"I hate my work."
Growling, a man walked down the street, cursing and muttering about the daily ordeals he had to endure. The three-day-beard around his mouth was covered in dust and little particles of wood, making him cough every now and then. His hands, protected by mittens, stroked repeatedly over his curled hair to rid it from all the splinters in it - but every time he did, and he was not the brightest person in the world, some of them fell into his eyes. Moving itself did not feel any better - with every step he took, one of the many spalls in his jacket would sting terribly. That was the reason why he had decided to resort only to curses and mumbling as a vent for his anger. Every day it was the same procedure - he went to work, carpentered until his arms would fail him, was scolded for his allegedly inaccurately crafted furniture, had to stay longer since he had to do all the chores as compensation for the 'mistakes' he had ostensibly made, left his work hours later than the other employees and cursed on his way home as if there was no tomorrow. So, put in other words, his life was terrible.
And still, no matter how humiliating it was, he never objected to any of that treatment - not that he liked it, but he could not endanger his job.
This day, however, Frederick Johnson had been treated worse than ever before. When he had arrived at the workshop, the master craftsman had called him away from work only to scream at him. The other employees could not stop bothering Frederick all the day through, convincing him to help them with their work first before he could concentrate on his own - as a result, the master craftsman was even more upset than usual and had him cleaning up the whole workshop without a broom. After that he had been ordered to finish the furniture he was working on - before following that order, he had not been allowed to leave.
Now after all that work, and all the agony, Frederick found it hard to control his temper. So many years of enduring the discrimination have passed that he had long lost count of them - and all that time he had been able to calm himself down; but today! Today had broken his patience and goodwill - yet at the same time he could not afford to be enraged.
"… Calm down, Frederick. Calm down… After a fine, warm shower the world will look all rosy again." He conciliated himself. "No matter how terrible these humans treat you, don't forget the reason why you are here. Don't forget it. It is only a matter of time…"
This was what he always did to find his patience again - talking to himself after his daily dose of swearing. However, today it was not enough; his whole body was tingling so much for revenge that every inch of his skin itched terribly. He needed a far more efficient vent for his anger as soon as possible.
Believing that it would help, he started scratching his hand as if he had gone insane, even going as far as to bite his flesh. His outbursts and curses grew more aggressive with every scratch he inflicted - but the itchy feeling did not go away.
This was the moment when he realized that said sensation did not come from the anger roaring in his chest, but rather from something that was utmost inconvenient for him.
"Ah… Wouldn't it feel good to do that right now..." He muttered as he kept scratching - but after some reflection, he shook his head as if he was trying to throw the idea out of his mind.
"No. No, I must not do that. No, no, no… It is wrong. It would endanger it all. I must not do that…" His fingers clawed into the burning flesh as if he was trying to restrain himself. "He would not want that… He would not… You will see, after some moments it will go away..."
As he tried to calm himself, the itchy sensation had indeed vanished - with the only problem that it had been replaced by burning, tormenting pain. His nails had lacerated his skin so far that red drops were running over his fingers, making him stop. His eyes watched the blood dripping of his fingertips, forming circles on the ground.
"… This is no good." Frederick's hands twitched as he was arguing with his conscience. "The Malgar would not want me to suffer so much… Would he?"
As the man still reflected on the possible punishments, the burning sensation grew stronger, pulsating all over his upper body by now. It hurt terribly, and Frederick was sure that no matter how much willpower he had, it would never suffice to suppress the urge until he returned to his apartment.
"As long as nobody sees me, and as long as I don't remove it all, everything is going to be all right - and the Malgar will not punish me as well." Now content to have found an excuse, he searched for a place well protected against curious glares.
Frederick's glare wandered over the environment as he realized that he was standing somewhere between the slums and the area he lived in. His glare went from one side to the other. Few to no people happened to walk on the streets, the back alleys seemed to be deserted - that was good enough for him.
Once more his glare examined the environment. Then, as soon as he was certain that nobody followed him, he rushed into one of the back alleys.
Wooden crates, dirty bags and all kinds of garbage covered the ground as there were some cats hiding in the shadows. Several puddles of water reflected the buildings around him - but Frederick ignored it all and forced his way to the darkest spot in the back, hastily opening his jacket. It all burned, every inch of his body burned as if it was on fire…
It was time.
All of a sudden, peace came to his mind. The man had thrown the jacket onto the ground and was now loosening up the tension in his shoulders, releasing a stifled sigh. Breathing in and out steadily, he raised the unharmed hand, inspecting his fingers as they stroked over each other's tips. Then, at a moment's notice, he clashed his limb with such force against the wall beside him that the bricks started to crumble - the man winced slightly under the pain. The dust whirling around his arm slowly subsided, exposing the spot where the man had hit the wall -
However, there was no longer a human hand to be seen.
Long, bloodstained claws had replaced his fingers that gently carved several circles into the bricks. Some shreds of human flesh hung over his hand, hiding the black, smooth texture of Frederick's skin. Whenever he moved one of his claws, the knuckles reared up so violently that it was a miracle they did not emerge to the surface.
A pained yet relieved sigh escaped the man as he withdrew his hand, contently stretching out his claws.
"Ah…" His injured hand cautiously stroked over the other one, following the form of his clutches. Thin read lines appeared on his fingertips, forcing a pained yet delighted smile onto his lips. "What a feeling." All the anger and agony had been forgotten at the sight of his freed limb. How, though, would it feel if he ripped off the rest of this dreadful camouflage? A very tempting thought indeed.
After some further reflection Frederick raised his claws, carefully reaching out for the injured hand. Then, he placed two of his clutches into the wound, slowly slitting the skin lengthwise.
It was a mixture of pain and pleasure that went through him - pain due to the awfully sensitive human skin attached to him and pleasure from seeing his real body. As soon as he had placed the cuts, he began the pleasant work of ridding his limbs from these dreadful remains.
What was standing there afterwards did no longer resemble a human.
"Too good… This feels just too good!" Frederick called out, moving his limbs as much as possible. "No longer restraints from this dreadful disguise, no longer that terrible feeling of weakness lingering in me…" He stepped towards one of the puddles, inspecting his reflection in the water. How long had it been since he had seen his real face? Far too long, of that he was certain.
Slowly he kneeled down, examining his mirror image. His eyes, gleaming in a red tone, were embedded in a face as black as the night. Two thin and supple horns which lay against his temples were stroked over as if they were the substitute for hair. The teeth had been replaced by fangs so sharp and long that they resembled the fangs of a carnivore, only that they were truly white. Truly a mesmerizing sight - at least in Frederick's opinion as he exposed them to himself with a suggestive smile.
"Well, don't you have the handsomest face in the world, Frederick?" He complimented himself. "So breathtaking! But a pretty face alone could not have swayed all these women at home, no?" Grinning contently, he arose and turned around while staring at the reflection. His eyes absorbed every single detail they saw, from the slender yet muscular anatomy over the intimidating clutches that represented his legs to his agleam reptilian tail swinging from one side to the other.
"Yes, really snazzy you look, Frederick… Simply marvelous." A satisfied grin appeared on his face. "All these years living from human food did not deform your body."He licked over his teeth as his claw gently tipped his cheek. "But… I wonder if that also applies to your strength."
The creature turned away from the water puddle and walked over to the wooden crates. A smile appeared on his lips as his tail halted in the air - and at a moment's notice the crates crashed against the wall, breaking into pieces.
"Hm… Good. Very good." His claws stroked over the texture of his tail with a content expression. "But… I am still not satisfied." His knuckles cracked loudly as he stepped closer to the wall, stopping a few feet before it. Frederick closed and opened his fist while he loosened up his shoulders, inhaling the cold air of the night greedily. "Time for the last test."
Suddenly he rushed towards the wall, lashing out his fist against it. The ground trembled lightly, bricks broke apart, even crumbled to smithereens if they had been too close to his claws and fell on the ground. The sound of it filled Frederick with such delight that for some moments he did not even dare to speak. "Wonderful… Simply wonderful. If I ever return to my home, the ladies will never ever let go of me!" His eyes cheerfully watched his clutches which had caught one of the brick pieces in the air.
"I have not felt so calm since ages! Really, it was the best decision I could have made." He whispered as he smiled contently, listening to the last pieces reaching the ground. "I feel really good now - almost too good to bring myself again to squeeze into that dreadful disguise once more." He chuckled as he enjoyed the silence around him and picked up his jacket, brushing off the dirt. "But then again, it would be a shame to waste my great mood on something other than work."
The faint sound of another stone hitting the ground reached his ears.
Immediately the creature turned around, the eyes wide open. His glare shifted from one side to the other, examining every little spot there was.
"Who is there?" He shouted, tensing his claws. If someone had seen him…! The outcome would be devastating for him. Growling, he slowly walked past all possible hideouts - but all he found were several cats, seeking shelter from the cold.
"… Ha. I think I'm turning paranoid as well." He chuckled lowly and walked back into the shadows. Strange noises resounded through the night - and when Frederick Johnson left the back alley, he was his human form again. Running down the street, he hurried home, certain that everything had gone well.

Several moments later, as soon as he was sure that the other was no longer close to the back alley, someone pulled his hands away from his mouth, panting heavily. From the moment on when Frederick had heard the stone fall, Kraz hadn't dared to breathe. In fear that he still would, he had covered his mouth, waiting for the creature to leave.
This beast was his target? He should assassinate that… monster?
Why had Tom not told him about this? Did he want to see him dead? Something that crucial could have cost his life - the imagination alone of him facing that creature ended in a disaster. Considering that he would have been startled if he had seen Frederick's true form in the middle of a fight, he was glad that he always observed his targets beforehand.
Or was it because Tom wanted to ignite his curiosity? Kraz knew the man well enough not to be surprised by that motive. His friend knew which buttons to push to get him interested in whichever order. This time was no different - exactly as Tom had predicted, that creature had caught the assassin's interest more than anything ever before.
Still, there was a feeling beside curiosity that bothered Kraz; however, he could not find the right word. He knew that the sight of Frederick's real form had disturbed him deeply - but it was not due to the monstrous appearance; that alone was not the reason.
It was the memories which it had awoken, now lingering in his mind.
"… Calm down, Kraz…" He whispered, covering his eyes - but the images did not vanish. No matter what he did, they remained in his mind, surrounding him - and for a moment, he drowned in his memories.
There was a dark room, neatly decorated. Several photos were hanging from the walls, some figurines were standing on the cupboards -
And corpses were scattered all around him.
Blood was everywhere, on the figurines, the photos, the chairs, the ground - even his clothes were soaked with blood. Their eyes wide open, the corpses stared at him as if they had begged for help in their last moments of life. He could not move out of fear, shivering in the shadows, all of his limbs paralyzed by the sight in front of him. All of his family had died.
Murdered, no, slaughtered right before his eyes - and he had not been able to do anything.
The sound of wood cracking beneath feet came to his ears, and although he could not turn his head, his eyes still dared to stare into the darkness behind the moonlight. Laughter could be heard as footsteps resounded in the room - and the scene vanished.
Suddenly the assassin realized why Frederick had awoken this strong sense of fear in his heart. It was not because of his target's appearance, or because he had met him in that form before. It was only the resemblance which had made him shiver in anxiety - yet at the same time, thanks to that resemblance, Kraz was more than determined to execute his order, no matter what.
Frederick was one of them.