Cyberclaw ==================== A story about how a young and reluctant Garou would become one of Gaia's best warriors. ==================== Werewolf and all W:TA terms are copyrighted Whitewolf©. Cyberclaw & stories are copyrighted Michael Giovannini 2001. ==================== :::Prologue::: My story is not an easy one to tell. See, when I was just 12, I started having strange dreams. I was riddled and tormented by these dreams, visions of monsters who would stalk me, laughing maniacly as they approached. Slowly, their features would change, morphing into nightmarish creatures that charged their horrors through my mind. The sound of bones cracking and breaking reverberated in my head as the smell of rancid blood would force it's way into my nostrils, raping my senses. I had seen creatures like these in horror movies. Demons that were sent forth from the bowels of Hell to reek havoc on an unsuspecting world. But these creatures seemed more 'familiar' to me than the vague, low-budget, suckfest monsters I would force myself to watch on a daily basis as a form of sick entertainment. Don't get me started on how Hollywood baits the flocks of senseless sheep that call themselves horror movie fans. You know the type, they have no idea who played Jason Vorhees, or who or what he was, but they sure as hell know who Ghostface is. ARGH! Anyway, back to me ... One night the dreams took an awful turn. As the monsters approached, and the sounds and smells made themselves known once again, one of the monsters spoke. This was a phenomena that had previously never happened. "Your mutha sez 'hiya' Cyba-claw." Then it began, that horrible laughter. This time it was more hideous than I had ever heard before. Not as tame as say, nails across a chalkboard, and not quite as subtle as chewing on tin foil, but low and quiet, piercing it's way through my brain into my deepest memories. Why would they mention my mother this time? My mother had disappeared when I was a baby and my father never spoke of her. Everytime I would ask about her he aoided the question and go on about how I needed to protect myself and the best way to do that would be to just forget about things that upset me. "Be tough." he would say "When you're a man, you don't let things upset you! Are you my little man?" Not quite knowing what it took to me a man, I would blindly answer, "Yes dad. I am a MAN!" and puff out my chest like a frightened bird desperate to look tough. Then we would collapse into a heap, laughing as he would start to tickle me. The laughter never hid the sadness behind his eyes though. See, I learned at an early age that the eyes tell more of a persons story than the mind, heart, and tongue put together. My father's story was one he wanted to protect me from. That is, until the night my whole world came crashing down around me. I awoke to a crack of thunder and a police officer practically banging down the front door. I didn't know why dad wasn't answering the door but I figured if it was a cop, it must have been important. I ran to my father's door and called out to him. There was no answer. I could hear the cop yelling something. Something that was muffled by the falling rain, yet sounded urgent. Normally I would have left him there yelling, only he wasn't alone. Mrs. Wippleman, our kindly old neighbor, was with the officer and she burst into tears once her gaze fell upon mine. Opening the door she pushed passed the officer and wrapped her arms tightly around me, craddling my head to her bosom. "What's wrong Mrs. Whippleman? Is Grampa O.K.?" Grampa was Mr. Whippleman, at least that's what I affectionatly called him. The Whipplemans never had children of thier own and therefore never had grandchildren to spoil. That's where I came in. I was their sort of pseudo-grandkid and got to reap the benefits there of. "Oh my dear child." She sobbed into the top of my head. Then the officer spoke. "Sit down son. I have some bad news." Where was dad? I thought. With all the commotion and the loud sobs from Mrs. Whippleman, he should have been in here by now. "It seems your father has had a bit of an accident. Evidence seems to show that he lost control of his vehicle and ..." The officer's voice began to trail off into inaudible words that seemed to blurb together, resembling the teacher from 'Peanuts,' only with more bass and punch to my brain. Certain words were able to leak out from the verbal muck and slap me across my young, fragile face. "... dead ... ripped ... animal ... sorry." He too now began to change shape like the monsters in my dreams, only this time it was a blurred shape. Tears. Tears were what caused the transformation before me this time. Not a fantastic dream of monsters, but the harsh reality of fear filled tears. Leaping from the couch I ran down the hall to my father's room. "DAD!" I shouted, "DAD? WAKE UP!" Throwing open the door, I entered his bedroom. Empty. His bed was empty. Now my soul sank into a deep recess within my own body that I had never felt before as the realization of what the officer was saying, just may be true. Lunging onto the bed with a newfound dexterity, I tore at the sheets. Flinging them to one side, and the pillows to another, I searched. Searched for what I knew, deep down inside, I would never find. A sign, a simple bit of evidence, that my father was still there and sleeping soundly. A sight I never found. Mrs. Whippleman was at the bedroom door in no time. Crying, I turned to face her in the hopes of seeing my pseudo-granny with open arms. My vision was not greeted by the sight of a loving old lady looking to console, but rather by a look of utter fear and horror. Suddenly she shrieked. A sort of high pitched screech that would have made the banshees of lore proud, yet somewhat scared. I don't know what made me do it but I lept. Vaulted right for the bedroom window and out into the cold chill of the night's storm. Each raindrop piercing into me like little needles of insanity trying to get me to release what bit of rational thought I may still have left. I started running. The sounds of Mrs. Whippleman's cries echoing behind me as I raced for the woods. Yet again, another reflex I had no control over. I ran straight into the sanctuary of the trees and darted around bushes and fallen logs, making my deeper into the madness that now surrounded me. I would have continued had it not been for the sharp pain that abruptly shot through my body, sending me to the forest floor. Dropping, I dug my claws into the soft mud and ... "CLAWS???" I screamed. My body was then rocked by a rapid burst of agony. My bones broke and shattered in a chorus of pain as they gave way to the new, more powerful skeleton inside me. My flesh tore apart and reformed to fit my new structure. Blood poured forth from my mouth in waves and gushes, splashing on my new claws, mixing with tears. Standing up under the extreme pain, I let loose a howl that shook the very branches around me. Twisting my new body I slammed a massive paw into a small tree at my side, knocking it to the ground and into the same feeble position I just arose from. "NO, NO MORE!" I roared, "I 'AM' MY NIGHTMARE!" Those were the last thoughts I remember having that night as my now immense mass of a body, crashed to the soil next to my triumphant conquest. The small, fragile tree.