1. Preys & Predators; Introduction Ratings Mature

This is a tale which I did by combining several one off tales uploaded and made into one longer tale, with new chapters. Its all about killing and of course, this one stream with graphic sex. It involved some main characters ( may be known to some of you ) and newer ones. I was caught on to Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling ( but I did not read the books nor did I watched the movie "Silence of the Lamb' ) but it was more of his methods shown in the TV series ( I did Season 1 in a week. ).  The above characters are borrowed from the original author.

Why not used my own character? Well, I did a short tale on Hannibal back then ( reproduced here too ) and its fair for me to declared the ownership of the character. More to it, I actually like Hannibal ( more so in the TV series. Not the Anthony Hopkin'. However I loved Jodie Foster in the other role although I did watch the movie, but I loved her in other movies, and am a fan of her ). 

At the same time, being with the killer bug in my system, I sat down and reviewed true Serial Killers exploits, and its all gel in the concept of this tale. 

Why the Werewolves? I guess I added in the Werewolf as an added on spice to make a difference. More to it, I like the killing sequence of Officer Morales.

Why the graphic sex? Not really the cup of tea I showcased in my tales, but it was to bring this tale to a different level of presentation. Sex and Murder cling like skin to flesh ( okay, it cling to almost anything... ) but I guessed I was also researching then into gay sex then. So all of that flowed ( literally, my dears. ) into this tale. Honest, at my timeline, we do like to indulge in some fantasy sex.... yoga can be bone-painful.

Please bear with me while I post this once or twice a week, with longer chapters. Please do your own ratings, and censure while sharing this tale. Other than that, what the fuck ( pun intended ) are we waiting for. Let's get into the .....was it foray.... or was it fray......Oh, fucked.... Anyone got a tissue? 

Please enjoy Prey & Predators.

The Characters

The Detective

Detective Morales walked into the derelict looking warehouse by the pier. She was without her partner who had lain in the Infirmary with a respirator attached to the nose. She would not had risked such a loner venture but the call of the task was to be undone by herself only. The moonlit night shadowed her frame against the solitary doorway to the warehouse from the rear. She reached for the Beretta on the back of her waist to assured her it was there for her comfort. She reached for the door knob that it was already taken of its frame by force. She flexed her tensed muscles while pulling the gun out. She checked the clip and unlocked the gun for its deadly load on the pull of the trigger.

The interior of the warehouse was dimmed light with a few overhead lamps that had seen better nights, while the moon light casted more shadows into the interior. The flooring of the warehouse was surprisingly cleared of the usual debris and leftovers. These items were moved to the sides of the structure and a cleared area was staged for the coming event.

An event which Detective Morales was to partake for her honor and also to abide by the rules set.

Morales stepped on with her eyes peeled on the shadows at the sides. She knew that they are here to witnessed the ritual as she had done before in her time. It was never the same, she felt the tension was more intense when she was watching. She reached the designated clearing area, then termed as the arena. She shrugged her shoulders before she pulled it back to let the leather jacket slided down her arms. She left the jacket on the flooring and then removed her Beretta before she shed her blouse and then her slacks with the boots. She stood there, basking in the moonlight as it silhouette her beauty. She drew some howlings from the male breeds, but her focused was not on the mating but vengeance.

Morales opponent stepped out into the clearing, muscular and sinew drawn taught in the muscles. The male werewolf stepped in as he drawn his breathe with snort angled to the moon seen above the crack in the roof. He looked leveled to Morales still in her alter ago as the human lady. That image made the male counterpart growled at Morales; an image of vulnerability in his hunt. He bared his long claws on the upper limbs, and showcased it with movement of slashing.

Morales raised up her face towards the roof before she stretched out her hands to the side. Soon as moonlight basked on her body; her facial expression stretched out the moon with the skin pulled taut to cater for the new bone structure. The nasal passage of the facial, expanded to formed the square muzzle while the back of the skull rolled back with her long tresses of hair flowing to the rear. The once facial expression soon became a set of deep set red orbs for the eyes while the molars in her teeth sprout out like incisors that resembled fangs. Her shoulder bulged with the formation of muscles as it widen to the forearms, where the biceps was seen with the taut muscles. Her hand became enlarged with the pounding blood there as her manicured fingernails stretched out to be long sharp claws. Her once nubile body contorted to the new frame as the loose flesh had evolved into muscles with a coating of furs that appeared over it. Her lower body bended at the knees to the back while her feet extended to twice it size as it held balance on the new body structure. With her transformation complete, the spectators quieted down when the Ancient tribal leader stepped out. The leader had evolved into the canine form but the distinguish mark of its leadership was seen in the scars on it frame.

"The duel would be in accordance to the tribal rules." The Ancient one spoke in the tones of the howls that only a werewolf would be to decipher. "The end result would the victor having vanquished the defeated. It there was no death result then the defeated would be banished."

With that last howl, the challenger to Morales leap over onto her, and they both tumbled while fighting with their claws slashing. Morales kicked out with the lower limbs with her feet claws where it marked the under belly of the male opponent. She then rolled over onto the sides before she got up into a half crouch. She bared her fangs at the wounded male, but the other was not inclined to yield yet. The male werewolf charged in again, but that time Morales was ready. She leaped up high onto the nearby supporting beam and used it as a board to propelled herself like a launching missile. She had her hands clasped palm to palm and went for the male werewolf throat. He jumped aside but she improvised with drawn knees up to body slammed the body against the werewolf upper body. They went down together but Morales had her claws out to slashed repeatedly on the male' face. Her claws cleaved in deep and drawn blood with flesh.

"Stop!" The command was given to the fighters. Morales stopped her left arm above her shoulder when the command came. She looked at the bloodied face of the other; his muzzle bones were clearly seen from the torn off skin. She got off the wounded male and stepped back.

'The duel is over." The Ancient one announced to the fighters. "The vanquished would be banished."

Two werewolves stepped into the arena to removed the wounded one. The Ancient one looked at Morales.

"It not over yet."

The Agent

The security guard greeted me by the first name. I was surprised that he did considering that I just came back to active duty for only three years now. I was missing from the world for over five years; the period of time I was away traveling to re-discover myself and my life.

"Thank you, George." I took up my briefcase after the security sensor gate.

"Its Stanley, Clarice." He reminded me. If he was any younger and not a granddad of one, I would had asked him out for a cup of coffee. I am not being rude or picky with my selection of men, but events that mold my last twenty years made me more apprehensive on anyone coming close to me.

"You make us sleep better at night, Clarice. My children agree with your works." Stanley called out to me when I was walking to the lift. I waved back to said thanks while I reached for the closing lift doors. I managed to hold it and was to stepped in when I saw it was my boss.

"Are you stepping in, Agent Clarice?" It was the Director. I looked down and stepped in before punching in my floor. I wanted to avoid him but there was no place to hide in the lift. We were not alone which made me comfortable but soon the other occupant had left.

"I have not seen you for some weeks, Agent Starling." I turned to look at the Director.

"No, Sir. I was away in Ohio. We are checking on some cases there." I fingered at my jacket button.

"The Hitchhiker Killer. I heard of it. All the best to your investigation, Agent Starling." The Director was out to his level. I was one more level up. They placed us up so that we can come down from our plane of mind to faced them in our briefing. It was a dry joke of another agent in my team; Davis was his name. He was transferred from Seattle and had been a good team player. He buys most of the doughnuts every week. We all mostly survived on doughnuts and coffee during the long hours.

"Good morning, Agent Starling." I met Davis who had arrived on the next lift. He smiled at me while he make his way to the cafeteria. He was holding a box of doughnuts. I sailed past my other team mates without any greetings and was in my room before they even knew I arrived. I sat down and took up my diary.

'Met Jack Crawford'. I was told to write down my fear if I ever encountered them. The Director was one. He recruited me, educated me in the Academy, threw me to the wolves aka the serial killers, and then allowed me to be downsize for failing to do my work.

I felt like the solitary sacrificial lamb in the pen.

Hannibal? The one I was to capture cured me of the fear since my childhood, but it was temporary. I had to rely on the medication to ease the nightmares, but on my later cases, when I nabbed those bastards who specialize in killing I felt good. I was killing the wolves in my dreams. Soon I was, with my nightmare subdued, and my career on the upswing.

Then he appeared; Paul Krendler who built the dam that stopped my sailing on the white fall waters. I was surging downriver and then the dam was seen. He staked me to the desk. I was made to reviewed cases from the high tower of his empire. I felt like Sauron , the Wizard imprisoned on the tower forever. It broke me and soon I was discarded like the lambs to the wolves again. My first stop after work each day was the nearest church to calm my nerves and prayed for forgiveness. I would kneel before the cross while my bag rest on my laps. It was the only way I can feel safe, with the gun in there within reach.

Then came the eventful day, when I was to confront my savior and nemesis, the elusive Hannibal Lecter. He was trapped by another with the aid of rogue agents. I helped him and ended up the run. I became a slave to Hannibal mind influence, but he had not dealt with someone as strong as mine. I resisted but could not denied my affection for him. He was my savior too.

We consummated our friendship in a night of passion. I was the aggressor, while he was the defender. He was not my first but he was the first to bring the woman inside me out into the open. He made me utter those words which I am forbidden since young when I was raised in the orphanage.

"I fucked him to Hell." I shouted out.

"Excuse me?" It was Agent Davis who popped his head in. "You okay, ma'am."

"Yes, I am. Its this case which kept me on the edge." I slammed my right fist down on the folder. "When would we ever capture the Wolf?"

"Well, when we do, you may fucked him to Hell. I would be at home with the popcorn and my recorded game." Davis walked back to his desk. I felt embarrassed with my outburst. I opened the folder and looked at the notes for the umpteenth time.

Subject unknown.

Code named Wolf. Five victims to his name. Done the works in three states. His MO was to removed the innards before mauling the rest of the body. We had seen shreds of flesh at the crime scene. Messy killer unlike some who had their victims laid out like dolls.

I would get soon. You are on my radar.

The Killer

The baby cot still felt warm when I touched it. My fingers moved to the small blanket before raising it to my nose. The smell of the milk and scent of the young one had left it scent there. I could never remembered much of my younger days, but there were moments I wished I had. Would it had made me what I am or maybe worse than this. If only I would know.

I reflected on my own name; Hannibal Lecter.

Hannibal? Funny how that name fit me. Hannibal was the son of Hamilcar Barca, circa 247 – 183 BC, a Punic Carthaginian military commander. He was considered one of the greatest military commanders in history alongside Julius Ceaser, Alexander the Great and even the later Napoleon Bonaparte. During the reign of Hannibal, there was a period of great tension in the Mediterranean with several kingdom ruled supreme like the Roman Republic, Carthage, Macedonian, Syracuse, and the Seleucid empire. Hannibal was to win dramatic victories with his ability to determine the strengths and weaknesses of each army, and counter it. He may be powerful but even then he was forced to retreat to others. He was not only a warrior but a statesman. But in the end, he died by suicide after his betrayal by the Romans. A fate that was dealt with cruelty by the workings of man.

For that, he adopted the last name of Lecter; a variant of Lector. Lecter would be his family name, a name associated with house of the Lord. Just as the one named Lector; the one reads aloud certain religious texts in a church service. The Lector need not be the servant of the house but he would given the task to perform the tasks on behalf of the house.

I was named Hannibal Lecter, for I am the conqueror of the killers but with the works of mine, I can never be with the House but I could be of it services to be the guidance light to the killers; their savior, their temperance in the storm, or be their nemesis to end their plight. That was the name I gave that day to the Russian soldier then. He had looked at me and then asked that I be taken out of the queue with the others. I had stood there looking at the train wagons leave the station, and alongside was the same Wehrmacht soldier. I wanted to wave goodbye to the man but he had disappeared into the horizon. I never knew his name nor would he knew he had released a killer among the killers. I left the station and joined the refugees to cross the border on their march to the neutral country. 

I gave my name to the Refugees Officer but before he was record it down, I had a older man rushing forth to stake his ownership of my body and soul.

"Hannib, I have found you. Thank the Gods for it." I looked to the bearded man who was in tears and embraced me close to him. I pulled away from the man and looked to the Officer.

"He is not my father. He killed my father. He wants me to serve him as his slave." I shouted out and shed out tears like a distraught kid at the man who had claimed to be my father. The Officer in reaction to my accusations, called on the Security Guards to restraint the older man. The other kept on claiming his heritage with me, but I was escorted out then by the guards. I did glanced back at the older man who was in tears while he was led away. I knew that day, I had to forego my past links and mold new ones.

A new life I developed during my orphanage stay until I was sixteen. It was there, a man named Robert Lector had come forth to claimed me. He was to claimed me for his kin. It was from him, he told me of the real Hannibal Lecter who once had a sister named Mischa. He told me that Mischa had died in the war. He have the list of names that had betrayed our family. Mischa? She died in pain. For her pain, I would make those who did her the pain, the same pain would be on them. Ashes to ashes, pain to pain. The Book said it so, and so shall it be done.

The methods were crude but effective. I vowed myself that if I am to succeed, I had to perfect my skills in serving my subjects. I needed a cover that would be perfect; a cover that none may suspect of my tasks.

I then joined John Hopkins Medical School.

The medical profession would be my cover.

A skill set that cover my tracks from the experts.

A cover that portrayed professional manners.

A professional killer among the best of killers.

Their modes would be mine to learned and made it better.

For my namesake as Hannibal Lecter, I would be the best of the professionals.