"Can it," Sehrab said as he pulled the bike up in front of a house Zen would find familiar.<br/><br/>He left the bike swinging one leg over and then putting down the kick stand. The house looked empty, but then again, it always did. Sehrab shot a look back at the other two that said something like<span style="font-style: italic">Keep your distance</span>before rushing in.<br/><br/>He didn't find anyone in the first or second story, so he went down to the cellar and found the blood leaking from the old man. At first, he felt nothing at all, and then he felt an unimaginable pain--both physically and in spirit. Something beneath the surface of his mind began to shift even as his ribs reordered themselves and the world he knew began to give way to something much more feral and destructive.<br/><br/>His body filled out the green overcoat he was wearing and he took the appearance of a fable; the most feared monster of legend for the people of the middle ages. His own head sprouted a muzzle and two ears. His body was covered in fur that still bore the strange birth mark on his eye.<br/><br/>Then anger was all he knew. He threw tables, scratched at the walls, even tore the door until it came from it's hinges and he threw that like a frisbee across the room into the wall where it lodged itself. This went on until he was out of energy and he returned to being Sehrab, the human.<br/><br/>He collapsed into a ball and sobbed for a little while.<br/><br/>"I told him to stop doing that stuff... I told him this was going to happen..."<br/><br/>On the ground eating away at the floor was a bag like the two back on his motorcycle. It was what he thought was the cause of the old man's demise.