Chapter 11: The Gamble

The door creaked open, letting in the damp air thick with the scent of tobacco.

The room was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with the smell of alcohol and sweat.

A bald man sat at the center table, his eyes slightly narrowed, scrutinizing them like a hunter sizing up his prey.

Behind him stood two men wearing sunglasses, their waists slightly bulging—clearly carrying weapons.

Jack and Aisha stepped inside. The door shut behind them with a dull thud.

"Aisha." The bald man chuckled in his raspy voice. "You've been gone so long—I almost thought you were dead."

Aisha gave a faint smile. "Sorry to disappoint you."

The bald man shrugged, then shifted his gaze to Jack, his eyes turning sharp. "So, this is the 'trouble' you brought?"

Jack felt the weight of the man's scrutiny, his body instinctively tensing.

He could tell—this man was dangerous in a way that ordinary people weren't.

"You know we don't welcome werewolves." The bald man lit a cigarette, his tone indifferent.

Aisha leaned against the table, tapping her fingers lightly on its surface. "If you really didn't welcome them, then why are you investigating him?"

The bald man narrowed his eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "What are you trying to say?"

Aisha smirked and tossed a file onto the table.

The papers unfolded, revealing a grainy surveillance image—though blurry, it clearly depicted a lone figure standing in a pool of blood, surrounded by torn-apart bodies.

That figure looked an awful lot like Jack.

Jack's heart clenched.

The bald man stared at the photo, his gaze unreadable.

"We don't like werewolves," he said slowly. "But what we hate even more… is an out-of-control werewolf."

Jack's fingertips twitched.

Suddenly, he realized—this wasn't just a negotiation.

It was a gamble.

He had to bet on one thing: that these hunters weren't entirely sure whether he was a threat or not.

Taking a deep breath, he met the bald man's gaze, his voice steady.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

The bald man chuckled, flicking ash from his cigarette. "Answers."

His gaze darkened as he said, "Did you kill them… or did someone just want you to think you did?"

Jack's pupils contracted slightly.

Aisha's expression also grew cold.

The air turned suffocatingly still, as if even time had frozen.

After a long pause, the bald man flipped open a file and pushed it toward them.

"If you want the truth," he said coolly, "go here."

Jack glanced down.

It was a map—marked with an address.

An abandoned hospital.

A place where the truth lay hidden.

Cold wind whistled through the broken windows, carrying a mournful wail.

Jack and Aisha stood before the entrance of an abandoned hospital. The sign above them had half-fallen, rusted beyond recognition.

The place had been deserted for years—cracked walls, vines twisting around the rusted iron gate.

Jack stared at the door, and the hunger in his stomach surged once more.

He licked his dry lips, struggling to ignore the growing thirst clawing at him from within.

Aisha spoke softly, "Can you hold on?"

Jack didn't answer. He simply took a deep breath and pushed open the rusted door.

The hinges let out a piercing "screech," like a warning, telling them not to enter.

But they didn't retreat.

Stepping inside, they were immediately swallowed by darkness.

——

The air inside the hospital was thick with mold. Broken hospital beds and collapsed medicine cabinets littered the floor.

The walls were covered with faded medical posters, some still stained with dried blood.

"This doesn't feel like an ordinary abandoned building," Jack murmured, frowning.

Aisha had noticed it too. She nudged a scattered patient record with her foot. Though the text had faded, she could still make out the words "Experiment No."

"This place… might be connected to werewolves," she said quietly.

Jack's heartbeat quickened slightly. He scanned the room, his gaze settling on the surgical room at the end of the corridor.

Deep claw marks were etched into the door—like something with razor-sharp talons had torn into it.

Slowly, he approached, running his fingers over the scratches.

Suddenly, a blurred vision flashed through his mind—

Under the harsh glare of surgical lights, blood sprayed through the air. Screams echoed in an empty ward.

A man was struggling, his body convulsing violently, bones twisting in unnatural ways.

Then—a pair of crimson eyes snapped open.

Jack gasped, snapping back to reality, his forehead damp with cold sweat.

Behind him, Aisha asked in a low voice, "What did you remember?"

Jack took a shaky breath, his voice hoarse.

"…Experiments were conducted here."

Aisha was silent for a moment. Then, she reached out and pushed open the surgical room door.

A wave of rot and decay hit them instantly.

At the center of the room, on a rusted operating table, lay a mutilated corpse.

Jack's pupils constricted.

The body had long since decomposed, but the grotesquely enlarged muscles and protruding wolf claws were still visible.

A werewolf?

Aisha stepped closer, crouching to examine the corpse, her brows furrowed.

"He's been dead for a long time," she muttered. "But his body… it's strange. It looks like the transformation was forcibly stopped."

Jack stared at the corpse, and suddenly—his hunger exploded.

The scent of blood was too close.

His throat tightened as a guttural growl rumbled deep within his chest.

Aisha noticed his change immediately. She sprang up, fingers resting on the grip of her gun, her eyes sharp.

"Jack?"

Jack's nails gleamed with an unnatural cold light. He clenched his wrist tightly, trying to suppress the beast within.

Tension thickened the air, like a wire stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Then—

A faint rustling noise came from the corner of the room.

Jack and Aisha turned in unison, guns instantly aimed at the darkness.

A figure slowly stepped out of the shadows—

A doctor.

He was dressed in a tattered white coat, a cracked surgical mask covering his face. His eyes were empty, devoid of light.

He shouldn't be here.

Jack's pulse pounded. His fingers curled tighter around his weapon.

"Who are you?" Aisha asked, her voice low, finger on the trigger.

The doctor didn't answer. Instead, he tilted his head, letting out a strange, distorted chuckle.

"…You shouldn't have come."

His voice was a warped whisper, laced with an eerie echo.

Then, in a sudden blur of movement—

He thrust out his hand.

A flash of silver streaked through the air—

A scalpel, aimed straight at Jack's heart!