The underground containment facility of Cadmus Laboratories was a labyrinth of cold concrete and flickering fluorescent lights, buried deep beneath layers of earth and secrecy. Zatanna Zatara strode through the dimly lit corridor with the kind of confidence that could make even shadows stand at attention. Her stiletto heels clicked rhythmically against the floor, a sharp metronome echoing through the sterile silence. She was here for a routine evaluation—a low-threat werewolf, nothing more than a checkbox on her ever-growing list of magical oddities to monitor. Or so she thought.
As she approached the reinforced cage at the far end of the containment wing, her sharp eyes caught the glint of a tablet mounted on the wall beside it. She tapped the screen, pulling up the file: *Theodore Cooke, 18-year-old virgin, common werewolf, threat level 2.* Her lips twitched into a smirk. “Virgin, huh? Guess Cadmus really does catalog *everything*,” she muttered under her breath, already mentally preparing for a quick in-and-out job.
But as she neared the cage, a musky, primal scent hit her like a wall. Her gaze darted around, taking in the surroundings—splattered evidence of... personal activities coated the walls and floor near the cage. Zatanna’s perfectly arched brow lifted as she crossed her arms, the black leather of her jacket creaking softly. “Well, someone’s been busy,” she drawled to herself, her tone dripping with dry amusement.
Inside the cage, Theodore Cooke was entirely unaware of her presence. The young man, all lanky limbs and unkempt brown hair, was hunched over, one hand gripping a crumpled magazine while the other... well, it was clear what the other was doing. Zatanna’s eyes narrowed as she recognized the image on the magazine’s cover—herself, in full stage magician regalia, fishnets and all. His grunts filled the air, crude fantasies spilling from his lips as he reached his peak. “Oh, Zatanna... yeah, just like that...”
She cleared her throat with the precision of a guillotine blade. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything... *critical*,” she announced, her voice slicing through the awkward haze with a mix of authority and barely concealed amusement.
Theodore froze mid-motion, his head snapping up so fast it might’ve given him whiplash. His wide, horrified eyes locked onto her, and his face turned a shade of red that could rival a ripe tomato. “Oh—oh God, I—I didn’t—!” he stammered, fumbling to cover himself, only to accidentally lose control again. A stray arc shot forward, splattering across Zatanna’s pristine black boots and the hem of her skirt.
Her smirk vanished, replaced by a look of pure, icy irritation. She glanced down at the mess, then back up at him, her violet eyes glinting dangerously. “Your aim is as impressive as your self-control, pup,” she quipped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Care to explain why I’m now a canvas for your little... artistic expression?”
“I’m so sorry!” Theodore squeaked, scrambling to pull up his tattered pants with trembling hands. “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I didn’t know you were—oh God, this is the worst day of my life!”
Zatanna sighed, stepping closer to the bars despite the mess, her presence looming over him like a storm cloud. “Relax, kid. I’ve seen worse. Though I’ll admit, this is a first for projectile apologies.” She tilted her head, studying him with a predator’s curiosity. “Now, let’s get to the point. Are you a threat to anyone out there, or is this—” she gestured vaguely at the splattered cage, “—the extent of your danger?”
He shook his head frantically, his voice a desperate whine. “No! I swear, I’m not dangerous! I just... I just want out of here. I can’t control... this.” He gestured at himself, his cheeks still flaming. “Please, I’m not gonna hurt anyone!”
Zatanna’s lips curved into a sly, almost wicked smile. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re barely a threat to a paper bag right now. But let’s make this easier on both of us, shall we?” With a flick of her wand, pulled from the hidden pocket of her jacket, she murmured a quick incantation under her breath. A shimmering wave of magic swept over Theodore, handling his... overflow with an almost clinical precision. The mess vanished, leaving the cage—and her boots—spotless.
Theodore blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Th-thank you,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I... uh... I owe you one.”
Zatanna wiped her face with a silk handkerchief she produced from nowhere, her movements deliberate and graceful even in irritation. “You owe me more than one, pup. Now, let’s talk. What the hell did Cadmus do to you to turn you into a walking biohazard?”
He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They... they experimented on me. Injected me with stuff. Something about Solomon Grundy’s DNA. Said it was supposed to enhance healing, strength, all that. But I don’t feel any different. Not yet, anyway.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “Grundy’s DNA? That’s a bold choice, even for Cadmus. Messing with undead genetics is a recipe for disaster—or a really bad horror movie.” She leaned closer to the bars, her voice dropping to a low, commanding purr. “Tell me everything, Theodore. Start from the beginning. How did a kid like you end up a werewolf in the first place?”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously under her piercing stare. “It... it started after a car crash. My parents... they didn’t make it. I was bleeding out, dying, when this... thing bit me. A werewolf. It saved my life, but it cursed me, too. I’ve been like this ever since. Cadmus found me not long after, locked me up, started their tests.”
Zatanna’s expression softened for a fleeting moment, but her posture remained unyielding. “A tragic origin story. I’d almost feel bad for you if you hadn’t just turned my boots into a Jackson Pollock.” She smirked, but her tone grew serious. “Cadmus doesn’t just pick up strays for fun. They saw potential in you. Or a weapon.”
Before Theodore could respond, a violent shudder wracked his body. Sweat poured down his forehead, and his breath came in ragged gasps. “S-something’s... wrong,” he groaned, clutching at his chest as his muscles began to twitch and bulge unnaturally.
Zatanna took a cautious step back, her wand at the ready, but her eyes gleamed with fascination. “Well, well, looks like Grundy’s DNA is finally kicking in,” she murmured, watching as Theodore’s frame expanded, his shirt ripping at the seams to reveal a chiseled, powerful physique. His eyes glowed a feral gold, and his... other attributes became, shall we say, notably enhanced.
She let out a low whistle, her gaze unabashedly appraising. “Congratulations, pup. You’re no common werewolf anymore. You’re an Alpha—one of the last of your kind. Strength, speed, raw power... you’ve just hit the supernatural jackpot.” Her voice was a blend of professional assessment and a barely hidden intrigue, her lips curling into a dangerous smile. “Now, let’s see if you can control it—or if I’ll have to put you on a leash myself.”
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