Terry Story

The furious squabble finally came to end as the red-feathered griffon effortlessly swung the giant canine-pony hybrid back and suplexed them into the ground. There was a sickening crack as it slammed into the ground, but Terry was far from concerned. These buggers dying too easy was far from his biggest concern, and he was practically bored as he strolled up to slap the collar onto its neck.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now we have to wait for this fucker to wake up before we tell him what the deal with the collar is.”

“We could always remove that issue,” said Gryshka drily as she stepped away from the werewolf and pulled out her axe. That was the best part about Gryshka: you never had to tell her to do anything. She anticipated. She didn’t merely react. Terry would kill for a dozen more enforcers like her, but that was why she was bodyguard and chief among his fighters. That and her being the only fighter in all of Canterlot who could match the fucking breezie.

“I already paid out the ass for the collars,” Terry said. “I’m using them. They’ll be ideal enforcers.”

“I don’t trust them,” Gryshka said. “Kill them. It’s easier that way.”

Terry wheeled on her and hissed with an intensity that managed to put even the hardened fighter off. Just a little bit. Nerves of steel were, of course, a require for the job. “I am NOT going to kill them.” He said. “It’d be wasteful.”

Gryshka regarded him carefully. “Uh-huh. And why are you really doing it?”

Terry scowled at her for a second. “What’s it to ya?”

Gryshka fixed him with a dark smile. “I’m not a fucking idiot. It’s easy to tell when you’re lying.”

Terry snorted and turned around, looking at the werewolf. “Look, its fucked up, alright?”

Gryshka grunted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Not all of us have most of the Greater Canterlot Area written inside of their eyelids.”

“Some big-name hunter drops off the map. Three days later, a pack of werewolf tear through a village, turning the townsfolk into werewolves and continuing on their merry fucking way.”

“And that’s why we’ve blown half your budget on dumbass collars?”

Rudely interrupting, the figure on the ground slowly started to come to, shaking his head out and glaring at Gryshka, surging forward to attack before twitching in convulsions before falling to the ground, his limbs roughly giving out as it fell to pieces.

“Hey, fucker!” Terry shouted. “It doesn’t work like that anymore. No, stop pulling at the collar, if you by some miracle manage to get it off, the last thing it’ll do is light up like a Hearthswarming Fire and blow you to merry hell along with anypony dumb enough to stand right next to you.”

He gave the werewolf a second while the constant pain of the collar reinforced his words and sapped his energy, until the violent convulsions were merely convulsions and gradually subsided into a peaceful rage. The wolf finally got up and glared, this time shifting his attention to the apparent (and actual) leader Terry.

It took a few more moments before it could resolve its angry growls into actual speech, shifting from its pure wolf back into the hybrid shape that was unbearably ugly. “I don’t need to listen to a little shit like you. I’m a fucking-” His undoubtedly witty response was cut off the collar detected unrestricted aggression and began to disapprove on Terry’s behalf.

“Nah, you don’t get to be like that,” Terry said. “See, that collar around your neck is special and shit. Recognizes the, ah, proper authorities and allows you only to get so riled up under their orders.”

The wolf started to growl again, but quickly killed the rumbling sound, turning it into an almost wheezing response that made it sound more pathetic and exhausted than anything.

“Good, you’re starting to get it.” Terry said. “Gryshka will show you to your new quarters.Enjoy your stay at the Killbox, we’ll put you to work here.”

The griffon wasted little time, roughly grabbing the werewolf (still in its hybrid form) by the collar and dragging it off. Terry sighed as he watched them go. If removing curses were easier… No, he had to have some kind of an excuse. Couldn’t let them think he wasn’t merking the dogs for charity purposes.

Terry wandered back into his office, grabbing a comic off of the wall and starting to read. If he was lucky, he had fifteen minutes before something else went wrong and he had to fix it.

Still, anything was better than being bored.