Jordaen dodged the second punch and countered with a side chop to the youth's Adam’s apple. With a sharp knee to the groin followed by a swift kick to the center of his chest, Jordaen drove one attacker into another, and watched as both rebounded off the rough concrete wall in a battered heap onto the ground. No time to think, nor hope for assistance from the crowd that gathered behind the gym, Jordaen relieved a hesitant youth of his lead pipe before returning to the embattled Were.

Fights between the races didn't happen anymore, at least not that anyone admitted. Nor, so public. Though the Tepes War ended over a century ago, many pursued old feuds, like a lost love returned home for the weekend. Even the unnerving hour dampened the gasps and laughter of those gathered. As a shared awareness of past atrocities, passed through the DNA, rose with the sun to flood the alley in pink rays of uncertainty.

A quick dash around the industrial sized dumpster, and Jordaen's own anxiety clicked up a notch. Three youths lay unconscious at the Were's feet, another cowered against a rear exit that refused to cooperate. Worse, four stories above an exhausted boy clung to the edge of a gutter, while an angry lycan in mid shift eagerly awaited his fall.

“It's over, wolf. Their beaten. If that boy falls the Council won't go easy on you.”

“You took out three, the smart one ran, and I've dealt with five more. By my count citizen, I'm two over the legal number for justifiable homicide.”

“Damn, if you shift into a lawyer, I really will piss my pants.”

Of course, the wolf was right. In spite of a handful of chuckles, genuine dread filled the wide alley. Everyone knew the magic number for self defense set by the Council was seven. In their eagerness to join in the fun, each boy placed himself at the mercy of their target.

Intent made Jordaen nauseous. Had the young wolf merely stated fact, or declared his rationale for the unspeakable. No way to know, too much at risk.

“When logic speaks, let mercy shout”, Jordaen challenged. “Is that not a cardinal law of the pack?”

“In case you missed it, we have a shortage of law abiding citizens at present.”

“I know of at least one, possibly two.”

“Your aid not withstanding, female. I'm within my rights.”

Out of his mouth came the opportunity Jordaen needed. Time, slim at best, remained on the side of the righteous. “You are only within your rights, if your reason is above reproach.”

“On what basis, ma'am, do you challenge my rationale?”

“On what basis, wolf, do you refer to me as female?”

“A slip of the tongue, citizen. It means nothing.”

Sheer will repressed the smirk that threatened Jordaen's composure. The wolf was trapped and they both knew it. Yet, caution remained the prudent path.

“Ah, twice you've called me citizen, wolf. Why is that?”

“Respect, something few humans value.”

“Does the pack not demand that before a kill your reasoning must be clear?'

“Hmph!”

“Aren't all wolves taught the true path to reasoning is through vigorous development of your senses?”

“You wanna wrap this up?”

“Cool. I'm human, I've fought by your side, and you don't know what I am. If your senses are jacked, your judgment is suspect. You may be on solid ground under Council law, but how sturdy is your footing under Pack's?”

No time for a response. Within a second the young wolf shifted to battle stance, the boy fell three stories, and Jordaen backed slowly through the gym's rear exit. Caution proved the prudent path, as the door closed to the roar of a frustrated young lycan, and the grateful cries of his would be attacker.