FSE

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The rain was pouring down behind the cheap blinds. It was a Monday evening. He hated Mondays. For most people it signaled that a new week full of work was begining, for him it simply meant that another worthless week was starting. Oh yes, he hated Mondays.

Damek slowly took in the state of the tiny flat that had been his home for three years. His nose scrunched up in disgust. He was a large and tall Liger; With black fur and deep green eyes. His dark pelt and eyes was accented further by the golden stripes - courtesy of his mother being a golden tiger - which curved around his body. Damek was muscled with a wide chest, chistled abs and bulging arms. Most would say that he was very handsome, not that he heard that too often; since the almost permament scowl on his face tended to not attract compliments from most people.

He had more or less found the place, a two-story building nestled in a small slum down in the French Quarter of New Orleans, abandoned and with no sign that it was for sale. Not that anyone would even had thought of buying it; it had looked like crap even back then. By some, strange unknown means however, it did possess electricety. The black liger rose from the small, cracked couch he had been sloushed into, and made his way into the small kitchen. The kicthen had a sink, a small round table with only one chair, an ancient gas-stove and a small rusty old fridge. Damek slougishly went over to it, oppend it and took out a half-empty beer bottle, before chugging it in one go. He put the bottle on the table before making a disgusted face. "Ew, fuck! An almost week-old beer, really, Mikhailovich?" The twenty-three year old hybrid muttered.

The sudden sound of the hallway phone ringing was as odd and unexpected as it was alarming. When he had left the Department, a secret military organisation dealing with and training Carriers, furs and humans who were born with psycic abillites, he had been very careful to not tell where he was going, since he had more or less just packed the few things he had possesed and left. And that brought up the memory of why he had left to begin with, a memory he would rather have forgotten by now and kept buried, but knew that he never could.

He had been a promsing young recruit, and not just in the traditional aspetcs of military: His psycic gift of Geokinesis was as useful as it was deadly, allowing him to command the earth itself to dance after his pipe. It had come to him natrually, as if he had been meant to be born a Carrier all along.

Not that he'd known anything about it back then. The concept and the meaning was something he'd always believed only existed in comic-books and sci-fiction movies. Guess he had been wrong.

Taken, he had trouble coming to terms and believe what he'd been told, since he had never been a man who believed or had faith in the paranormal or science. Anyone in their right mind wouldn't have believed it. He had also never experinced many of the usual sigs of being a Carrier, since they weren't known to the general public. For good reasons.

He would get these small cases of sudden migranes maybe once or twice a month, as sharp and painful as they had been, they hadn't awakend his power. He'd gone to the medic and got a few bottles of Prodrin and didn't think about it much after that.

But then there was that period when he'd believed that the migraine attacks had somehow vanished since he had't needed to take a single pill in nearly two whole months. But it came back with a vengeance.

He had tried to deaden the agony of losing his wife and their young cub in a car accident the year before by joining the military, to get something else to think about, anything was better than to wander around at home and smell his wife's perfume and see her clothes and her photos. Anything was better than to go into his son's room to see all the toys that would never be played with again.

He hadn't told anyone his reason for joining, so of course almost everyone was curious, and rumors were bound to be spread.

However, most rumors had been so fabricated that they had either been laughed at or right out denied on the spot. Even so, as the harmless rumors disappeared, darker ones took their place.

It had been a classical case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had been standing by his bunk, rumbling around in the footlocker for something he couldn't remember now. There had been four other furs in the room, but he could only remember one of them clearly.

He hadn't payed much if any attention at all to what the other furs were talking about; in the beginning the rumors had humored him as much as everyone else, even if he didn't show it. But it wasn't long before he stopedp listening to what was being said and speculated.

"I heard that he was bailed out of jail. Something about him murdering his family or somethin'!"

The words had made him stiffen the second they reached his pearked ears, since whoever had said them hadn't cared to lower their voice into any sort of discrete tone at all.

What happned after that wasn't entierly clear to him. He rememberd slaming the footlocker's lid down, marching over and pressing the fur - a skrawny Cheetah - up against the barack wall. He also rememberd starting to snarl some enraged words in the smaller feline's face, words which turned abruptly into a gutural cry of pain as the sudden white-hot agony stabbed like a blade through his skull.

Looking back at it now he should have discerned by the earlier signs that something was up. None of his parents had any rudiments for migrain to begin with. Nor his grandparents. So it had been more than surprising when the first assult struck.

The first assult was nothing compared to the one which had unleashed his power.

The pain had been unbelievable. Excruciating.

Damek dimly rememberd dropping the cheetah to stumble back, clutching his head as the white-noice ricocheted inside of it. He'd stumbled away blindly, legs moving on their own. He didn't get far as the white-noise laced pain made his knees buckle, sent him thumbling to the floor.

His body had trembled. Spasmed as if a thousand insects had been crawling under his skin. His hands had burned. Pressure at the back of his head.

And it had struck him afterwards just how frightned he'd been at that moment of absolute loss of control. He wasn't someone who gave up control easily.

His body had been burning with energy, every cell being ready to burst along with his head. And as the agony grew to its jagged apex he'd started to pound the barack's floor with his fist.

As the primal energy continued to ravage his body Damek had found out that it actully had helped to bang his fist against the floor. Each time his fist connected with the floor a wave of fatigue would rush through him all the way to his toes. Amidst the sea of pain the drowsiness had been heaven.

"Hey! I don't know whatta hell you're doing, but you gotta stop it or you'll make the entier building fall apart!"

He remembed snapping his eyes open at the sudden shout, a cold spike of awerness slicing into his delirium. Looking up from the floor, body shaking with cold sweat, Damek saw that some of the ceiling's beams had partually fallen to the floor. Scaning his eyes over the rest of the room he saw that the windows were either broken or crackled, one of the walls had a deep fissure running all the way up to the ceiling like a lightning bolt. But he had been so drained that he convulsed himself quickly into unconsciousness.

Another sharp ringing from the phone jolted him out of the unpleasent memory. Growling quielty, He picked the old phone up and put the resiver against his ear. "Yes?" He asked gruffly.

"Uh...H-hello?" A nervous young voice could be heard on the other end.

"If you're with the Department you can fuck off."

"W-wait, please! At least...at least hear me out, okay?" The voice replied in a state of almost utter panic.

Damek growled annoyedly but ultimatly desided against throwing the phone out of the window.

"Be quick about it then." He said tersly.

"We-we have a misson for you." The voice on the other end replied, once again in a nervous stammer.

Damek growled, a deep angry sound in his chest.

"I don't work for the Departent anymore."

"You do-don't have much of a choice, Damek. It's either back in active service or we'll bring you back and y-you'll be court-martialed."

"What! What the hell did I do? I didn't do shit!" He suddnely shouted into the phone.

"You-you weren't give authorized leave, an-and p-please don't shout."

Damek snarled and svore under his breath.

"...Fine, what's the mission?" He finally asked.

"You're going to India, a c-contact meet you there and give further info."

The liger gave irritated snort. "I'll need money and a ticket, which I don't have."

"We'll have that coverd, I-I promise." The voice stumbled back.

"You better have a good reasion to call me back." Was all Damek replied before hagning up.

The liger snorted before dragging a paw over his face, he muttred a quiet svear word before huffing into his paw.

Oh yes, he hated Mondays.