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A/N - It's been fun chatting with readers and I hope you all will continue...For those who haven't, I don't bite...hard :). This chapter is mostly exposition but explains a bit about what's going on. Enjoy.

Clean save for lots of coarse language. All characters and situations fictional. Some liberties taken for plot advancement.

Chapter 6 - Walking Forward...And Looking Back

"Things are not always what they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden."

Phaedrus

Thompson State Forest

New London, NH

October 13, 2011

Just after Dawn

Nex ut monasteriense. Death to monsters. That figment of the past...that meeting with that which did not...could not exist...but here it was, standing behind me nonetheless. My mind returned to that dark, cold cell, blood marring my hands, sticky and wet, but only for a moment...there was too much at stake.

The brilliance of the rising sun backlit the figures ahead of me, casting what I could see in dark shadow. I saw the bodies of the newcomers, pockets on the sides of their vest bulging out, no doubt filled to bursting with ammunition, grenades and other implements of death. The silhouette of the M4 slung from the figure's shoulder was prominent in its hands as it faced away from me...toward the forest where David and Sarah had run. My mind was racing, still trying to comprehend any of what had just happened...but I thought...no... I knew one thing...David and Sarah were not monsters...They were just as human as I was.

My right arm started to lash toward my sidearm laying on the damp grass before me, overriding some misguided sense of self-preservation. The sharp intake of breath from Amy behind me spurred me on as I thought her mind had reached the same conclusions that I had. This only spurred me on to try and do something...anything...to just give David and Sarah a little more time.

The feeling of weight came down on my wrist and completely halted any motion from me. An unseen someone behind me had stepped on my wrist. I jerked quickly, trying to free my hand, but experiencing a very strange sensation...one that I didn't expect to feel.

Leather...and the sharp sensation of claws.

A menacing growl, loud enough for me to hear it, but not loud enough to travel very far, coming from above me could only further my confusion.

"Don't...Just don't."

That voice definitely wasn't Amy's. It was rough and gravelly, carrying a threat, or rather a promise, of unrestrained violence if I failed to heed it. I craned my neck over my shoulder, trying to get a look at whatever was standing on me. As I craned my neck, Amy's voice called out of the darkness behind me, trying to calm me.

"Mike. Stop. They're on our side...you're safe. We're all safe." Her fear was just dripping out of her quivering voice, so palpable that I assumed that some rifle was currently staring down at the rear of my skull, ready to open me up like some overripe cantaloupe if I so much as twitched wrong.

I relaxed my arm and the weight on my wrist let up slowly. I slowly brought my arm back towards my core and turned myself so that I could see who...or what had restrained me. My eyes gazed upwards and connected with a sight that...before today...I never would have expected to see.

Two amber eyes gazed down at me, boring into my own, evaluating me before my own began to prowl my captor's body. The rising sun lit the creature brilliantly, illuminating the tall, alert ears standing atop a proud head, chestnut brown fur covering a strong, closed muzzle...a shape that I had come to know all too well over the past night. The powerful arms and legs were tipped with sharp looking claws designed for rending prey. The parts that most confused me, however, were the shorts and vest. Every werewolf...lycan, I guess, I had seen that night had been completely nude...well, fur clad, I guess, but this one was clad in a black short sleeve shirt and cargo shorts with a slate grey vest, covered with the accoutrements of modern warfare, grenade pouches, ammunition, radios, knife, and... a wooden stake opposite the Ka-bar? A short barreled carbine was slung by his side, although I couldn't identify the type.

I brought my eyes back to meet his, and held his piercing stare.

"What the fuck is going on. Who the hell are you?" My tone was growing continually more acerbic as the night progressed. I had been knocked out by some unknown force, attacked by a werewolf...err...lycan, shot at by some other unknown force, rescued Sarah...and then found out that she wasn't even...the same... as I was. Then I found out that most everyone I knew growing up was just as...different...as Sarah was. Now, I had a furry soldier, dressed like a 5.11 model, standing atop me, acting as if I should not be confused, afraid and combative.

"Kid, we're not going to hurt you...I'll explain everything as soon as we have you moving. Wait...why do you look familiar?" That quizzical canine look, the same one that I had seen from David earlier that night, crossed his head, and...if I hadn't been so confused and angry, I might have laughed.

Shaking his head and looking away, toward one of human operators standing on the perimeter, he tried to get on with his duties.

"Medic up!" He cried. Turning back to me, he locked gazes with me and tried to read me.

"'Scuse me, cap."

The appearance of the lanky medic broke his concentration as he stepped back; starting to bark out orders to what I believed was his team, no pun intended. The medic knelt down next to me, running his eyes and hands up and down my battered body, palpating everything and anything that could have hurt. I had a good idea what he would need and rolled up my left sleeve to give him a little bit of room. This wasn't my first ballgame with a bullet wound...at least I wouldn't be getting speared in the chest again.

As I saw the medic setting up to stab me to start an IV line, I heard the leader starting to get his men to clean up the area, sanitizing it. Soon, for all appearances, none of last night's events would have happened. I hadn't seen this since I was in the navy...although I was on the other side of the fence then.

"Hey," I called, trying to get the attention of the leading lycan. No dice. Then I saw an opening and took it.

I was rewarded by a loud, canine yelp as I yanked on the creature's tail. I was tired of playing nice. That may have been a mistake.

I was met by a growling, snarling face as the leading lycan turned to face me.

"What the fuck was that for?" He roared, fangs bared in anger and aggression.

At this point, I had about willed away the ability to fear, and was tired of being ignored and getting the runaround.

"If you're policing the scene, there may be bodies there and there," I said matter-of-factly, indicating the approximate areas where the shooters had been. "I figure you're making it so none of this happened, so you should check those two areas."

His expression softened as he sent two of his men to the locations I pointed out and that quizzical head cock returned.

"Thanks...wait...You're Shepherd."

That name brought me back to those horrible events and the strange circumstances surrounding it. I mean, being told to assault a terrorist financier in the middle of Germany? Never mind the few snippets I could remember of my imprisonment after everything went to hell.

"I was... a lifetime ago."

His eyes and expression softened as he realized that I was a different man than I had been those few short years ago. Well, we all were, but I had just stopped caring about all of those connections that we all take for granted. I had turned my back on everything.

I turned away from his piercing gaze, trying to escape the pity I could see written on his face. The medic had finished bandaging my thigh and already run half a liter of fluid into me. Looking at my elbow, my eyes almost bugged out at the soda straw that was sticking into my arm. I just looked at the medic.

"Hey, you've got beautiful pipes, and you need the fluid. The bleeding's stopped, but we need to get you to the hospital." I merely nodded, still surprised that he got that thing into me without feeling it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two soldiers who had been sent to find the other two shooters return...alone. Crap. This can't be good.

"Sir, there's no one in the woods. We found some blood there," the reported, gesturing toward where I had fired upon the shooter, "but the trail ends. We also found a broken set of zip cuffs near the other spot. They appear to have been cut." With that, he handed a set of zip cuffs to the lycan.

All of the men started to regroup around myself and Amy, who had been remarkably quiet throughout the entire ordeal, although now I realized that her hand had been on my shoulder the whole time.

As the helicopter landed in the relatively small clearing, a small part of my brain identified it as an MH-60...military only, specially designed for special operations. I felt myself being lifted on a litter and carried along by these men and strapped into the bird.

Amy took a seat directly across from me and I could see the worry written across her face...not for herself, but for me. That realization struck me like a blow to the gut, or rather a blade to the gut, my own mind just twisting the blade harder. I couldn't feel the same for her...not right now.

The lycan soldier, sat next to her, appearing grave. The rest of the soldiers filed into the aircraft; also tossing the body of the shooter I had killed inside. The drumbeat of the helicopter drowned everything out, but the lycan handed me a helmet, putting a similar, albeit modified version on his head, wincing as his ears were apparently compressed by the design.

"Can you hear me, Shepherd?" he started.

"Yes," I replied. "My name's Michael Hart. I told you, Shepherd died a long time ago."

"Agent Hart, do you have any idea what's going on? Who we are, who you met tonight or even who was shooting at you?"

"What I know is that there are creatures such as you, effectively werewolves." I saw him and Sarah bristle at that term. "No offense intended. There is also apparently some group that wants to kill at least some of you. They seem to be related, or at least involved, with a group of bank robber who have been hitting New Hampshire and Massachusetts. Finally, you and your team appear to be some sort of sweeper team for incidents like this."

"Close," came the reply, "Although we prefer to be called lycans. We have existed in secret within the human populace for centuries. The werewolf moniker came about in the middle ages as a response to serial killers of the time. We got blamed. The majority of us are not killers...at least no more so than you are." He quickly cast his glance toward the shrouded body.

I nodded in acceptance, but decided to go on the offensive. "But if you werewolves," the growls started coming from both Amy and this soldier. "Sorry, lycan. But if you lycans are not killers, what happened out there...and why does your patch state "Death to Monsters?"

"As I noted, the vast majority of lycans are not killers. Heck, an above average percentages is in either law enforcement or the military. It gives us a legitimate reason to chase people," he said, grinning and revealing a rather disturbing row of sharp teeth. His demeanor quickly turned toward embarrassment. "However, we also have an above average percentage of serial killers, rapists, and associated ne'er-do-wells. Plus, we're much more emotionally dangerous than most humans. Amy told me about your encounter with Marshal Anderson. Basically, the best way I can explain it is that lycans have an animal nature that can overpower our human side. Most of us, including myself," he explained, gesturing toward his chest, "deal with it by letting the animal out from time to time, others via mediation, and some just possess strong personalities." At this, he paused, as if considering telling me something, but then he continued as if he hadn't stopped.

"Too many, however, cannot deal with the otherness within them. These poor souls become the werewolves of legend. They become feral killers. Our black sheep, so to speak, include Jack the Ripper, John Wayne Gacy, and Jeffrey Dahmer. It's the job of teams within the FBI, CIA, US Marshals, and many other law enforcement agencies, to deal with these threats, as well as our team and a few others...although," he intoned with a knowing look "we do not actually exist. However, feral lycans are only some of the monsters with which we deal. We also deal with many other types of creatures, most of which are nowhere near as...civilized, I guess is the best word... as lycans. Orcs, sirens, zombies, and, ugh, even vampires." He shuddered as he almost spat the last word.

"That group you fought...well, think of them as the Klan for lycan haters. We don't know much about them. This group seems to be run by a reclusive leader who calls himself Abba. There are also a couple of international groups who support similar ideals and worse. In fact, the event where we first met...and yes, I was there... that was one of the financiers of one of those groups. Any other questions?"

My mind was flying, racing between these statements. Not only did these lycans exist, but vampires, zombies and orcs? This wasn't just turning my world inverted, but ripping it to shreds, putting it in a blender full of acid and turning said blender on full. I think my blank stare gave him enough of an answer.

"My parents?" I croaked, still in a sense of shock.

He quickly nodded to the medic who administered something into the IV line that was still hooked to my arm.

"We'll talk again, Agent. Just relax."

The roar of the rotors above me fell quiet as my mind finally stopped its racing, something that it hadn't been able to do since the impromptu wakeup call that morning just a few hours before.

Southern New Hampshire Medical Center

Nashua, NH

Three days later

I'd spent three days in this damn hospital. I was tired of being here. Apparently that bullet had nicked a minor artery, but the surgeons had repaired it without any major difficulty. I would be limping for the next few weeks, but surprisingly was expected to be back on light duty next week. Curse their efficiency.

I had found quite a bit of time to think over the past day and a half. I had managed to partially accept the topsy-turvy, completely dismantled world that I had been introduced to this past week, but still couldn't believe that everyone I knew from my childhood, including Amy, the closest thing I had to a friend...ever... was one of these lycans.

Amy. She had stayed with me for the vast majority of the past few days...although she had slipped away at nights and had disappeared this morning. She was the most difficult part of this whole week. I could tell that she cared for me...and I wanted to reciprocate...but...I didn't know if I could. I needed to know what happened in my past and what could be the future.

A quick knock on the door startled me out of that brief reverie. What I saw lifted my spirits higher than they had been in the past few days.

Amy was standing at the door with a wheelchair, a smile lighting her face from ear to human ear. "You're free, Mike. I've already talked to your boss...SSA Stark, right? You've got the next few days off, and as I said before, we need to talk. We're going to go to my cabin and chat for a bit." The look on her face was almost predatory in a way...although I guess that wasn't unexpected for someone who, in all honesty, outranked humans on the food chain. My disagreement with the plan must have registered because she quickly amended her statement. "That's not up for discussion."

She helped me to the wheelchair...stupid hospital rules... and started out to the parking garage. I was just glad to be leaving the hospital. Everyone was nice enough...although I think getting dropped off in a Blackhawk by shadowy figures armed to the teeth probably put the fear of God into everyone.

The walk out to Amy's Cherokee was uneventful enough. As we entered the parking garage, I realized that I had forgotten something...something important.

"Uh, Amy, I need to pick up some stuff from my apartment if you're going to kidnap me like this. I'm sure you'd want me to have at least some clean clothes." I wasn't going to let her get off that easily for her unilateral planning.

"Already taken care of," was her quick reply as we rounded the corner to her jeep. "Also, I picked up a friend of yours."

I saw a shape sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep. A canine head with tall, alert ears, and, what I knew were dark, intelligent eyes looking toward us. Loki.

"How'd you get Loki to come with you? He doesn't normally listen to anyone but me?"

"That was easy," was her reply. "I bought three steaks."

"Three steaks? Damn. Hopefully he'll come back with me," I said sarcastically. The best Loki ever got was the leftovers from my steak tips. He was a fantastic and...well, I thought loyal...companion...but I was cheap.

"No, just one for Loki. The other two were for me." The predatory grin was back on her face and was actually starting to scare me. My fear must have shown, because she started to chuckle. "No, dogs typically listen to the dominant personalities around them. For some reason, lycans tend to have an innate ability to coerce dogs to listen...But I can't give up a good opportunity for steak." The predatory grin had left her face, now replaced by the grin that I had grown up with...although I could see that the hint of what lay beneath was still there.

"Good, then you'll stop for some good sirloin. I want a nice meal after this weekend...and you're buying."

"Fair enough," was her response as she unlocked the doors and I got into the jeep. Loki attacked me almost immediately, slathering my face with licks as he did every time I returned after leaving him for a while. I almost didn't notice that Amy had returned from dropping off the wheelchair until she chuckled at the sight.

"You know, I can give you two a couple of moments." Mirth filled her voice as she stood at the driver's side door, smiling as Loki continued to slather my face.

I just smiled at her in response and told her to get in and drive.

The drive started out rather uneventfully. We filled each other in on what we had done in the past few years. After I had run from New London with my tail between my legs, my thoughts, not her words, she had been 'voluntold' that she would need to take on the sheriff position that I had been intended for. Apparently it was tough to get good people for the extremely reclusive town. She had started as a deputy and rose to the position of sheriff as people retired. She said that she actually enjoyed the work, but I felt as if I had destroyed her dreams. Law enforcement had been my dream, not hers. Just another person whose life I destroyed.

After her explanation, I filled her in on my history. Nothing really new, basically a decade in the Navy, including a pair of missing years from being...a POW is the term I used, accurate, I guess, and then a half decade as a fed. She listened politely, although I left out a few of the more poignant moments...moments which I have never shared with anyone...and ones that I think I never will.

The trip to get my dinner and then to that remote cabin passed quickly and before I expected, we were at that cabin at the edge of the forest...the same cabin where my life was thrown upside down. As I limped out of the car, Amy turned and looked me in the eye from across the flat hood of the jeep.

"Mike, we'll talk inside."

A/N - Please read, comment and review. I hope to have a little more (this chapter ballooned a little more than I expected) this weekend, but no guarantees.

FYI, 5.11 is a company which makes "tactical" clothing such as pants, shirts and vests. Just think Army battle dress uniforms.

AAcid - Edited 9/23/11 - Some minor edits for clarity and readability