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Red Blooded- Part 1
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 22:46:35 +0000 UTCIt's no mystery why Blacksad got voted for this month; hunting down a mysterious piece of government property, John Blacksad is about to see this case blow up in a way he's never seen before. Enjoy!
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It was a wet, hot night in New York City. The rain that started earlier in the evening had petered out into a persistent, stubborn drizzle, and an early summer heat had blown through to make every part of the concrete jungle feel like a sauna. A black cat with a white muzzle looked up from his work, glaring at the clattering fan in his office, as if he could will it to fix itself just by staring it down. He took a resigned breath before loosening his tie again, and looked back to the papers scattered around his desk.
John Blacksad was looking forward to the relative peace and quiet with the coming Memorial Day weekend; he was looking to get away. But first, he needed to wrap up the report of a very tedious case. He glanced at the wall clock, thinning his mouth— it was already half past midnight. Maybe he could just take some of the work with him, Commissioner Smirnov would cut him some slack…
He was snapped out of that train of thought with a frantic knock on his office door. Frowning, he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and rubbed it out on the ashtray. He opened the door, and his brow bounced. There were two figures filling his doorway; one was a small and nervous looking ermine in a fine looking suit, and the other was one of the biggest animals he had ever seen— a grey stallion with shoulders that spilled out of either side of the door frame, and judging by the taut fabric wrapped around his arms, he was packing serious muscle.
"Uhm… Good evening?" John cleared his throat, looking questioningly between the ermine and the horse looming over him, casting the cat a narrow glare.
"Mr. Blacksad?" The ermine asked. "May we come in? I am in great need of your services."
"Of course… please come in." John furrowed his brow in confusion, and gave the horse a wide berth as he entered first, squeezing through the door and scanning the room. He looked back to the ermine and gave a curt nod, and only then did the ermine step inside.
John watched this scene closely, stroking his chin. "A bodyguard?" He deduced.
"One can never be too careful these days," the ermine said, before turning to face the cat directly. "Mr. Blacksad, I'm being hunted."
"Hunted? By whom?"
The ermine opened his mouth, and then closed it again, shaking his head. "Ah! Where are my manners? I'm Dr. Isaac Solzhenitsyn." He gestured to the horse, who had folded his thickly roped arms over his broad chest. "This is Alexei. I hired him when I first noticed that I might be in danger." He took a seat opposite John's desk, after the cat gestured for him to take a seat. "As for the hunter. Alexei?"
The horse nodded gruffly, handing Blacksad a few photos. The cat flipped through them, glancing over a few slightly grainy pictures showing a wolf, hat hiding his eyes. "Tch. A wolf in a hat and coat isn't exactly a rare sight in New York. How do you know this is the same wolf?"
"It is the same wolf, I know it. He's a Pinkerton!" Dr. Isaac declared.
John sat up at that. "A Pinkerton?"
The marten nodded emphatically. "I work… well, worked for a pharmaceutical company. I left because of a… difference of moral opinion."
The cat's brow furrowed. "What sort of moral opinion?"
"Oh, dear…" the marten fretted for a moment. "Ah… Well, we had begun experimenting on people, and… I just… didn't have the stomach for it. Unfortunately, my former employers are now afraid I'm going to try and sell trade secrets."
"And reporting this to the police doesn't factor in because…?"
The marten spread his hands. "I don't have proper proof for that, yet. Only these pictures and what I know in my gut. Please, Mr. Blacksad— I can pay. If… if all this is for nought and I'm not in any danger, then I will accept that. But I need someone to look into this."
The cat took in a deep breath, drumming his fingers against his desk. "Alright. Alright, Dr. Solzhenitsyn. I'll see what I can find out. But if this turns out to be nothing, I would recommend you speak to someone."
"I'll do anything you want if you can give me some peace of mind." The marten nodded emphatically. He pulled out a scrap of paper, with an address hastily written on it. "The second you find anything, come find me here."
The cat glanced down at the address, frowning slightly. "I'll keep that in mind— now, I think that you might profit from some sleep. As would I." He stood up, gesturing towards the door. "But don't worry, Dr. Solzhenitsyn. If someone is after you, we'll know soon enough."
The following morning, John was woken up to his phone ringing in the kitchen; before he even had a chance to grab a cup of coffee, Smirnov needed him in his office, with all haste. Throwing on his clothes, the cat rushed to the police station, and was hustled into the commissioner's office by two officers, who closed the door behind the cat. John quirked his brow as he met eyes with his friend and closest ally in the police department, the long-suffering Commissioner Smirnov. The German Shepherd briefly fiddled with his glasses. "John, thank you for coming on such short notice." He gestured to the opposite corner of the office, where John only just noticed an intimidating bear, his lit cigarette illuminating his stern features. He was dressed in a smart suit, black and nondescript. He nodded gruffly at John. "Mr. Blacksad."
"You have me at a disadvantage," the cat said, holding out his hand.
"Harrison Thorne, FBI." The bear took the cat's hand, shaking it firmly.
The cat's brows bounced. "FBI? Will wonders never cease." He looked over to Smirnov. "I'm not about to disappear, am I Smirnov?"
"No! No," the dog shook his head emphatically. "John, Agent Thorne wants your help on a case. Theft of government property."
"Why me, specifically?"
The bear stepped forward, arms folded behind his back. "Mr. Blacksad, ever since you ran afoul of Senator Gallo, we've had our eye on you in DC. You do exceptional work."
"That's what every taxpayer wants to hear, the FBI has their eye on them," John muttered. "Especially after upsetting a Senator."
The bear smirked tightly. "Well. The top brass may not be happy with you, but I like what I've seen. You've got experience dealing with government information that might be leaked to the Russians."
"Oh dear," John huffed flatly.
"It's like this, Mr. Blacksad," Thorne continued. "There is an experimental serum we've been developing for the military. Its codename, Red Blooded, has been kept under wraps for years. We were just about to start testing on volunteers when half our samples went missing."
"What does this Red Blooded serum do?"
Thorne waved his hand dismissively. "Most of that is proprietary. But it is being developed to help our boys in the armed forces. Increased strength, endurance, health. There's still a few kinks to work out."
The cat frowned deeply, turning to face the bear. "Would the name Isaac Solzhenitsyn mean anything to you, Agent Thorne?"
The bear furrowed his brow, shaking his head. "I don't know anyone by that name. Why do you ask?"
John thinned his mouth, with only a brief, perfunctory glance back towards Smirnov. He was a bit gun shy around Feds. "A name I read in the paper, suspected Soviet Agent, I think. Given the circumstances, I thought I'd give it a shot."
The bear studied the cat for a moment, then nodded. "I have an agent in the field already, my partner, Jim Farkas, but I want someone who knows New York personally. He'll be in tomorrow to tell you what we've learned so far, but before we moved any further, I wanted to make sure we could count on you, Mr. Blacksad."
John cleared his throat. "With no offense meant, Agent Thorne, I would consider it an unwise move to tell the FBI they couldn't count on me."
Thorne's tight smirk curled with a brief flitter of irritation. "Will you take the case, Mr. Blacksad?"
"Yes, Agent. I'll see what I can do," the cat said in as straightforward a manner as he could muster.
The bear nodded curtly, then turned to Smirnov. "John." Then he turned to leave.
Once the bear was gone, the german shepherd let out a deep sigh. "Alright, what aren't you telling the FBI Agent, and why would you think it's a good idea to do that?"
"I was approached last night by a pretty nervous marten— he said he was working for a pharmaceutical company and he disagreed over a moral quandary," the cat began. "He believes he's being trailed by a Pinkerton— or at least, that's what he told me."
Smirnov sat up at that. "And you think this isn't a coincidence."
"I don't want to call down the wrath of the FBI on an innocent bystander if I'm not correct— but I don't want to scare this man off if I'm wrong. I'll do some digging, and let you and Thorne know tomorrow if it leads to anything."
"Alright. Be careful, John," the dog said.
The cat smirked. "When have I ever done anything else, Smirnov?"
"How much time do you have?"
"Ha-ha," the cat waved the commissioner off. "I'll be in touch."
Blacksad stopped by his office to take care of a bit of paperwork, and made a call in to the "What's News?" office.
"Yes, hello Patrice, this is John Blacksad. I don't suppose Weekly is in? Right… no, I figured. When he does show up, can you let him know I have a request? I need him to look into a name, Isaac Solzhenitsyn. Uh-huh." He fished for the scrap of paper the marten had given him. "Let him know, if I'm not at the office, check for me at… 545 Sixty Sixth Street. Yeah, thanks Patrice."
John hung up the phone, massaging his forehead. He felt like he needed a walk, so he could figure out what to do. If he were a betting man, these two cases weren't just a coincidence. But if Solzhenitsyn— or whatever his name was— was really stealing government property, what was his angle? Why try to get his help? Maybe nerves? But then, if someone was stealing from the Pentagon, that was hardly for the faint of heart. And was there really any moral quandary, or was he out trying to sell whatever this miracle serum was to someone like the Soviets?
Wrestling with a dozen or so questions carried John out to the street. He realized he had drifted a few city blocks north of where he wanted to go and was about to turn around, when something caught his eye. He was standing next to a boxing gym, and a large figure struck him as instantly familiar— the horse, Alexei.
Slipping inside, John approached the stallion. He was dressed down to a tanktop and shorts, and the cat nearly balked at the sight of him— he had never seen musculature quite like this. Alexei's body was thickly roped with powerful burls of brawn, with a wide, tank-like torso, a chest deep enough to lose a hand in, and arms nearly as thick as John's waist. The horse was seated on a bench, hunched over, those massive arms resting on legs like tree trunks. He seemed to be brooding, brow heavy and knitted with a simmering anger.
"Alexei?" the cat cleared his throat.
"Huh?" the horse looked up, brows bouncing with recognition. "Oh. It's you, the detective." He stood to his full height, cracking his thick neck. "Sorry. The doctor's not here."
"I'm surprised you are, then. Aren't you his bodyguard?"
Alexei scoffed. "Was. He dismissed me this morning, just like that. Figures, after what he…" the horse trailed off, then looked at the cat and scowled. "Nevermind."
"What?" John asked.
"You ain't no cop, I don't have to tell you anything," the horse said. "Piss off. You got the Doc's address."
John stroked his chin for a moment, as the horse fell back to brooding. "Why are you just sitting here, then?"
Alexei scoffed. "I come here to blow off steam. Now, none of these pansies will get in the ring with me— they think I'm some kinda circus freak." He looked down at his body, his thickly fortified muscles tensing at the slightest provocation. "Guess I am, now."
Before he spoke, John hesitated. Did he really know what he was getting into? He had to try— besides, he had an idea of how to knock this Goliath down. "I'll spar with you."
Alexei snapped his head back up to meet John's. "You'll what, now?"
"I'll spar with you. I've had a bit of experience— I served in the war. Operation Market Garden, my unit was called up after D-Day."
The horse nodded. "Alright, detective. If you're sure."
"We'll make it interesting. I win, you answer me a few questions— the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth."
Alexei paused. He studied John, clearly sizing him up. "Alright. Alright, but if I win… I'll need some money. I just got out of a job, thanks to the Doc."
John nodded curtly. "A hundred dollars."
The horse's eye bulged. "A hundred bucks? You got that on you, PI?"
"Not on me, but I'm good for it." Or rather, Agent Thorne would be good for it. A hundred dollars had to be in the FBI's budget, or what was his tax dollars going towards?
The horse held out his hand. "You better be, detective. I know where you work, now."
Blacksad grinned, though his mouth twisted as Alexei gripped him with an iron vice. "Trust me. I'm good for it."
The horse led the cat into the main sparring ring. He leapt over the ropes, and landed hard enough he seemed in danger of buckling the ring's foundation. Shrugging out of his suit down to his undershirt, John followed suit. The horse snorted, pumping his gloved fists together. "You sure about this, PI? Last chance to walk out."
John grit his teeth. One hit by those piledriver arms, and he'd be flat on his face. But if his guess was right, he might not have to worry about getting hit. Alexei lumbered forward with a heavy right hook, but the cat leapt out of the way easily. He shot back with a sharp jab in the horse's hefty flank, but it hardly mattered as the horse barely grunted. He leapt back as Alexei struck again, and when he struck against the horse's thick brick wall of an abdomen, he felt like it hurt him more than it hurt Alexei.
As he dodged another right hook that rushed by him like a train rushing by, John studied Alexei as best he could— he clearly favored big, heavy hits, and hardly used his left arm at all to hit. There was also a slight imbalance in his gait— he leaned on his left. He struck to the left of Alexei's torso, and that got more of a response. The huge horse sucked in his teeth, wincing in pain, and John grinned tightly. He struck again, and Alexei snarled with pain. When John ducked in for a third strike, however, Alexei curled back his massive arm and slammed into the cat with all his might. John's feet left the ground, and he hit the ring floor hard.
Alexei stomped forward, and in his dazed state, John could see the horse's long shadow fall over him, and his ear twitched as he heard the horse counting down to ten, probably savoring the thought of his hundred dollars. The cat tried to will himself up, but it took him three tries, and just under three seconds, to pull himself back up.
Alexei canted his head. "You sure you want more punishment, PI?"
John's mouth twisted as a coppery taste hit his tongue, and he spat out a bit of blood. "I didn't hear a bell."
The horse shrugged. "Alright." He went in for another strike, but John just dodged it. He was protecting his left flank, but it was John's only chance. The cat braved Alexei's powerful right hook, and then struck with another sharp jab to the side. Alexei reeled, and swung wildly— he only needed one more hit to put John down. But then, John only needed one more strike as well. John, however, was faster, able to dodge the horse's wild swings. With one more hard strike, Alexei let out a pained gasp, staggering to the side. He grit his teeth, holding his side. "Augh… Damn it…"
John held up his fists, still bouncing on his heels. "I can keep this up all day, Alexei."
The horse grimaced. "Alright— alright, I give. Figures, an easy hundred bucks was too good to be true."
The cat pulled his glove off, and offered a hand. "Come on. I'll buy you a smoke, at least."
A little later, John and Alexei were leaning against the back wall of the gym, the cat offering his lighter to the horse.
"Alright, fair's fair," the horse sighed, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "You got questions?"
John nodded. "I'll start with the obvious one— Dr. Solzhenitsyn isn't who he appears to be, is he?"
The horse hesitated, then shook his head. "No. He never told me his real name, but… I heard Dimitrov once."
John frowned. "I see. And… you're still getting used to this, aren't you?" He gestured to Alexei's body. "Your, uh. Your musculature."
The horse looked to him sharply, then nodded.
"When did you change?" the cat asked.
Alexei stared off into the distance. "Only a few days. The doc said he had something that could help… before this, I… I couldn't do much. War wounds. He stuck me with something and then I turned into… this." He held out his thickly roped arms. "I liked it, at first. But with him giving me my marching orders, there's not a lot of room in the job market for a circus freak."
The cat's mouth thinned. "Do you know what he stuck you with?"
The horse shook his head. "I don't know. It was something he said would help, and… it did. He tried it again, but it didn't have an effect." Alexei glanced down. "I think he was just looking for a test subject. That second test was a day before he fired me."
"Is that address he gave me worth anything?" John said.
The horse shrugged his broad shoulders. "It… should be, yeah. Unless he's moved house."
The cat frowned; he couldn't afford to waste any time. "Alexei— do you come to this gym often? I might have some follow up questions." He held out his hand again. "I'd also like to see you get back on your feet. You've been a big help."
Alexei glanced down, and smiled softly. He took John's hand, much more gently than before. "Sure, detective. You can find me here almost every day."
The cat noded. "Take care, but I've got to run now."
John rushed back into his clothes, and then hailed a cab to take him to Sixty Sixth Street. By the time he reached the address, the sun was dipping beyond the horizon, night slipping over the city. The building looked empty; an old tenement building atop a storefront that was already closed for the day. The front door was locked, with an iron grate in front of it. No one answered his pounding knocks, leaving the cat to swear under his breath. Running his hand over his head, he looked around then slipped into the back alley, hoping the back door would be easier to get into.
When he slipped into the alley, however, he spotted a grisly sight. Slumped against the wall was a bloodied body, a wolf with his head slumped against his chest.
"Shit." John hissed under his breath as he rushed to the wolf's side. He reached for the wolf's coat, and saw the metallic glint of a badge— his heart sank as he could already guess it was an FBI badge. "Agent Farkas…"
While he was hunched over the wolf, he felt a sharp prick in his arm. "Gah!" He leapt to his feet and swiveled around, coming face to face with Dr. Solzhenitsyn.
"Isaac!"
"Detective," the marten smirked broadly, nodding his head. There was an empty syringe in his hand, and John felt his heart skip a beat. "So glad you could make it out here."
The cat's ears flicked as the marten's voice shifted into a distinct, Russian accent. "...Or should I say Dimitrov?"
The marten chuckled darkly. "Good! Good. You are a perceptive detective— Viktor Dimitrov, KGB, at your service." He gave John a little bow.
John hissed, gritting his teeth as he gripped his arm. His head was starting to swim. "What… what did you stick me with?"
"Oh, I think you can guess— but I will be more forthcoming than Agent Harrison Thorne was, I imagine. Your American government has been developing a serum to make your soldiers stronger— far stronger. It would be a dangerous precedent, and the Union could not allow that."
The cat's heart was pounding in his chest he thought it might burst, he doubled over as an intense, burning sensation pulsed all throughout his body. "Wh-wh-why…" he wheezed, driven down on one knee. "Why're you telling me all this?"
Dimitrov's smirk curled further. "Because you knowing the truth won't help you now. And I have been lonely in New York— all the really interesting people are out West, I suppose. It is much so the same case in Moscow— all the good conversation floated over to Leningrad." The marten began circling the cat. "From what I saw on my erstwhile bodyguard, you will first develop a pounding headache— with a minor chance of major cardiac arrest. I hope you do not have a history of heart problems in your family, for your sake— and for mine. I like watching this part."
John's claws were scraping alongside the pavement as he felt his body tense up. He let out a pained, strangled yowl as he felt every limb lock up and tremble.
"Don't worry. This is the hard part." Dimitrov paused for a moment, and then his smile widened into a cheshire cat like grin. "Ah! you are to be congratulated. You're going to pull through, detective. And on four doses as well."
John jerked his head up. Four?
He barely had time to brace himself as he let out an adrenaline fuelled roar— he felt like his body would burst apart, but instead, it merely kept growing, like a controlled burn— the stitches on his shirt and jacket began to burst as he felt his chest expand. Buttons popped off like bullets as thick, dense brawn pushed its way onto his frame. He pulled himself onto his legs as his pants ripped to shreds, thigh muscles tough and dense as over-inflated tires rolling out. Arms billowed with immense strength, and John's eyes boggled as he saw thick, fat veins poking through his fur, glowing a nuclear red as they snaked across expanding, inflated spheres of beef that were now his biceps.
The cat staggered to his full height, desperate to scrape off whatever constricting piece of cloth was left on him as his body continued to expand. His chest jutted out like an advancing army, the pectoral muscle and flared out shoulder muscles, rising up like mountains, eating away at the dense pillar of a neck he now sported. He glanced over to Dimitrov with wide eyes as the marten drank in the sight of him greedily, licking his lips.
"You are coming along nicely, detective… simply magnificent."
John lunged forward for him, but he felt his anvil-like triceps scrape against the increasingly narrow walls of the alley. His back unfurled like a massive banner, filling all the space between him and the two buildings. He could even hear brick starting to scrap and crack under the pressure.
"I would love to run some tests… I can only imagine what strength lies in a body like this." Dimitrov began. But then both of them caught the sound of sirens, red and blue light flashing across the walls. "But that is my cue. Do not worry, detective. I will be in touch."
Barely able to keep cognizant, his vision swimming as every time he moved, some new bulge of muscle rushed up in the corner of his eye, John snarled as he reached for the marten, but he was too fast. He scampered up the building fire escape and was gone. The alley filled with the sounds of footsteps.
"Freeze! Hands in the air!"
John whipped his head down, and as the police officers filling the alleyway got a good look at him, their mouths fell open.
"Wait! Wait, hold on!" A weasel was wriggling his way past the officer. "I know I heard Mr. Blacksad scream just now, I…" John gulped as he spotted Weekly, still unable to string words together from the shock of his transformation.
The weasel stopped dead in his tracks, staring up at the cat, mouth agape. "...Blacksad? Mother of God, what happened to you?"
"...And what have you done, John?"
The cat looked back to see Smirnov at the head of the police line, hand clamped over his mouth as he saw beyond the hulking feline, and the bloodied, battered wolf slumped in the corner of the alley.
"I…" John gaped for breath, feeling the weight and mass of his new body. "I can… I can ex'lain…" his mouth slurred, the words still not coming to him.
The german shepherd grit his teeth, closed his eyes for a moment, then trained his pistol on the cat. "John Blacksad— you're under arrest for suspected murder. Arms in the air— I'm taking you in for questioning."
