Work Text:
“You’re all fucking cunts,” Quinn spits out with figurative venom and literal blood.
“Maybe… but at least we’re not on death row!” a cheery voice chirps from somewhere behind him before hands swing down to clap his ears, his empowered hearing a curse as torturous ringing stab through his concussed head. “Who hit you that time?”
“I don’t KNOW,” Quinn yells, thrashing as his raised voice makes the cacophony in his head that much worse and wincing as his movement makes the open wound in his side throb.
“He’s kind of fucking stupid, isn’t he?” a raspy voiced man laughs from above him, surround sound mirth taunting Quinn and rising in volume as he struggles against his power-dampening cuffs.
“That’s for fucking sure,” someone chimes in before casually, swiftly kicking the vampire in the bleeding, open ribs and knocking his chair to the ground. The impact makes another one of his bones crack and splinter beneath his flesh, and it is celebrated with raucous cheers and high-fives.
“What about me?” an obnoxious Australian asks as multiple hands pull him off the ground and set him upright just for fingers to rip his head back by the hair and dig claws into his exposed neck. “Any guesses yet?”
“Fuck this fucking game!” Quinn screams through a ravaged, blood-clogged throat, his writhing and struggling only making the claws in his skin pierce deeper. “I don’t fucking know or care about any fucking one of you!”
“But you will,” a deep, authoritative voice responds. This tone lacked the vitriol and amusement of its peers and spoke with a definitive, plain conviction. This speaker was the only one to strike fear into Quinn’s undead heart even before he recognized it. “You will know us. You will know all this is because of what you did to our packmate, and you will think of us every waking moment until you beg your government to rip off your head. Have fun.” With that, there’s the sound of footsteps, a heavy, steel door closing, and insidious, vicious laughing as the wolves go for blood.