I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

"Put it on the side this time, second level." Tetradore instructed from where he stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched one of the large metal storage containers slam shut with a loud bang. The Captain nodded, fitting the lock in his hand over the door, only to click it close. "Did you see the new agent they hired? Wet behind the ears and eager to prove himself." His Captain's brow pitched upward even as his arm raised in the air, gesturing the nearby crane over to retrieve the crate and hoist it onto the massive towering cargo ship at their side. A soft sound of disgruntlement reverberated in the back of the Were-King's throat, the frown upon his features surely giving away his thoughts on the shift of the Port Authority and their employees. It had taken time to get the night shift under his thumb, to pay the right people to let the right goods through and blackmail the rest to prompt them to look the other way. "I'll have Tobias stop by." He mumbled as the cellphone within his pocket rumbled. He ignored the soft laugh of pity from the Captain's lips - the man stepping away to see the rest of the shipment hoisted onto the awaiting boat.

The text was from an unknown number - though the message itself shed some light on the sender. For several years now, the quaint two bedroom apartment had sat vacant. Tetradore had hardly concerned himself with finding a renter when the money was of far less importance then the shelter it provided in the chance something disastrous befell the Ark again. But with the pack dwindling, there was little need, now, for so many empty properties. An audible sigh left his lips, the Were-King briefly considering putting off his tenant for another night as he glanced up at the dockyard ahead of him. It was, perhaps, not the best start to any tenancy. "Hey Ryan, you used to do residential HVAC right?" He inquired, calling over one of the ship's crew members.

"Um, yes sir, a few years ago..."

"Want to make some side money?" Tetradore inquired, watching as the man in front of him glanced nervously at the large cargo ship. "Don't worry, the ship won't leave without you. Ivan! I'm taking Ryan on a short drive." He called out, the Captain only offering him a half distracted wave. "See? Get in." He nodded towards the sleek black Venero sitting on the docks some feet away, the Lamborghini as commanding as the Alpha himself. The dock worker was in awe as he climbed into the sportscar beside Tetradore, the vehicle roaring to life beneath the Were-King's hands. His fingers moved swiftly across the screen of his cellphone, sending back a single word to his tenant -

Yeah.

Tetradore tossed his cellphone on the center console, his emerald eyes turning back towards the path in front of him as he eased the sports car away from the dock and back onto the paved roads of the Western part of the city. The metropolis blurred past the windows in a rush of unhindered speed - his sports cars well known by the residents in the city that lived closer towards the wharf. It wasn't long till the vehicle came to a rumbling halt in front of the one of the industrial styled apartment buildings - this one seemingly no different then the others that sprawled around the city. The Were-King emerged from the vehicle with his crew member in tow, the car beeping cheerily behind them as his thumb pressed the lock button the keyfob. The fob was deposited in his pocket, replaced with his cellphone as he climbed the stairs upward. His fingers flicked over the screen, scrolling through his messages for the number that originally contacted him for the unit - and the name associated, if there had been one. Contracts and legality had never really been of interest to Tetradore when it came to his flats. The cargo ships? Sure - if only for how to skirt those laws when he was paid to do so. But not for this. He paused in front of the condo's door, his fist rapping lightly on it before he stepped back, leaning against the indoor railing, all the while still searching for that damn name. It had been something perfectly forgettable. John? James? Steve? Fuck.