There were many reasons the Lykotech Facility held fast its solid but quiet position in the world, buried deep in the mountains – that unseen region where people live out their lives in quiet desperation, unnoticed by the affluent members of society exalted in the cities. It brought work to the people; with jobs came money, and with money came the semblance of comfort. Theirs were eyes willing to avert for a few extra dollars. Lykotech provided a product, but it had nothing to do with the array of animal drugs and pet foods that left its warehouse. The truth was buried beneath the factory, in more ways than one.

Government, military, and scientific contracts funded the real operation under Lykotech’s production floor. In the interests of “science” and “exploration,” men and women in long white coats played at deities at the expense of creatures that could not speak for themselves. Perhaps it began nobly; perhaps what the scientists had in mind were cures and knowledge for better lives. But absolute power and a steady stream of money can corrupt even the brightest of goals. Slippery slope though it is, it was not long before genetic studies, chemical tests, and biological weapons testing pervaded the underground laboratory – soon nothing was out of reach, or out of the question. But not all things are built to last. Lykotech’s usefulness began to run thin. Suits and uniforms on Capitol Hill ceased to see promises fulfilled and “advances” made. Coin purses were cinched up, and palms that had gotten used to being regularly lubricated were left high and dry. Lykotech was in danger of being eclipsed by more promising research organizations with more… promising prospects. But the scientists would not admit defeat so easily. They needed something new, grand, and unprecedented to regain the favor of their government benefactors. They shrank Lykotech’s cover operation down to next to nothing, and sent most of its workers home.

Wolfsong had once been a nightly feature enjoyed by the people of the hills, before Lykotech stopped producing dog food and heartworm medication. At first, the people were too preoccupied with the immediate concern of putting food on the table to notice how their environment had begun to change. The simple fact was that the people had little reason to concern themselves with the true motives of a company when they were hard-pressed to feed their children. And the simple fact remained: if there were any suspicions of unsavory conduct staining the hands of Lykotech, no one could produce evidence to accuse them. It would take one inside man with cloudy motives and a lot of chutzpah to wake up a population, and start a chain reaction.

Neil Harper. Few would remember his name, much less his face – both would be eclipsed by the grotesque photographs he leaked to the only news station that serviced the hills. He revealed the truth of the Lykotech Facility, and the cause for the communities nights devoid of the haunting chorus of wolves. Wretched creatures plucked from the wild, chained and caged, emaciated, scarred, and changed pervaded the photos. Hellish re-imaginations of pups stolen from their dens bore misshapen wings, gruesome horns, and tattered flesh. The creatures were of unnatural colors, with cruel fangs and unholy, piercing eyes that seemed to promise revenge. Science and man had once again joined forces to play the role of a twisted and cruel bastardization of God: they became the sort of gods mankind is best at imagining – himself, with absolute power. Satan incarnate.

Shock and outcry from the people followed, of course; but there are always powers prepared to deal with such contingencies, waiting to be called upon. The media was swiftly and decisively silenced, and the scientists of Lykotech ordered to pack up their research and “dispose of the experiments.” Mass euthanasia was the order of the day. But someone in the cosmic schema had other ideas.

While most would come to blame the storm, there would always be whispers of sabotage. Heavy rain and tempestuous winds ravaged the mountains, cutting off all power, and Lykotech’s generators failed – catastrophically. The explosion ripped a gaping hole in the facility, and fire and panic broke out in equal measure. Scientists and workers fled the subterranean levels of the lab in complete darkness. Vengeful anger in their hearts and the scent of acrid smoke mingled with fear filling their heads, the twisted products of Lykotech’s endeavors broke free – and all Hell broke loose. On the heels of their tormentors, the menagerie tore through the ranks of humans, killing and maiming mercilessly in their mad rush for the outside world. The creatures escaped into the forested hills, leaving what few remained alive to beg for rescue.

The greatest authorities are masters of denial. All documents tying Lykotech to the government were burned and buried in various capacities. The surviving scientists and workers were rescued, and promptly arrested. Yet the most important evidence remained, free, in the hills surrounding Lykotech. Mercenaries and predator hunters were sent to eradicate the creatures. But the scientists had done their job too well; the creatures hid and kept on the move. Most hunters came back in their own game bags, slung unceremoniously over the shoulders of their comrades.

The small community was evacuated, and the region quarantined. Permanently.

The humans left behind a decaying little town and a crumbling factory. Lykotech’s abominations were not alone in those mountains, however, and it would not be long before fate would reunite the nightmarish spawn with the line of wolves that should have raised them. The two groups regarded each other with suspicion and hatred, and a rift formed between them. The free wolves kept to the woods, the unholy creatures to the concrete ruins of the lab.

Time passed. Slowly the forest began to reclaim the land that had been lost to Lykotech and the humans, turning it into a perilous jungle of broken brick, glass, and metal, shrouded by a deceptive veil of greenery. The free wolves regained their lost youth over the following springs – and the escapees expanded their numbers in equal measure. Life found a way, as it always does, and the fragile truce between the two factions began to show signs of strain. Now, young eyes are peering lustily across the border, secrets are passed, and whispers of treachery are eating away at the unity of both clans. The wolves’ own Romeo and Juliet are tempting fate, and the Montegues and Capulets wait only for the excuse to go to war. Resources run thin, the forest is on-edge, and the packs are decaying from the inside out. The growing fissures no longer suggest a question of if, but when.

So the question is…

When the pendulum swings its last, for whom will the final bell toll – and who will still be breathing?

A special Thanks to Draco for making our storyline pop, but the basic was done by my dearest friend Dash