Darkness of the Past

The world was dark.

Brendon's paws thudded against the wet asphalt, each step splashing through shallow puddles that gleamed under the fractured glow of streetlights. Cold rain sliced through the air, soaking his fur and matting it against his body. His breath came harsh and ragged, misting in the chill night.

Ahead, four figures darted through the rain, shadows flitting between alleyways. They moved fast—too fast—boots slamming against the ground in a staccato rhythm. Brendon pushed harder, muscles screaming, the pain in his leg flaring with each step.

"Stop!" he roared, voice raw and desperate, but the figures didn't even glance back.

His eyes narrowed, pupils dilating to cut through the gloom. A flash of red—one of them had a crimson scarf whipping in the wind, its ends stained dark. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, metallic and nauseating. Brendon's heart pounded, claws scraping against the slick pavement.

Then came the crack—a gunshot splitting the night.

White-hot pain tore through his leg, and Brendon stumbled with a snarl, his knee buckling. His vision swam, the world tilting sickeningly as agony seared up his thigh. He hit the ground hard, palms scraping the asphalt, and choked on a growl. Blood oozed between his claws, warm and slick.

But the figures didn't stop. One of them—the tallest, with broad shoulders and a glint of steel—paused only to level a gun at a figure cowering in the shadows. A civilian, eyes wide and pleading.

The muzzle flashed.

The body crumpled soundlessly, blood pooling in the cracks of the pavement.

Brendon's eyes went wide. "No!" he barked, the word strangled. He forced himself forward, claws digging into the asphalt, leg screaming with every inch.

But darkness surged behind him—thick and cloying, twisting into monstrous shapes. Shadows with hollow eyes and elongated limbs crawled forward, reaching with clawed hands. Their voices merged into a distorted cacophony, hissing accusations.

Murderer. Traitor.

"No!" Brendon snarled, but the shadows only grew, their faces splitting into jagged smiles. Judges in dark robes stepped from the blackness, eyes glowing red beneath heavy hoods.

Guilty.

Brendon's eyes widened, his breath coming fast and shallow. The world spun, shadows closing in, claws raking down his back—

He lunged—

And the armchair jolted beneath him.

---

The Wake-Up Call

Brendon gasped awake, claws slicing through air, eyes wild and unfocused. The armchair's worn fabric pressed against his back, the dim glow of the apartment's single bulb filtering through the haze. His breath was a ragged rasp, chest heaving, and his heart hammered so hard it drowned out everything else.

He stared at his paws, claws still unsheathed, trembling slightly. His leg throbbed in phantom pain, the bullet wound that wasn't there. Brendon swallowed hard, ears pinned flat.

"A nightmare," he growled, voice low and bitter. He dragged a paw over his face, claws scraping through fur, and sank back against the armchair's cushions. The apartment was quiet—too quiet—only the faint hum of the radiator filling the silence.

His phone buzzed sharply on the table, its screen lighting up the gloom. Brendon's ears flicked, eyes narrowing.

4 New Messages

He snatched it up, thumb swiping over the screen. An unknown number had flooded his notifications, the last message lingering at the top.

Sofie Lee: Hey! This is Sofie. Got your number from the files. Welcome to the team, Sheriff!

Brendon's brow furrowed. The team?

The next notification blinked.

Sofie Lee added you to "Investigation Squad"

His lips twitched with a mix of amusement and annoyance. The group chat was already buzzing, new messages rolling in faster than he could scroll.

---

A Surprising Ally

A private message popped up before he could check the chat.

Sofie Lee: Don't mind Victor. He's... prickly. But not all of us hate wolves, y'know. Looking forward to working with you!

Brendon blinked, ears twitching. The wariness eased slightly from his shoulders, a hint of surprise glimmering beneath the skepticism.

Brendon: Appreciate it.

Her reply was almost instant.

Sofie Lee: No problem! Also, check the group chat. Got some important stuff there.

---

The Group Chat

Brendon switched to the group chat, eyes scanning rapidly. Photos of the crime scene, field notes, forensic reports—Sofie hadn't been kidding about the important stuff. Amidst the flood of information, a series of voice clips and text logs caught his eye.

Witness Testimonies:

Witness 1:

"I—I saw him on the balcony. He was just standing there, staring down. Then… I don't know, he just… fell. No one else around."

Witness 2:

"He looked scared. Kept glancing back, like someone was after him."

Witness 3:

"It was weird. Right before he fell, he was shouting something. Couldn't catch all of it, but… it sounded like a name. Red-something."

Brendon's eyes narrowed, claws drumming absently against the phone. He scrolled further, finding the last testimony—one transcribed in a rush, the letters jagged.

Witness 4:

"I heard him! He was shouting 'Redfur!' right before he fell. Swear on my life. That's what he said!"

The name sent a cold spark down Brendon's spine, his fur bristling involuntarily.

Redfur.

Brendon's frown deepened, eyes dark with thought. No gang or criminal group he knew went by that name—but then, Ridgecliff wasn't his old hunting grounds. He leaned back, growling low in his throat.

Sofie Lee:

"Weird, right? No records of any 'Redfur' in the system. Victor's looking into it, but might take a bit."

Brendon's eyes flicked to the window, the streetlights casting long shadows across the room. The word echoed in his mind, tangled with the nightmare's whispers.

Redfur.

Brendon's claws dug into the armrest. Something wasn't adding up.

---

Looking for Answers

The phone buzzed again—another message from Sofie.

Sofie Lee:

"Gonna keep digging. Let you know if I find anything. In the meantime, try not to get murdered by Victor's glares. ;)"

Brendon snorted softly, tension easing just a fraction. At least one of them wasn't looking to rip his throat out.

He pushed off the armchair, limbs stiff and aching, and stalked to the window. Rain had begun to patter softly against the glass, drizzling down in crooked lines. Brendon's eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on the police station across the street, lights still burning.

Redfur.

The name gnawed at him, sharp and relentless. He growled low in his throat, claws tapping against the glass.