153 So who's the trash?

During the conversation between Ian and Greg, ten shifters who came along with Mr. Winterbourne had time to scatter around the hall, inspecting and assessing the situation. Gregory stood alone in the center surrounded by several mechanisms covered with white protective material. Tony stood a few meters back. He folded his arms on the chest and closely watched a man whom he once knew as a completely different person.

Opposite, about ten paces, was Lana's position. She stood unmoving, as if frozen, only looking at Greg as if nothing in this room existed except him. But inside the girl struggled to control herself and not to intervene, as Greg asked her. Although her eyes had already transformed and burned with a blue flame.

Maddy and Marina watched the conversation from a small balcony almost near the ceiling on the left side of the hall.

Ian's order sounded like the sound of a shot, all ten shifters simultaneously rushed forward. But Greg did not even move, his face remained calm in spite of a dozen shifters racing towards him, transforming on the run. Lana clenched her fists, fighting with the desire to hurry to the rescue, to protect her lover. The heart pounded in the ears, so loud as if it was about to break the eardrums.

Greg only smiled slowly, lazily, seeing as only one leap remained between him and the attackers. His fingers found a device hidden in a sleeve and pressed the necessary button. The floor, or rather the circular platform, on which he stood immediately raised from the ground only five centimeters up. And the next moment, the shifters have been blown away by an invisible force all at once, they flew a few meters back crashing down. The three who were in the back with Mr. Winterbourne slammed into the wall and tumbled to the ground in a heap. The rest were scattered like rag dolls.

Greg pressed another button, and the werewolves instantly began to squirm on the floor, howling and trying to plug their ears with clawed paws.

"Bastard!" -Snarled Mr. Winterbourne, throwing away one of his guys, who fell on him after a collision with a wall. The man was disheveled and extremely enraged. His always neatly combed white hair now stuck in all directions, making him look like a hideous Barby doll. And his cold, unemotional face began to transform. Long fangs protruded from under the thin upper lip, and his eyes blazed like a blue flame.

Ian stood up and wanted to take a step forward, but Greg raised his right hand in warning, showing a small control panel in it.

"Cool, isn't it ?!" - He asked with a grin. - "This baby under my feet can create both shock and sound waves. At different frequencies. Even those that the human ear does not catch. So for us, it is harmless. But you guys are not humans? Oops! How inconvenient it turned out. I hope you will not provoke me to use it again? This baby can bang you on the walls all night long!"

Ian issued a guttural growl but still did not move. His eyes reflected the whole myriad of ways using which he was ready to kill Greg right now.

"You think you won, but you have no idea who you are messing with, boy." - He drawled, drilling Greg with his eyes.

" I invited you here not to fight or win, but to talk." - Greg replied calmly. - "You're still the father of Lana, albeit a shitty one, but... I am feeling generous today. Therefore, I want to give you one last chance to solve everything peacefully. Plus, one day you saved my friend's life. I have always valued my friends, and I consider their debts as my own."

He added, nodding toward Tony. The guy stood silently peering into the face of Mr. Winterbourne, but hearing the words of Greg stepped forward.

"To be honest, I still can not believe that it is you." - with a sigh stated Tony. - "On the outside, you have not changed a bit. Only the hair became longer. But internally ... Were you always so rotten, Ian?"

Mr. Winterbourne turned his gaze to the guy. His eyes instantly grew cold.

"You sure, you have the right to talk to me about rotting, Anthony? Your father, your brothers, your uncle. Your whole disgusting family was a trash diggers. They killed for profit, tortured and terrorized ordinary people. Spread drugs and weapons on the streets. Everything that I do is to protect my kind. There are casualties in every war. And I'm ready to take on myself the death of a handful of people if it means salvation for thousands. Feel the difference? Your father was willing to sacrifice a thousand, only to live himself comfortably! So who's the trash?"

Every word of Ian was like acid on just a healed wound. Tony paled and clenched his fists.

"I'm not my father!" - He growled back. - "Yes, you did not fall to his level, but you didn't crawl too far from him either. In any case, my father would never use his own children as cannon fodder. If I had a sister, he would not send her as a slave in exchange for a service to some psycho. For him, his family and children were paramount. And for us, he sold his soul. Your kind, pack? What kind of horse shit are you talking about? These are just pretty words. You actually don't care at all about anyone. You just amuse your vanity by playing with people's lives. That's it! So who's the trash, Ian?"

Ian gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. His hands began to transform, his nails lengthened, turning into long, sharp claws.

"You, miserable,little trout sniffers, you are blind and ignorant! What can you, humans, possibly understand? And I do not have time to chew everything for you. You either give up and go with me of free will now. Or we will take you by force. And then you will not like the result. Your choice!"

"Go f*ck yourself, Daddy!" - Greg spat.

At the same moment, Ian leaped from his place. Greg instantly pressed the shock wave button. But the shifter, without stopping, grabbed one of his assistants from the floor and threw him in the direction of Greg, as if the guy didn't weight anything. The body of the unfortunate guy took the blow from shock wave still in the air. And in a next second Ian dived under it, slipped through and continuing to push forward.

Greg, not expecting this, lost precious seconds. He pressed the button again, but it was too late. Ian hit a man at full speed, throwing him in the direction of the shelves behind. The guy crashed into a small glass cabinet, breaking the racks and their contents. But it was not enough for Ian. He did not even let Greg fall, leaning on top. Gregory only managed to raise his hands to cover his face. Paw with long claws slashed across, hitting the shoulder and arm. The second one pierced Greg's cloth from the side. Ian waited to feel the familiar feeling when the claws penetrate the flesh, but it never came. They just scraped over as slipping on something unpenetrable.

Schifter looked at his claws in astonishment, and then at the place where the huge wound on Greg's body should have appeared. Instead, in the tears of clothing could be seen a thick black fabric with a multitude of metal strips, that wasn't even chipped by the claws.

Ian was snarled, his bestial eyes full of rage. With a wild roar, he transformed his face completely and opened his mouth, preparing to sink his fangs into Greg.

At that moment, a mechanical sound came from behind, and the metal claw grabbed the shifter by the neck, jerking him away. Ian did not even have time to understand anything before slamming his face into the wall. His view darkened for a second. Only when he was able to recover and rise again, Mr. Winterbourne finally was able to see the one who attacked him.

There were two men in huge metal suits that made them look more like robots before him. They shielded Greg from Ian, treatingly aiming their weapons on the shifter.

"I'm tired of waiting for your signal, Greg." - Paul grumbled annoyed, jerking his foot. A white cloth caught on the metal bar on his leg, which he could not throw off, and now this thing irritated him to no end. Michael bent down a bit and skillfully picked it up with the mechanical claw, which he had already learned to control almost as an extension of his own hand.

"Paul, We were talking, you heard us!" - Greg replied, rising from the floor and looking at the torn suit with displeasure.

"Now the conversation is over?" - with a mock inquired the red-haired guy, directing the square machinegun on the shifters, who began to surround them.

"Yeap. I am tired of talking too!" - Greg confirmed, putting on his hands and face a protective mask and gloves made of the same black fabric with stripes, and taking two knives from his belt. As soon as he took them out of the holder, electric discharges began to wander along the dark edge of both of them.

"Time to kick some furry ass." - Came his voice full of excitement from under the mask.