He wasn't going to be on all fours if he could help it.
With another blast of the whistle, he was on his way.
Blurily, he saw it was some sort of protest. The guns went off, shooting down most of the protesters.
The rest started to run toward various building. The troops, including Zack, followed in hot pursuit. Already he could see one of the wolves, drooling for blood, put down his rifle and get a chokehold onto the throat of a young guy who had tried to escape up a flight of stairs.
The young guy's head was bent and ripped off - in three seconds flat.
Zack felt a rush of adrenaline. He saw a shadow, and chased it down a side corridor.
He could feel himself starting to slobber, despite his best efforts. He smelt a tender body, sweet to rip apart - no, he'd use his gun or his hands - at the very least.
"Zack," screamed a familiar voice.