Chapter Text
Hairy. Fanged. Bipedal.
Such descriptions could describe a handful of animals on the Wumpa Islands…
Vicious. Humanoid. Nocturnal.
Those, not so much.
It had appeared on a full moon, there are hardly any creatures he could envision that would bellow such a howl.
Impossible.
It couldn’t have been a werewolf. There was no such thing!
N. Gin ran his fingers through his hair. Drawing in a shaky breath he scribbled out more names of local animals from his list, still trying to reason explanations for the strange ongoings since last month.
Him and his master, Cortex, had been out on the hunt for power crystals, since none of their minions could seem to find the blasted things and Crash was most certainly unreliable. But their search had drawn long enough to dip past sunset, and they only decided to start heading home once they could see the full moon in the sky. Yet… something had attacked them. Cortex somehow avoided much damage but N. Gin was left being dragged away after whatever they had been attacked by was shot by Neo.
His master had taken alright care of him. He made sure the wounds were clean and healing alright, but once they had closed up enough to allow N. Gin to walk, he was put right back to work. While the bites and scratches did every once in a while reopen from the stress on his skin, N. Gin didn’t mind it. But what symptoms came post attack had been worrying him more and more.
At first, he had feared rabies. But Neo had given him a vaccine, just in case. Yet N. Gin found himself suffering from strange nightmares. He had chalked them up to what remained of his brain trying to cope with the trauma of the attack, but these were unlike anything he was used to. He was used to dreams of eating people, and nightmares about eating Cortex, but the frequency of those specific nightmares had increased vastly while their severity was turned up to one hundred.
The more pleasant dreams were of him feeding upon people he disliked or people who were just generally delicious, whether it be his finest cooking or the satisfaction of their fresh, warm blood coating his fingers. They would occasionally turn frightening when the subject was instead his beloved master.
But the ones with him recently…
Just thinking about them made him uneasy. He could recollect visions of him crawling towards Cortex and brutalizing him with only his teeth. He tried to ignore how vivid the screaming was, how he’s never heard Cortex beg so desperately to be spared, not even by Uka Uka.
Gin abruptly stood up, quickly realizing that was a mistake as his head spun for a few moments. The rocket scientist scrunched up the paper he was writing on and threw it against the wall, huffing and stepping over to his workbench.
He was a little mad at Cortex. Not mad enough to feel like the nightmares were deserved, but enough to not want to talk to him much. When his usual light craving for raw meat was dialed up to eleven, Cortex wouldn’t listen. When he found he was more itchy with new body hair making a sudden appearance, Cortex wouldn’t listen. When he even straight up suggested the idea of him being bitten by a werewolf, Cortex wouldn’t allow him to build a saferoom or even seek a cure. His responses always essentially boiled down to “Get back to work.”
N. Gin partially knew, deep down, that his master may have been afraid, too. He was also in denial. He was scratched, and while that wasn’t nearly as severe as a bite, it could mean that if N. Gin was a werewolf, he would be, too.
If only he would listen. Gin found himself thinking. If only he would let himself be afraid.
If only, if only. If only this, if only that… then he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn't be shirtless in his lab, sky panels open with most of his precious projects tucked away into various safe spots. He wouldn’t have snuck Tiny’s dinner for himself and kept it on a massive sheet of parchment on the ground.
The rocket scientist briefly considered tying himself up, but he felt too shy to do that. He thought his lab was a safe enough spot. A werewolf was probably strong, but not strong enough to break through a thick steel door.
I will be fine. He had to reassure himself. Master will be fine.
He sat back down on his desk chair that he had pulled over to be closer to the massive slab of uncooked red meat and beneath the sky panels. N. Gin watched through them, eyeing the stars and the darkening blue sky. It almost felt ridiculous to be so afraid of moonrise, and it felt foolish to simply sit around and wait for it… no, for something to happen.
Nothing will happen. It is impossible.
He scratched his chest. It didn’t feel impossible. All he wanted to do was run to Cortex and make sure he was okay. That’s all that mattered to him, really. He just wanted Cortex to be okay.
But what if something does happen? What if he escapes and hurts Cortex? What if they both are monsters now? What if they fight? What if Cortex destroys something and is unhappy? What if he accidentally throws himself out a window?? Granted, some of those were worries he already had, but they were still worries nonetheless.
N. Gin envisioned the scenario where they were both monsters. The most harmless out of the ‘something happens’ possibility. He smiled and giggled at the thought of what Cortex may say. He would complain about how much of a waste of time it was to be a werewolf. The scientist always tends to pull very late night runs into project work, and he already considers sleep to be a waste of time, so that time being instead allocated to running around as a hairy monster? Imagine!
I love my master.
N. Gin shook his head, giving the metal part a slap. No, that is not an appropriate way to think about him. He is master and nothing more. He gives the orders and the discipline and the praise. He gives everything and can take everything. That is not what a lover does…. He imagines. What a detestable thought.
Trying to bring his attention back to the situation at hand, he could see the top of a pale moon rising in the frame of the sky panel. Gin could feel fear spark in his chest and linger like a small flame, and he shifted in his seat. Perhaps nothing would happen? Perhaps… perhaps it was just a large and weird dingo. Or something. He smiled and rubbed his fleshy cheek, wondering what Cortex was thinking right now.
“Hah, N. Gin was wrong. What a ridiculous idea, a werewolf!” Yeah, that sounds about right. He dreamily envisioned him saying the words. Cortex calling him crazy was odd. If he had heard it from anyone else, it’d sting, but from that man’s mouth, something about it felt like a dirty praise.
Seeing the moon rise further in his skypanel and feeling no distinct oncoming transformation, he smiled more and laughed at himself, feeling ridiculous for sitting around with his revolting body out and several pounds of raw meat sitting beside him. He stood up slowly and decided he could go say hi to Cortex, ready to admit he was just being paranoid. Waddling over to his workbench where he’d tossed a shirt to throw on (just in case,) he froze at the suddenness of a familiar voice yet unfamiliar sound.
Cortex had screamed.
N. Gin’s heart dropped, and he could feel his rocket puff out a plume of smoke. He grabbed the shirt and didn’t think twice to put it on, running to his door the best he could.
“H-Hang on master, I’m coming!” He yelled back, pretty certain he couldn’t be heard from the lower floors.
Oh no.
A wave of pain immobilized him, bringing him to a skidding stop and falling to his knees. He wined and all of his muscles tensed up.
It was real.
He felt hot.Sweat beaded from his skin as it began to itch horribly, almost burning with irritation. He rolled over onto his side, incomprehensible sounds being forced out from his contracting chest. Yet he crawled forward. He crawled to his door while his nails grew and warped into claws. While ginger hair covered the back of his hands and his arms.
He tried again to call for Cortex, who over his own pounding heart and steaming rocket, he could hear was still yowling for help. His vision clouded and the world spun. His muscles burned and ached as he was rendered fully paralyzed from the pain, only able to cry out in slurred, distorted speech.
His mind’s last collected thoughts were growing weak and giving way to insane, feral nonsense. He wept for a few moments longer, ready to give up and let them numb him… yet as his face began to reshape, he let out a guttural howl and tried to roll onto his back as the metal down his nosebridge dug into his flesh that refused to even show a sign of holding back.
He tried to use his hands to hold onto the metal and pry it out, his pain, quivering hands and new claws made the effort nearly impossible. His only working eye flinched shut as he only saw red, blood from the opening wound on his face dripping into it. He was able to use a claw to dig the metal out a little, and slipping a finger under it gave him enough grip to peel it out.
Gin rolled over to brace himself on his elbows, wiping his eye the best he could. It stung. His rocket sputtered out flames from the overexertion. Tears formed to wash away the fluid in his eye while the pain around the rest of his body only eased slightly. He didn’t realize that his lower back felt twisted and sprung. His feet felt like he had been walking for hours and hours on end. He wept, and longed for the wild thoughts to return. He wanted to be numb. Yet everything hurt so, so much.
N. Gin heard something awful. Some horrific mixture of a yell and a howl. He couldn’t tell if it was Cortex or himself, he couldn’t tell what anything was. His vision, only coming to him in flashes as his eye stung too much to keep open, was still slightly reddened, blurry, and the world was still spinning. He stumbled to get up, falling forward and catching himself with his arms.
There was another terrible sound. N. Gin didn’t bother to try walking, he resorted to using his arms to pull himself forward.
Master.
That was all that mattered.
I need to make sure he is okay.
The rocket scientist could feel a door. His claws pathetically scratched the metal, lost. He couldn’t remember what opened it. Was it a handle? A button? A switch?
He needs me. Right now.
A desperate hand searched the cold metal. Nothing. He felt nothing.
Except for hunger. Starvation… Thirst…
He’s dying.
N. Gin let himself to the floor slowly, panting and finding he could open his eye a little. It was still blurry. Red. He could see the metal from his nose bridge jutting out. There was skin still hanging onto it.
He needs me.
He found himself eyeing a mound of flesh on the ground.
I trapped myself and I'm letting him die.
His mind went numb, as coherent thought gave way to the wild.