InsaneJournal

Current mood:	calm
Entry tags:	fanfic, lycanthropy

Beauty of the Beast 1/4
Title: Beauty of the Beast
Chapter Title: The Man
Rated: R
Pairing: None
Fandom: Invader Zim
Invader Zim belongs to Nickelodeon and its associates.

-----

This piece was written at the end of 2004. It has one incomplete prequel and two completed sequels. The entire series was considered lost in the middle of 2005 because of user error, a tragedy that caused me to cease writing Invader Zim fanfic. It and the rest of the series was found intact on a disk somewhere in the middle of 2006. It was edited in August of 2007.

This is the first time it has ever been posted. It shows the beginnings of my well-known darkness and the seeds of full-fledged cynicism, even hatred for humanity in some places.

Enjoy.

-----

Dib checked the revolver and found it loaded. He shoved it in his belt and pulled his trench coat tight around him. Sunglasses were placed over his contact lensed eyes. Dib, Paranormal Investigator, was ready for another night’s hunting.

At 23, Dib was the youngest PI in the organization. And as the youngest he was assumed to be the fastest and most inventive. Thus far, the assumptions were correct. As such, Dib had been hunting the same prey for the past three months. There was a werewolf in the city and it was Dib’s job to eliminate it.

The sun was setting as Dib left the house. He looked up at it and smirked to himself. The neighbors must think I’m a loser, he thought. Twenty-three, finished college, no obvious job, and still living at home with my father and sister. It wasn’t like being a PI didn’t pay well enough, but Dib never saw a reason to leave home. No one else was ever there anyway. He shrugged and walked off.

The werewolf had been attacking in the suburbs, each attack less than 5 miles from Dib’s house. The first one had been a little girl, playing late in her front yard, parents unaware. The second was a sick homeless man near a 24-7. The third was an old lady only a few blocks from Zim’s place. There was a pattern, a very animalistic pattern. There was one victim each full moon and each was young, old, or sick. It was a pattern as old as time.

Dib had a plan this time. The other two times he had seen the werewolf it looked at him and passed him by. Apparently the werewolf found it unnecessary to weed him from the gene pool. But this time, Dib was ready. He had reduced his ability to fight but he was a good enough marksman that with and luck it wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t eaten for several days then gorged himself on sugar to drive his blood sugar dangerously high. He knew that a person in a life threatening sugar shock stinks of sugar and he was beginning to sense the same sickly sweet, mothball-like scent wafting from his skin.

As it got dark Dib removed the sunglasses, downed another soda, and purposefully started stumbling around. After an hour he stumbled into an alley and fell against the wall of a darkened building. He was a distinct flaw in his plan as the sugar shock began affecting his system. The world swam as he sank to his knees and placed his burning cheek against the cool stucco of the wall. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

His eyes flew open as he heard a rolling growl behind him. Dib shot to his feet and whirled around, falling back to his knees as his head swam. The werewolf stood before him, a great black wolf with a mane of coarse hair, clawed hands, and a human intelligence in his burning green eyes. The wolf crouched to spring.

Dib reached into his trench and pulled out the revolver. The werewolf pounced. Dib fired.

The werewolf yelped as he was thrown back into the trashcans as the silver bullet lodged in his shoulder. Dib got to his feet and readied for another attack.

The werewolf pounced again. This time the shot went wild and Dib was thrown to the ground, looking up into the snarling fangs of the wolf. He grabbed for the jaws, clamping then closed and shoving up. The wolf writhed and scratched, soon breaking free. The wolf wiped off his muzzle, growling, trying to remove the feeling of hands. Dib reached over and grabbed the revolver.

The werewolf grabbed the revolver in his jaws and threw it out of reach. He held Dib down with his clawed hands and his head lowered, jaws gaping wide and fangs dripping.

Dib screamed as the werewolf’s fangs tore through his shoulder. Dib brought his legs up and kicked with all his might, throwing the werewolf off of him. He grabbed for the revolver again. This time he was ready. The werewolf pounced a third time. Dib’s aim was true and the werewolf fell, a silver bullet through the head. Dib added a shot through the heart, just to be sure. He sighed and winced. He tucked the revolver away and gingerly touched his bleeding shoulder. He knew he had to get home. He staggered off toward home, dripping blood behind him as he walked.

-----

Professor Membrane came home around 3am to find Dib passed out on the porch, lying in a pool of dried blood. The Professor shook his head in disappointment and opened the door, carrying his son inside and down to the lab. The blood-soaked trench coat was ruined, the standard blue t-shirt a shredded bloody rag all down the left side. The revolver was curiously nearly emptied of bullets, silver bullets. Dib lay on the dissection table, writhing and feverish in the darkness.

“There’s a reason I wanted you in real science, Dib,” Professor Membrane said with a sigh. “Real science doesn’t do this to you. Real science doesn’t have you running after aliens and vampires and it looks like tonight was werewolves. You’d probably be shocked that I know about all of this, but that’s why I stay out of it. I can do so much more in real science than the eradication of a few werewolves and vampires. Because that’s all you’ll ever be, Son, a vampire hunter. You need respect in order to be able to prove these things exist, and that’s something a paranormal investigator will never have in this society.”

The Professor dressed his son’s wounds and pulled a blanket and pillow out of a closet, turned the dissection table into a bed. “Good night, Son,” he said. “I wish you’d come to your senses, but that’s never going to happen, is it? Well, you can’t blame me for trying. Good night. Perhaps next month you’ll have learned your lesson.” He turned off the light and closed the door, going upstairs.

“I’m sorry, Dib,” he said, “but there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. Not for this. I’m sorry.” He bowed his head and disappeared into the bedroom.

-----

Dib struggled back to consciousness. He opened one eye and groaned. He ached all over. His shoulder and chest burned, his head pounded, his back ached, and his stomach churned painfully. He tried to move but found himself still too tired, so he did the only thing he could do. He moaned as loud as he could.

The door to the lab burst open. “Well, well, it looks like Frankenstein’s Monster finally woke up,” Gaz taunted as she ambled down the stairs. “So, what was it this time? Bigfoot? Vampires? Zim?”

“A werewolf,” Dib grumbled, pulling the pillow over his ears and when had Gaz’s voice gotten so loud?

“Then I guess you’d better start looking for lycanthropy cures,” she said, pointing out his wrapped shoulder. “I imagine you don’t have much time.”

“What are you doing home, anyway?” Dib demanded. “And what time is it?”

“I graduated, that’s why I’m home. And it’s 7pm, almost sundown. Full moon was two nights ago.”

“What?! My report, it’s late!” He bounded off the table and ran up the stairs.

-----

“Dib, you’re late.”

Dib sat at his computer, using the old Swollen Eyeballs video connection to speak to his boss. “I’m sorry, Bill,” he apologized. “I’ve been recuperating until just a few minutes ago.”

“I take it you confronted the werewolf?”

Dib nodded. He wore a shirt that completely hid the bandages from view. “Yes, sir,” he said. “The werewolf has been neutralized.”

“Good. Was it difficult?”

“It was difficult,” Dib said slowly, unsure how to say this. “The preparation time has left me weak and shaky. The actual confrontation was draining. I spent the past 36 hours asleep. The entire time.”

“I understand. Take the rest of the week off, Dib.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad you understand.”

“We all get a little wrapped up in our work, Son. The key is to know when to let up.”

The screen went blank. Dib put his head in his hands and sobbed once. He was never going to explain this. The others wouldn’t understand. He was desperate. He needed help with this. He sat up, wiped his eyes, and opened the connection again. “I need help,” he pleaded. “Please, this is Agent Mothman to any member of the Swollen Eyeballs. Help me.”

A figure appeared on the screen, a new agent. “This is Agent M. What do you need?”

“Agent M, I need a cure for lycanthropy.”

“The mental disease?”

“No, true werewolfism. I’m a paranormal investigator by trade and last full moon I confronted a werewolf. We haven’t yet found a cure for the affliction. Do you know of any cure the Swollen Eyeballs might have?”

Agent M thought for a while. He started typing into a computer off screen. He talked absently as he worked. “As far as I personally know the only cure is a silver bullet through the heart,” the figure said. “But if you’re trying to keep the werewolf alive after curing it you might be SOL.” He paused. “Wait, I found something, an old spell-drive spell. However, it only works within 24 hours of the bite and has a 15% success rate. This guy’s probably been a werewolf for awhile now, hasn’t he?”

“Too long for the spell-drive to work.”

“Mmm hmm. Well, other than that I don’t see anything that doesn’t involve death. Oooch, some of these look pretty painful. There’s this one where the werewolf is captured in human form and held in silver chains until the hands and feet burn off. Then it’s killed with a wooden stake oiled with rosewater made from 13 red roses. Werewolves don’t like red roses, you know. Something about the rose’s natural magic burning them. Oh, and there’s this one where the werewolf is captured in wolf form and the throat slit with a silver knife as the sun rises. Then it’s killed as a wolf but it dies as a human. Interesting symbolism in these old rituals. Agent Mothman, are you alright?”

Dib sat shaking, breath coming in little gasping whines, as he grabbed for his bitten shoulder. He was rocking back and forth in his seat as he keened. He pulled his knees up to his chest and held them tight, whimpering.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t go on about these. Ok, Agent Mothman, I’ll look into the idea of curing lycanthropy and see what I can find. Is that ok?”

“Please hurry,” Dib begged.

Agent M looked worriedly Dib, wondering what would have gotten him so worked up. Surely he hadn’t gotten attached to this werewolf, had he? He might as well look into this while he was at it.

-----

Dib took out his only working spell-drive. Ever since he had used half of its two points of magic left to cast that curse on Gaz he had kept the drive safe, using it for research purposes. He had copied most of the spells, their cost, and any description therein into a book, a second book, and to his computer, but he hadn’t finished. The spell had to be in here somewhere…

In the deepest recesses of the spell-drive’s memory Dib found the spell Agent M had spoken of. It had a slight chance of reversing the curse of lycanthropy, but only if cast while the moon was still full. If the spell failed it would cost the new werewolf his life. It also cost 20 points of magic. There was also a reason for including this spell in the archives. Dib read it aloud.

“It may seem a waste of space and magic to keep this spell available but those who contract lycanthropy claim they would much rather take the chance of this spell than become the hated and feared monster of their nightmares. Therefore, it is my opinion that this spell is a good substitute to the suicide most new lycanthropes choose rather than the curse, a fate considered worse than death.”

Dib sighed. Worse than death, he thought. I’ve contracted a disease for which there is no cure, described by those who have it as worse than death. He looked over at the bedside table, where he’d kept a dagger for over a decade. No. It’s too easy. I’ve never taken the easy way out so why should I start now? Maybe Agent M will find a cure in the database. Maybe I can talk to Dad. Of course he’ll call me insane again but what else is new? Besides, if there’s a chance…

Dib got up and headed downstairs. Besides, he was starving.

-----

Sandwich in hand, Dib stood in the basement, unsure what to say. After an eternity he finally spoke. “Dad, I was wondering…”

“There is no cure for lycanthropy, Son,” the Professor said, not even looking up from his invention. “You were bitten, now you have to live with it.”

Dib’s jaw dropped. The half eaten sandwich fell to the floor. “What?” he asked.

Professor Membrane looked up. He left his invention half finished and wrapped an arm around his son, taking care not to jostle the bite. “Dib, you were bitten by a werewolf,” he said softly, calmly. “It’s been too long. There’s nothing that I nor anyone else can do about it now.”

“You, you believe me?” Dib asked.

“I’ve always believed you,” the Professor said.

Anger started to rise, mingling with the shock. “All my life you’ve belittled me,” Dib ranted, “called me your ‘poor insane son,’ Dad, you had me committed for fuck’s sake and now I hear you believed me all along?!”

“It was all for your own good,” the Professor said, stepping back. “I mean, look at where the paranormal has gotten you--”

“I don’t care! All my life you attempted to destroy me. Why?! I’m very interested in why!”

The Professor took another step back. An angry, uncontrolled werewolf was not what he needed right now. “All your life I’ve tried to bring you over to real science,” he said. “I just wanted you to grow up into someone respected. A paranormal investigator isn’t respected, he’s laughed at. There’s never been anything for you in the paranormal but a painful transformation and your affliction just proves my--”

“I don’t care,” Dib growled. “This is the life I chose for myself, Dad. Yes I’m a werewolf. Yes this job did that to me. But this was my choice. You have no right, no right to choose my calling for me!”

“Dib, be reasonable,” Membrane begged. “How long do you think they’ll let you run around before you’re assigned to destroy yourself?”

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be down here looking for a cure.”

Dib snarled and struck. He slashed his nails across his father’s face leaving claw marks. He stormed upstairs.

The Professor pressed gauze against his bleeding face. “That went well,” he spat bitterly.

-----

Dib once again sat before his computer, connected to the Swollen Eyeballs. He sat gnawing on what remained of a roast chicken carcass. “Agent M, have you found anything?” he asked.

Agent M could barely sit still, eyes shining with information. “All sorts of stuff,” he said proudly. “Did you know lycanthropy is an actual disease? It’s a retrovirus, similar in structure and function to the AIDS virus. It’s carried in the bodily fluids of the werewolf, mainly the blood and saliva. The bite spreads the virus. It looks like the spells used to cure lycanthropy works like chemotherapy, poisoning the afflicted and hoping he survives. After 24 hours the virus begins its work, forcing the body to rely on it.”

“In English?” Dib asked.

“In English, after 24 hours the werewolf’s body needs the virus to live. Take away the curse and the werewolf dies. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Dib mumbled, slumping over. “Thanks for your time.” The connection ended.

Agent M turned from the dead connection and opened the case file he’d “borrowed.” According to the report Dib had killed the werewolf but had taken the rest of the week off for purpose of recovery. He’d even slept for 36 solid hours after completing his mission. That certainly didn’t sound like he’d befriended any afflicted werewolf. It sounded much more like…

Oh my god.

-----

Gaz glared through the wall separating her room from her brother’s. She’d just lost another life. She paused Vampire Piggy Hunter 5 and stormed to her brother’s door. She pounded on it. “Dib!” she shouted. “Dib, rock opera is not the answer! Turn off the stereo before I have to come in there!”

Dib turned the volume up. The wailing guitars rose to a crescendo.

Gaz growled and kicked the door open. She stomped inside.

Snarl.

Gaz ran out of the room and slammed the door behind her. She leaned against the door and caught her breath. “Well, at least he’s accepting what he is,” she grumbled. “DAD!!!”

Another snarl, slightly muffled by the closed door.

Gaz stormed down to the lab. “Dad, Dib’s music is sickening me,” she complained. “He’s ruining my game.”

The Professor turned away from his invention. “I know, sweetheart.” I’m never going to get this portable cold fusion reactor completed. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Thus, Professor Membrane found himself pounding on Dib’s door, trying to be heard over the music. “Dib, we need to talk! Open this door!”

Snarl.

“Don’t you give me that young man, now you open this door this instant!”

Growl. The music stopped. Another growl. The door opened. “What now,” Dib demanded.

“Dib, I need to talk to you. Please.”

Dib sighed and stepped aside. He slammed the door after the Professor entered.

Dib’s room was a mess. Case files were scattered over the desk. The computer was playing poker with itself. Clothes were strewn around the room, the bed was unmade, and Dib was naked from the waist up. He flopped himself down on the bed and looked up at the numerous UFO posters dotting the ceiling. “You wanted to say something?” he asked.

The Professor sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down, feeling small and meek. “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Sorry?” Dib demanded, springing up. “Sorry?! Your destruction of me leads me to lycanthropy and you’re sorry?! You have no right!”

“I know,” Membrane said, trying to make himself small.

“I became a paranormal investigator because of you, did you know that?” Dib asked, getting up to pace. “I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t crazy and to do that I needed to bring in proof of all I’ve seen, of all that I know to exist. Following real science would have meant I’d given up, that I’d admitted my own insanity.”

“But you’re not insane. We both know that.”

“But I never knew you knew that!” Dib ranted. “Everything I’ve done in my life has been to prove myself to you, to be a proper son, but you never let me.” He stopped and stood in the center of the room, head down. “For so long you treated me like a failure, a mistake. I, I started to believe it.”

The Professor pulled his son down onto the bed and held him. Dib clung to his father and sobbed into his shoulder as Membrane rocked him like a small child. “Shhh, it’ll be ok,” he murmured. “It’ll all be ok.”

“How? I’m a werewolf, Dad. A fate worse than death. There’s no cure. I’m a monster.”

“What? Dib, being a werewolf isn’t a fate worse than death.”

“How do you know?”

“Dib, I’m the one who discovered the nature and structure of the lycanthropy virus. I had a friend who was a werewolf. I asked her if she would let me discover the nature of her condition. But, Son, I never got credit for it. Even respected scientists don’t get credit for paranormal discoveries. I published my findings and my reputation was shattered because of it. That’s why I started doing the show, to regain what I had lost. It took so much work but I’ve finally regained the respect I lost.”

“I’m a threat to that reputation, aren’t I?” Dib asked, head lowered in submission. “That’s why you tried to keep me out of paranormal studies.”

The Professor placed a gloved hand under Dib’s chin and tilted his head up. “Your actions never made me worry about my reputation,” he assured. “All this time I’ve been worried about yours. Why else do you think paranormal investigators concentrate on destroying the creatures they find? They’re trying to destroy that which takes away their respect. They’re all hypocritical bastards.”

“I see.”

“Dib, that werewolf I talked about, do you remember her?”

“Why would I remember her?”

“Do you remember your Aunt Luna?” the Professor asked.

“Aunt Luna was a werewolf?” Dib asked.

“Of course. She wasn’t really your aunt, just a good friend of mine, but yes she was a werewolf. She’s the one who helped me find the virus, and the one who urged me to start the show. After all, nothing increases a scientist’s reputation more than educating little kids.”

“I never knew Aunt Luna was a werewolf.”

“Of course not,” Membrane said, wrapping his son in a hug. “She hid it well. And do you know how? She enjoyed the full moons, looked forward to her transformation. She didn’t consider herself a monster. Not human, sure, but never a monster. Being a werewolf can be a fate worse than death if you let it be, if you let yourself get depressed by it. But if you embrace it, it can be the most fun you’ll ever have.”

“Did she tell you what it’s like? The transformation?”

“She said it’s itchy, painful, and really weird, but worth it,” Membrane said. “She’d have a lot of fun on those nights. She used to chase cats. She had at least 3 dogs who would run around with her; she was their alpha wolf. On solitary nights she’d go into the city and test her skills. You see, the mind of an animal is simpler than that of a human. The animal is no less intelligent than a human; in fact they’re probably more intelligent than us because they don’t worry the way we do. Animals don’t create just to destroy. They have no need to advance their technology into space travel. They just want to live and have fun while doing it.”

“Then why do we hunt werewolves? Why do they hunt us? Are humans really that dumb?”

“Well, humans hate competition. And in reality werewolves are higher on the food chain than us. Werewolves have such a bad reputation because they really do hunt humans. It’s natural for them to thin the human herd, to weed out the undesirables. It’s natural selection.”

“So humans just can’t handle the idea that they’re not perfect?”

“Exactly. Humans fear and hate anything better than them. It’s a natural reaction for all prey animals.”

“Actually, that makes a lot of sense,” Dib said thoughtfully. “Even the way they act toward their fellow humans, attempting to destroy those they see as better than themselves. Animals don’t have that instinct.”

“No they don’t.”

“I don’t have that instinct.”

“Not anymore.”

End Chapter 1