merc holds the speaker back. It's the Warden. "Don't let me hear anything like that from you again, Jones," he says. There's fury in his eyes—the religious zeal you were hoping to invoke. "You lay a hand on this wolf again and you'll find yourself in a cell right beside them."

"You can't be serious! I don't care what the boss says! This is an animal! He's delusional!"

The warden smacks the guard in the mouth with the butt of his rifle. "You say that about Williams again and I'll kill you on the spot, you hear me?" He shoves the guard out of the room. "Now march. Get the fuck out of here before you say another stupid fucking thing."

You settle back into your cage, trying to keep a smile from your lips. Well, you think to yourself, that worked better than I could have dreamed! They'll be at each others' throats any minute!

*page_break

Two days later a familiar face comes to visit.

It takes you a few seconds to place where you know the man from, but when it hits you, your lips curl back and you barely manage to suppress a snarl. When you last saw him, he was covered in dirt and blood, but now he's well-groomed and clean-shaven, his short blond hair orderly arranged to hide the beginnings of male pattern baldness. This is the man who arrived at your safe house before the main HSM forces. He was captured by Onyx and hauled before the pack, but when he saw you his eyes lit up with religious fire. Barnes. They said his name was Seth Barnes.

"They wouldn't let me see you," Seth says. "I apologize for that. I know I didn't make the best first impression, but I was just so excited! When the recon team told us you were there, I couldn't help myself. The progeny in the flesh!" He tries and fails to properly compose himself again. "How have they been treating you? I know they say the cell is necessary, but what about the rest? Food? Exercise?"

You're not sure if you want this man on your side or not. Could you use him to your benefit? He obviously sees you in some kind of bizarre religious light, but involving him might do more harm than good.

#"I'm living like a rat caught in a trap while HSM bigots argue over whether or not to kill me. I think that qualifies as poor treatment."

"Well that's not acceptable at all!" Barnes says. His eyebrows furrow as he ponders something for a moment before replying further. "I'll speak to Stephen about getting things shipshape. He might not listen to me—he's the Warden, after all—but I'll do everything I can. Make sure to tell your father that I was helpful when he returns, will you?" He looks down at the floor and then back up again, meeting your eyes. "I didn't just come here to talk about your accommodations. I need to warn you. Our HSM faction is being overrun by those who believe Williams will never return. They don't care about bringing purity back to the human race by freeing you of the animal inside like your father does. They just want to murder, unchecked, and they're winning over more and more of us."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You knew there was a schism running through the HSM, but you didn't know it was quite this dangerous. Fanatic vs fanatic, murderers against a pseudo-religious human purity cult. How do you always end up in the middle of these things?

"What should I do?" you ask. Surely the man didn't come to you without a plan in mind.

Seth's lips flick up in a smile before his face goes serious again. "I know you've had differences with your father. I've read all about it in his reports. But when he comes back, there's going to be violence. I can smell it. We need to make sure he takes control as smoothly as possible, and the only way to ensure that is if the prisoners work with him, especially you. If you condemn him, the mercs who want to mutiny will take that as a sign. They'll attack him and me, and then they'll turn their guns on you."

#"You expect me to publicly embrace my father in front of my entire pack? After his followers kidnapped and imprisoned us? No! Absolutely not!"

"That's a shame," Seth says. "But I think I understand. It's difficult to reconcile the differences between father and child after so much horror. Soon you'll see that he really has your best interests at heart. For now, just keep my warning in mind. If not for me, then for your own safety. Williams is the only hope we have of keeping you and your pack alive." He scratches his head vigorously and grits his teeth. "It shouldn't be long now. I can feel it in my bones."

"Shouldn't be long? Until?" you ask.

"Until Williams returns," Seth says. "His coming was foretold."

*page_break "Prophecy. Got It."

Three days pass before pandemonium arrives at the camp.

It turns out that Seth Barnes is quite a good speculator—either that or there's some truth to his words of prophecy. You'd rather attribute Williams's return to cosmic chance than divine intervention, but either way it's moved the needle, and the camp is in an uproar. It's impossible to tell exactly what is happening from the confines of your cell, but you overhear the sounds of fighting, screaming, gunshots, and cheers. In that order.

When the Warden finally comes for you, his face is beaded with sweat and his shirt is speckled with dark-red blood. "You're lucky," he says as he shoves his key in the lock and twists it roughly. You can hear the tumblers in the cell door turning as the heavy deadbolts slowly pull free. "Your father had to crack a few skulls and shoot some kneecaps, but the malcontents are back in line. About time, too."

"He's really here?" you ask. You're not sure if you're terrified or relieved. Better to chance Williams than to be shot in captivity like an animal in a cage, right? At least your father is a werewolf, if a self-hating one.

"That's right," the Warden says. "His helicopter landed this afternoon. It was only supposed to be a supply drop; I guess he wanted to be sure his arrival was a surprise."

#"Why would he want it to be a surprise? Did he expect trouble? I thought the HSM practically worships the ground he walks on!"

"You make it sound like we're following a religion," the Warden says. He looks like he can't decide whether to be offended or amused. "Williams marks humanity's best hope to survive the coming storm. Unfortunately, not everyone here agrees with his leadership, especially after word of your father's condition leaked and made its way around the camp." He watches you closely, gun held at the ready and loaded with anti-werewolf rounds stolen from the military. "We know your father's past. I've known for years, although some younger members have only discovered recently that he used to be a werewolf." He pulls the cell door open and leads you into the hallway. "Come. He'll meet with you."

You step through the door, eyes alert for signs of trouble. You can feel the beast within struggling against the mental shackles you've bound it with. You could transform if you wanted. Kill the jailer. Flee this place. But go where? To what end?

Or you could willingly meet your father and pray that he hasn't gone through all this trouble just to kill you.