Shifter Verse

Baron McCloud was not to be trifled with. His temper was like a brick of C-4: explosive and violent. He spent more days than not in solitary after kicking the shit out of someone who didn't get the memo. If he wasn't there, he was working out in the prison yard or his cell, his heavily tattooed body glistening with sweat. They didn't give enough of a about the prisoners to actually try to make them comfortable, so he just had to grit his teeth and deal with the stifling heat.

He was eating one morning when a pack of guards came to escort him. He was frustrated and confused. For once, he hadn't fucking done anything. But they didn't explain, packing him into a transport van and away to wherever he was headed.

It turns out his destination was a courthouse. He growled at the guards, but he couldn't do much shackled up like he was. But he wasn't going to just let them think they held any sort of control over him. They marched him in front of the judge, who looked at him over his glasses. "Mr. McCloud. Quite an extensive record you have. Burglary, assault, destruction of property... and that's not even including your juvenile record which has been sealed."

Baron smirked. All these fuckers were the same. At the end of the day they got in their cars, drove home to their nice houses, and went to bed on their soft sheets. They didn't know shit about survival, and they had the nerve to judge the ones that did.

Seeing the defiant look on his face, the judge just sighed. "You were sentenced to ten years. However, we have decided to grant you parole. There are three conditions. Firstly, you will remain in this county. Secondly, you are to have no contact with your former gang."

He grunted. As if he wanted to see those assholes again. He'd already tatted over all the remnants of his allegiance with them. He could still remember the red of their tail lights as they fled, leaving him face to the dirt and losing consciousness after the cops had tranqed him. He grunted.

"Fine. What's the last one?"

The judge shifted through his stack of papers. "You are mandated to attend a court ordered anger management course. It's a relatively new program, and so far it's proven quite effective in reducing the amount of repeat offenses."

Baron growled. "You've gotta be fucking-" The judge just shot him a stern look, and he growled, but fell silent. As much as he hated it, this was his ticket out. No more excruciatingly hot cells, no more required shift suppressants, no more shackles and chains. He grunted. "I accept."

Which is how he found himself sitting in a too small chair in a community rec center, surrounded by other schmucks who looked way to damn content to be here. God, he needed a smoke.

The door opened, and he glanced over at the new arrival, before sitting up with renewed interest. Who was that, and what were they doing here?