Step by step was a highly effective method of concealment. Three months of observation and waiting allowed him to make judgments instantly, attacking every subtle weakness and trait in those people's personalities and abilities. He had never been so prepared.
Two guards, three scientists, ten minutes to escape.
John got up, quickly put on his clothes, and quietly watched him pace back and forth. When the scientists bombarded them with their first set of questions, the two of them became very quiet, and those people seemed to have gotten used to it. Of course, in any case, they didn't have time to notice the changes that were about to happen.
A minute later, he stopped pacing, stood by the door, and stared intently at the scientist closest to them, his eyes fixed on him with a threatening look. Those people ignored him as usual.
Another thirty seconds passed.
He was fully alert, every sense, every muscle.
He quickly glanced at his partner and received a nod in response.
Ten seconds.
He looked around the cell and began the final countdown.
Four...three...two...one!
Suddenly, all the lights went out, and the room was instantly plunged into darkness. Before the emergency backup generator could function, the two guards were already dead, one with his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, the other with his own dagger stuck in his neck. Less than a minute later, the three scientists also died or became incapacitated.
"Are you alright?"
He nodded rapidly, his fingers flying across the nearest computer keyboard. Undoubtedly, they had obtained a great deal of information from him, but at the same time, their conclusions contained major flaws. With the assistance of an external hacker intrusion, he easily destroyed the data in a short time. He recognized whose handiwork it was and was quite pleased that they had at least found an expert to help, and the job was done beautifully and without leaving a trace. He activated the virus they had implanted in him; everything would be wiped out, beyond repair.
Power was gradually being restored, and time was running out.
He wrote the final command, watching the programs and files collapse like dominoes, feeling a sense of unbridled pleasure. The door was within reach, and John was effortlessly stripping the guard of his boots and coat—it was all exhilarating.
The password was a piece of cake; even though it changed frequently, there was always a pattern. He fiddled with it for a few moments, then heard a satisfying creak. The door opened, and he was somewhat surprised to see the figure behind it.
"Damn it..."
He acted decisively, grabbing the chief scientist by the throat, blocking his way, dragging him into the room, and slamming him against the wall.
"Inspect, partner," he growled, clenching his fists and tensing his arms.
The scientist's face was flushed red, his mouth trembling, powerless to resist under the other's powerful grip: "Please..." he gasped, his words fragmented.
His head tilted to one side, and John tightened his grip even more.
"Why should I listen to you? You kidnapped me, locked me in a cage, treated me like an animal, threatened and hurt my partner. So tell me, why can't I just end your pathetic life as a human being?" "
Sherlock!"
He froze for a moment when he heard his own name. How long had it been since he'd heard anyone call his name? He'd never heard his name spoken like that—deep, authoritative, even with a hint of pity—a voice that bypassed all his instincts, striking straight at his reason and brain.
John.
He instinctively loosened his grip.
"You see, don't give him any excuses for thinking he's right about you, that you're much better than him."
Beast. Wild beast. Monster.
Human.
He roared, throwing the scientist aside so he slammed him onto the cold floor, feeling a wave of suffocation and dizziness. He leaned down, close enough to smell fear, to hear the boiling of blood in his arteries and veins.
"Get out," he said coldly, his tone chilling. "Get out! And remember, everything here is over. All the data has been destroyed. Every word I said to you was a lie. Get out and remember you're marked as an enemy. You'll be watched everywhere you go, the enemy of our entire race. Get out and remember they infiltrated your ranks without your knowledge, the one twirling the umbrella, drinking the tea you brewed."
He grinned at the end, then stood up.
"Hurry, John, it's all over."
They rushed through the torture chambers where they had been taken for experiments, every second counting. He knew the base was large enough that finding a way out wouldn't be easy, especially with dozens of humans moving around. The flickering lights reminded him of the final deadline: twelve minutes until the base was leveled. Now, everyone realized something terrible had happened. Time was of the essence.
His keen senses led them to the kitchen, a place with relatively low security but requiring a passageway for food supplies to be brought in from the outside.
There, he grabbed the first person he saw, a short, middle-aged man. The man was terrified, stammering and answering him in broken Russian.
"Do you know who I am?" he quickly switched to Russian.
The man shook his head violently, saying he was just a cook. He was just a cook; he knew nothing.
"Want to live?"
the man answered yes.
"Then tell me how to get out of this hellhole."
The man led the way, and finally, the exit was within reach. Very close, extremely close, the air thick with the scent of snow and freedom.
"Stop!"
he roared, turning around angrily. His pupils dilated; the scientist was pointing a gun at them, his hand trembling—they were being followed.
"I can't let you go! You are my life's work! You represent everything!"
He should have killed him long ago. He shouldn't have listened to John's advice; he should have…
The gunshot was deafening, sudden, and caught everyone off guard. After a moment of silence, the scientist collapsed to the ground, a clearly visible bullet hole in his forehead. John stood there, holding a pistol confiscated from security, his face blank and devoid of emotion. He slowly lowered his arm, their gazes meeting in the air.
"He threatened my partner."
The bitter cold assaulted them in the most direct way. Even knowing the season, even understanding the country they were in, even having found warm clothing at the exit and wrapped it from head to toe, it was still terrifying, an unimaginable cold.
"Damn it, are we still in Russia?"
He swayed slightly, gazing at the pure white world before him, the melting snow shimmering with the rising sun. "Yes," he replied, pushing aside his questions, such as how John knew their location. He cleared his throat and raised his head, letting out a long howl. It wasn't a particularly loud howl, nothing like his wolf form; the human throat wasn't suited for it, but it performed reasonably well.
He waited a moment.
Five seconds later, he received a reply, drifting from afar. It sounded wonderful, very wonderful. They only had a few minutes left.
The cook turned pale instantly at his forceful roar, pacing back and forth, muttering nervously. His eyes widened in terror as he stumbled and staggered away from them, realizing who he was. It was hard not to be surprised; in this world, werewolves were more often portrayed as figures of darkness and fear than as figures of endearing fairy tales, legends passed down through generations.
The convoy must be nearby. He gestured for John to follow, discerning the smell of diesel fuel in the air, and then spotting the all-terrain vehicle convoy in the distance. They certainly couldn't operate alone.
Snowmobiles were closest and easiest to drive.
"Drive," he commanded, tossing his helmet to John and leaping onto the back of the driver's seat to point in the direction of the howl.
They sped forward, gliding across the snow at a relatively constant speed, following the tire tracks. Of course, while searching for a path, they were also being tracked by base personnel.
John accelerated sharply. He heard the piercing roar of an engine behind them—one, two, three pursuers. They might have already escaped the base, or they might still be a long way from their pursuers, but they were far from out of danger. And at this rate, they were very likely to be captured again.
He took off his helmet, unzipped his jacket, and the biting wind immediately made him shiver. Continuing forward, he told John, then leaped off the motorcycle, rolling several times on the snow.
The remaining clothes tore and shattered as his muscles and bones changed, scattering pieces on the pristine white snow. He transformed, becoming a wolf. At first, his claws were tangled in his trousers, forcing him to crawl, but he quickly found a way to free himself. He was free. For the first time in months, he truly felt alive, in wolf form.
But their mate was in danger.
Raising his head, he howled hoarsely, a deep, furious howl. He bent his hind legs and shot off like an arrow. He ran; three months of confinement and forced running experiments had filled his legs with power, clamoring for speed, for a frenzied sprint.