Clone Trooper Hardcase Novels & Stories

Leaving the pack territory wasn’t something we did under two conditions only; it was absolutely necessary or you got kicked out and no one had ever got kicked out, not to my knowledge at least. Mustering my courage, I did what no other pack member had willingly done. Crossing into the woods felt odd like I’d crossed into another world. I was still reeling from that novel experience when I heard someone, a male voice, yell. I raced towards the sound when I saw movement up ahead. In a clearing in the woods, I saw three figures, one was on their knees, and on closer look, it looked like a man clutching at his neck which was oozing blood.

A huge truck came out of nowhere from his left forcing him to stop the car abruptly making a screeching noise as he held out his arm to keep his mom safe from hitting the dashboard. As soon as the car stopped he realized that he got hurt as blood dripped down his forehead. "Are you alright, mom?" Hunter asked, looking at Emma making sure she wasn't injured. Her eyes were wide as she gave a nod. Hunter glanced at the truck and his eyes narrowed at the driver who got out of the car. That driver's eyes turned golden and Hunter knew he was about to shift. In the blink of an eye, he yanked the gun from under his seat and aimed at that shifting werewolf.

Huddled together Lucy and I looked worriedly between the men before the little one pulled away from the run-down house and began driving towards our new home. After what seemed to take forever but was most likely only an hour we were pulling up to what looked like a very old single-level warehouse-like building. The outside looked to be a building ready to collapse. I was starting to worry for our safety. We were for sure going to die of tetanus just being in here. Before too long the little guy got out of the vehicle and opened the door for the large brute. The larger guy walked into the little door while the smaller one looked into the vehicle, “Your lucky you're a breeder bitch,” he said

The water, black and unwelcoming, ripples sluggishly, assorted unsavoury-looking objects bobbing at the surface. "No, thanks... How are you planning on getting inside? I'm assuming you weren't planning on the front door." "No. He probably has the back covered too." "Fire escape?" Klempner shrugs, noncommittally. "Maybe." "So, what then?" He brandishes the wooden carrycase he's been toting since he first arrived with his armoury. "And that is...?" He kneels, unclipping the case. It opens into two halves, lying flat, to reveal inside what looks like a gun, sort of, and various components, nested into hollows in packing foam.

Other doors led to a bedroom and a small bathroom with a shower cubicle. Overall the place was spartan and simple, but it had several home comforts, ranging from a unit with several hundred DVD's in it, a couple of laptop computers and a bookcase full of classics. In the security room there was a couple of cabinets, and Connor found the keys in a drawer. The first contained a selection of pistols, shotguns and rifles, along with ammo, body armour, torches, batteries and a pair of night-vision goggles. The other cabinet contained cases and cases of DVD's, each marked with a serial number.

The whole place had a pulse of excitement and anticipation. The tailors gave me the clothes for tonight. It is a three-piece suit made from wool that matches our eye color, blue, and silver. They embroidered the sleeves with symbols of our pack, the triskele. “Alarick!” I shouted as a lot of werewolves also occupied the tavern. “Ylva’s looking for you.” Alarick nodded and went in my direction. He looks like a busy merchant trying to greet all his emptor. “Let her be. She knows her way around.”

I search for something that might be of help in my mess. The 5-ton military camping truck that Detective Andrews ingeniously turned into a beast-killing machine was sturdy and impenetrable. They coated the whole-body case of the improvised truck with silver. The roof has turned into a small garden filled with the poisonous wolfbane shrubs. I have tried my immunity to silver, but wolfbane has not been tested yet. The only possible way in was through the “explosion-proof glass windshield where I can visibly see Detective Andrews smirking devilishly down at me.

she asks again, “Why would I lie about that Sunshine? Go get em, I’ll be nearby.” Solus approaches the vehicle, the artificial sun’s glare blinding her a bit. “Weapon” a rough looking bodyguard demanded “you count my fists as one?” She joked handing her pistol. The bodyguard didn’t seem amused as he scanned said fists “not funny, but you’re clear” he mumbled, gesturing her to step inside the Royce. Being part of a netrunner clan, she expected the Royce to be filled to the brim with junkfood, neuro stimulants and a dozen holoscreens blaring data but instead the inside stank of a mixture of genuine tobacco, marijuana and some imported whiskey. The inside held a simple grey design and the memor

I wasn’t sure if Luna had informed him of the decision this late at night. Seeing my silence, Kelvin let out a low, mocking laugh, his gaze dripping with contempt. His wolf mirrored the same smugness, as though no one but him could ever be my mate. He turned to Amanda and said, with exaggerated sarcasm, “You’re mistaken, my Luna. There is one more option—a rogue wolf. You remember him, don’t you? The one exiled from our pack three years ago. Oh right... I nearly forgot I even had a younger brother.”

The white sand shifted under fifteen thousand pairs of boots, creating a low-frequency rumble that traveled through the bedrock and into my marrow. The air was thick with the scent of unrefined fuel and the metallic tang of kinetic rifles. Rogues in scavenged leather sat atop rusted water tankers, their muscles tensed for the coming impact. Nulls in grey rags kept a rhythmic, heavy pace alongside defected Highbloods whose torn silk robes were stained with salt-sweat. They carried lengths of rebar and Barzil-scrap weapons that hummed with an unstable, electronic heat. I stood in the gunner’s hatch of the lead command vehicle—a heavy, six-wheeled crawler. The vibration of the engine traveled t