(http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6239/6324164006_be5a515640.jpg)<br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Jack Russel/ Lycan<br/><strong>Origin:</strong>Supernatural Lycanthrope<br/><strong>Location:</strong>gym<br/><br/>---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------<br/>The first thing that struck Jack once he entered the facility was the immense size of it. Deep into his own funk he hadnt noticed just how far down the elevator had gone. Now however he understood. The facility was HUGE! It was easily the size of the superdome! Jack couldnt help but gape for a moment. Made sense if you thought about it Jack mused. People with powers needed a lot of space to train in if you were gonna fly or shoot lasers from their eyes. The equipement was every bit as impressive as the space and Stark had apparently spared neither expense or her engineering genius in the creation of these devices. Johnny was already looking over a machine that might have belonged in a Gold's Gym if that gym was for the titans of myth. Instead of pounds the weights registered in tons going up to a max of 100! The frame of the device was heavy and thick like the superstructure of a skyscraper. There were treadmils with what looked like jet turbines attached to them, complex arrays of jungle gyms the size of small buildings on both the floor and the ceiling. An aerial pathway had been created by a number of floating geometric hoops suspended by who knew what power, Jack watched as they randomly altered their route to give any fliers a speed and agility workout. Jack urther noticed that the walls, ceiling and even floor were not simply solid pieces of construction but that subtle panels made up the entire surface, likely to conceal other devices to test the "heroes" in training here. He could see a complex, inescapable web of infared beams crissrossing every square inch of the massive gym. He moved his hand before him and noticed how several of the beams followed the movement, he could even hear nearly silent servos guiding the beams to do so. Targeting beams for the hidden devices? Or just one more stealthy way of keeping tabs on the freaks. Though tempted to turn directly towards one of the hidden devices and glower at whomever might be watching Jack refrained. Perhaps it would be wiser not to let on that he could see into the far red spectrum if he didnt have to.<br/><br/>Deciding to investigate the place further with his other senses the lycanthrope breathed deep and was able to smell an intoxicating combination of sweat, pheremones and hormones lingering. Strenuous exercise stimulated those involved in it producing high level production of adrenaline, estrogen and testosterone. But from those enhanced far beyond human capability the output was dizzying. Jack had not been prepared for the sensory onslaught and it took him a moment to clear his head and focus once again. It was Johnny's voice that brought him fully around once more.<br/><br/><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">"Hey Jack... check this out.  You could try this"...</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br/>Jack came over and examined the bag Johnny was indicating. It didnt look very special only a bit on the large side but Jack knew better. Like Johnny had before him the werewolf reached out and touched the heavy bag. While senses of sight, smell and hearing were supernaturally keen Jack's sense of touch was not. Even so he could feel the solidity of the device. He gave the bag a test push. Jack knew that he was strong, as strong as the strongest of men in spite of his lithe frame. The bag resisted his casual effort to start it swinging. It was very dense, far to heavy for any mere human's boxing gym. Good. Jack's bad mood came back in a rush, here was something he could smash without running the risk of killing or maiming! Jack was smiling as he stripped off both his school shirt and tee. Bare to the waist Jack's body was a lesson in functional anatomy. Corded muscles flexed and rolled beneath his skin like angry beasts as he set squared off with the bag. Johnny could see his skin ripple almost onion thin as even the young man's lean muscle fibers became defined as he flexed and stretched before the attack.<br/><br/>The first blow was a blur of ferocity as Jack released pent up anger in the form of physical assault. Jack's right fist smashed into the surface with a meaty thwack with enough force to break the bones in a another man's face...but the bag didnt move. It didnt even swing. Jack looked at it first in surprise and then his face darkened with anger, he would not be shown up as impotent by some over-sized punching bag! He lashed out again, throwing his entire bodyweight into the blow, and still nothing! Jack gnashed his teeth growing furious. The next blows came in a series of savage flailings. While he was no trained fighter Jack had an instinctual grasp of combat. His attack became frenzied in his effort to punish the object before him. The bag's refusal to gratify Jack's efforts sent him spiraling into a rage. He forgot both his surrounds and his company and a gutteral snarl escaped past lips drawn back in a grimace of anger and white flecks of foam sprayed out to patina the bag in from of him. As Jack's vision seemed to sink into shades of blood and maroon the bag became the face of Samson. So like the bag, so impervious to his jibes with his fucking psychology!!!<br/><br/>Jack lashed out again but this time there was little of Jack left. His nails thickened and hardened as keratin flaked away to be replaced by talons of bone. Jack's body became to swell before Johnny's eyes, his skin tone going from pale to dark and splotchy. The tightly packed physique was begining to give way to something of immense animal power. Lost to hate the lycan mauled the heavy bag even as his bones shifted with audible sickening pops and cracks. His hair darkened to the color of dried blood and the sweat streaming down his form was instantly matting in the think fur that was erupting all over Jack's body. Now that fucking bag was swinging! Not by move but by all the devils of the Darkhold it was moving. The wolf howled in rage and triumph as it slashed again and again the the Samson in its mind's eye. This Samson he could HURT! This one couldnt pin his paws behind him like he was some pup. He could see it in his crimson vision as Samson and all the Midnight Sons and that bitch director of SHIELD all cowerd before him, begging for mercy and forgiveness! The beast was only spurred on by his dark fantasy to greater heights of bloodlust and power! He raged at the bag with tooth and claw punctuated by a symphony of beastial growls. The surface began to score, the drag marks of his claws going deeper and deeper until the surface actually began to split. The tears revealed the bag to be a solid mass inside and out. No blood, no viscera, so unsatisfying, so infuriating! The wolf redoubled his attack yearning for the feel of meat and bone beneath its claws and the hot splash of blood upon its muzzle, its red eyes fairly glowing with the madness of its relentless fury.<br/><br/>All of that was lost when the bag started to "heal" itself. Confused the wolf paused and watched in dumbfounded amazement as the terrible wounds in the bag began close, knitting back together seamlessly in the process. The wolf cocked its head to the left and sniffed at the bag while its breath came in ragged snorts. He reached out running his claws along the healing surface and by the time the mishappen hand dropped to his side once more it was pale and pink and human with fresh new nails grown in to cap the tips of the fingers as the claws crumbled away into a fine calicium powder. Jack looked at the seemimgly unmolested bag before him, bathed in a bright sheen of sweat. He looked down to see the fur that had only moments before covered his entire body lying on the floor, moldering into dust and beyond even that. He was thankful that his boots were intact. Steel toes, 2 sizes too big ensured that he didnt destroy his footware if he were to suddenly transform, a lesson learned early in his newborn cursed life.<br/><br/>Jack stood there facing the bag, the surrogate for all his pent up angst, just one more thing that fucking denied him his will. He stared and did not turn because he was afraid of what he might see on the face of Johnny Storm. The horror, the loathing, perhaps even hate. The werewolf was such a primal thing, something so deeply rooted in the subconscious dna of man, how would the Torch react to Jack's secret revealed?<br/>