Grr's Backstory - OOC (not in the book)

GrrBrool Lykin OOC backstory, some details and likely the whole thing will come out IC, but in dribs and drabs, ask, and he will probably talk . . .
=======================================
-Toxian
Arriving on the docks in Toxian in his two legged, Fleshie form GrrBrool was lucky. He quickly came across a couple of other were's, one he came to know as FireStalker. Introducing himself as Grr, he was given a rundown of the city, its groups and history. The Pack's structure and status in the city, its membership and importantly the Den. Not long after, Grr, feeling welcome in his Were form was offered membership to the Pack. There has been a lot of change in the leadership of the Pack but its very wildness makes this natural to GrrBrool. The strong lead, the loyal second the leaders, and the Pack follows. Grr, with his military background was designated as a Pack Hunter. He took to patrolling the streets. Quickly learning that some forces were never going to be understood, he escorted his then-Alpha Maverick to the Pit, lair of the Shadows. They were on a mission to rescue a fallen Packmate, but little did Grr realise how fallen Krazy was. The House of Shadows was not simply claiming the bodies of the Pack, but also their minds and souls. During the confrontation Grr learnt a harsh fact. The Pack for all its strength was not in a position of power in Toxian. He made it his duty to see to the hurts and hearts of not only his Packmates, but to all his Furred kin, Canine, Vulpine or Feline. Not always a popular cause, but a heart felt one. Fleshies, Fallen, Fangers, Freaks or Furred, his neighbors were here to stay and so was he.

-this is the Army Mr. Lykin.
Taken from his zoo home, awakening in the Facility, faced with a strange dominant male wolf GrrBrool was introduced into a strange new world. A world of mystery and amazement. A world of pain and blood. A world of inky darkness and blinding light, and all that lays between. Grr was a shapeshifter, a lycanthrope, a WereCritter. The zoo had been the testbed, knowing of his heritage but not how it might manifest, nor in which of his litter. When it did, he was taken by the Institute, a division of the Australian military.

He was trained, taught, enlightened, awoken to thc world outside the zoo and for this he was grateful, but not the rest. He became a weapon. Literally a Dog-Soldier, a controlled, conditioned member of the 7RAR - Lycanthropy Corps. Sure, he was instilled with plenty of true-blue Aussie values: mateship, ANZAC Digger spirit, a bloody minded stubborn streak, the traditional laconic humor. Yet, underneath it all was the training, the duty, and the work.

Jobs to sensitive to leave to "normal" troops. Jobs too messy for the delicate minds of his Fleshy Digger brothers and sisters. Insurrections to start or quash. Dissidents to vanish, villagers too close to valuable mining resources. Send in the 7RAR-L. 'snarls' the Brass would call them.
Indonesians massacring the East Timourese? Send in the 'snarls'. No prisoners or bodies. Illegal Chinese fishing disrupting supply? A burnt out blood-filled wreck last seen drifting. Normal troops pinned down by snipers or artillery? Send in the 'snarls', they regenerate, and if you do manage to kill one, all you get is a bloody broken wolf corpse, or puma, or fox or coyote. Its not like they are PEOPLE or anything.

Mission after mission saw Grr doing his killing wholesale. Mostly it was indigenous Fleshy militia and supernatural political Black Ops. He took some serious heavy metal in Timor, a 90mm artillery shell that hit a bodies length away, which knocked him into a ditch an almost to the next life. It also almost cost him a leg, both arms and his maleness. Only after the action was resolved and his mates came to scoop up his remains did they realise he was still alive. Regeneration is only so fast and Grr was out of commission for a while.

Always inquisitive he took great notice of his medics, the recovery staff and physios. Learning all the time, he noticed that for all their training most of them knew very little about what it meant to be a Were. Still they tried, and he did have some fun with them, especially the females, Fleshie or otherwise. Whilst he was out of action however, his Unit underwent some drastic changes.

New leaders filled empty slots, new Brass with new ideas and agendas. The structure was changed and there were cullings. 'Redeployment' they called it but you can't lie to a Were who can smell the blood and death of a fellow on you. The missions became darker too. Fewer stand-up fights, more wet-work, 'cleansing' and anti-supernatural actions. The guerrilla fighting appealed to Grr, the massacring of whole villages for a pipeline did not.

In his last assignment with 7RAR-L, that was exactly what he was ordered to do. He tried to reason with the CO. He tried to call off the strike to save the civilians. In the end he couldn't take any more, and before the end, he walked up to his CO to give his report, ' accidentally ' spilt his mug of hot tea in their lap, and when leaning over to quickly mop it up, Grr took the grenade rings on their harness in both sets of 'up-yours' fingers, yanked them and brandished the rings for a moment. "fuck you, sir" he stated to his open-mouthed CO and ducked behind a mostly ruined wall.

Two frag and two incendiary grenades going off on ones hips at once will put a dampener on anyone's day, and the chaos gave Grr a chance to leg-it into the bush. Well trained, well equipped and well motivated there was no way his unit could catch him, even if they had tried. They hadn't. That much firepower makes a big mess, and doesn't leave much in the way of remains, which is why 7RAR-L were issued them.

Making his way to the coast, then on to one of the free-ports, Grr stowed away on a transport junker, laying low until his first port of call, where he jumped ship. He arrived on the docks of Toxian early February 2007. Homeless, alone, renegade.


-beginnings.
GrrBrool was born in Melbourne Zoo's red-wolf enclosure in 1992. His litter also contained his two brothers and two sisters. His mother had been installed there pregnant, as part of a breeding program and good will program between Melbourne and Denver. He grew up happily enough, safe from hunger, predation or sickness, but not free, and under the constant eye of the public, his keepers, the vets and the mysterious "Institute".

Growing larger than normal established him as the leader of the cubs, and his cunning saw many headaches for the keepers, and delight to children and adult patrons alike. The Institute people and the vets were a constant nusciance to him. He would wake groggy and sore, and learned to mistrust tasty treats left out just for him, and hide at the sound of a "safety" being flicked off.

Learning the sounds humans made to one another, GrrBrool began to have an understanding of what was happening. He and his litter-mates were being tested to see if they would show "the Change". Late one night something happened which changed everything. The moon was hidden and Grr was asleep in a hollow of his enclosure, vividly dreaming of walking through the zoo, looking in on the other enclosures and seeing the other inmates he had only heard or smelt. A loud yip startled him, and he woke cold and sore.

The ground was chilled, the rocks sharp and rough, the tussock grass spiky and uncomfortable. Looking across the enclosure as he struggled up to sitting, the view was wrong, and he couldn't smell his family. A weak sounding yip of 'alarm' from one side and looking he saw his youngest sister, backing up in an aspect of fear. Grr looked at her, sat up straight and postured warm curiosity. He tried to walk over to her but his paws wouldn't work. Looking down at them Grr could hardly believe his eyes. His paws were gone, and in their place were the long pink fingers of a human hand. His belly, pink and barely haired. Lanky human legs sprawled onto the dirt beneath him. A startled yelp tried to form, but came out as a yell.

That’s when the alarms went off, the floodlights came on and the men came with the dart guns and the nets. When he woke, there were men in uniforms with clipboards looking at him, as he drifted in and out of dreams. In waking moments he could not move, his limbs were heavy, but he saw his paws, and wagged his tail.

After more sleeping he woke refreshed and able to move. He was in a large, open but high walled pen. He was not alone. A large timber wolf was sitting in the far corner and instead of posturing for dominance or attacking, the wolf spoke to GrrBrool. . .