Age: 32
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Brown
Race: Metis
Occupation: Police Office, Detective

Marcus Stonefist O'Reilly was the son of an Iroquois decended man, and a woman of Irish descent. Being Metis, he quickly learned how cruel the world could really be. His father died when he was six, and his mother moved back to the city with her parents.

Marcus' grandfather, Duncan O'Reilly, was a police officer at the time. He worked the street, and showed Marcus the tricks of the trade.

When he graduated from highschool, he immediately enrolled into a nearby police academy. He quickly graduated from there, and was soon transferred to a precinct in a city called Ruby Falls.

After working there for ten years, he became a Detective working Homicide. His partner was a man by the name of Drake Frost.

* * *

The sirens of the borrowed squad car rang throughout the night. The lights flashed, and the car in front of them picked up speed.

"You're never going to catch him," muttered the white haired Frost.

"Yes, I will," Marcus retorted, "the bastard's gotten away from us one too many times."

The veteran looked at Marcus for a minute, and then back at the white Pontiac rocketing ahead of them. No license plate was visible.

"Yeah, you've said that before." Frost said as he lit up a cigarette. His attitude indicated that he didn't care how the situation went. They had chased this man four times previously, and had yet to catch the serial killer. "What's got you so riled up about this guy? Granted, he's kiled, what? Ten people in the past two weeks? All butchered, but you seem a little too pissed about this."

"Remember those markings on the wall he left behind at each scene?"

The car swerved around a corner, following the perp's lead.

"Yeah. Scrawled in blood, and none too good looking. What's so special about them?"

"It's Iroquois. Mark of the wolf."

"Iroquois can write?" Frost chuckled.

Marcus grunted, and hit the gas for a boost of speed.

"Shit!" Frost yelled.

The front end of the squad car rammed right into the back of the Pontiac, making sparks fly everywhere.

"Where the hell did you learn to drive? If that had been a Pinto, we'd be dead!"

"That's kinda the point."

"You're crazy, you know that?"

Marcus grunted, "Like I said. I'm not letting him get away this time. And if he does, I'm gonna mess up his nice little car over there."

"Oh, in that case..."

Frost quickly unrolled his window, and drew his pistol. He winked at Marcus and then leaned outside. Several shots fired off, and shattered the back window. The car ahead of them screeched to a halt.

"Holy sh--!"

Both cars collided in a fury of sparks.

Marcus' head snapped forward, but stopped short of the steering wheel. He quickly jerked his head back against the seat and looked over to his partner. Frost's head was against the dashboard, and a small amount of blood was coming from his mouth. O'Reilly moved his hand and checked the veteran's pulse. It was still going, but barely.

"Next time, old man, I'm leaving you at the nursing home."

Marcus quickly unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He nearly jumped out of the car, and drew his firearm.

Both cars were a wreck. The front end of the borrowed squad car was smash to pieces, and was smoking. The Pontiac was even worse. The back end was crumpled like tinfoil, and pieces of it was lying on the ground. No one was inside.

Marcus surveyed the area, looking for the suspect. The killer.

The cold night's darkness betrayed nothing.

A large crash came from behind. Marcus turned about, training his weapon to where the sound emerged. Standing on top of the lights was a large wolf-like creature. The abomination stood on two feet. It wore torn pants, and shreads of a black shirt. White foam flecked its lips. A snarl of hatred filled the air between the Detective and the beast.

The police officer didn't know what it was, but it certainly didn't like him. It looked a lot like a ... no, it couldn't be. Those things were only in cheap horror movies.

Before he could formulate his thoughts, the beast leapt. It sailed through the air, closing the cap between itself and the cop.

Marcus heard the ring of two gunshots. The wolf-thing fell to the ground, holding its chest. It took him a moment to realize the two shots had come from his own firearm.

"Just what the hell are you?" Marcus muttered half to himself as he stepped forward. He frowned, and kept his pistol pointed at the beast.

Then he was down on the ground, with the wolf-thing on top of him, jaws snapping.

The police officer moved his suit-covered arm in the way. The wolf bit down on it. He screamed in pain, and struck at it with the side of his weapon.

Several more shots fired off. The beast howled in pain and recoiled. It jumped backwards, seeming to almost fly in the air.

Marcus rolled backwards, and raised his gun again. His arm was weak and tired. The pain arced up and down, moving from place to place. Blood dripped everywhere, leaving a mess.

Frost stood from the squad car, leaning against the side. Smoke oozed from the nozel.

"Just what the fuck is that?" the veteran said weakly.

"For all I know, it's our perp."

The wolf squinted at the two of them, looking them over. It howled defiantly, and then turned and fled.