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In Hiding

Frantic, you look for a hiding place. Knowing that you cannot outrun your assailants, you duck behind a water fountain and force yourself to remain still and quiet. Unfortunately, you fail to consider a fundamental difference between human beings and werewolves: namely, sensitivity to smell.

Jason and the other boy are upon you before you know it, and Jason strikes first. You struggle to remain conscious as you feel your shoulder torn open. Then, to your bewilderment, everything stops.

"Nice going, Jason!" says the slower werewolf.

"Thanks, Patrick," replies the other. "You get the next one." The two monsters give one another five. Or maybe four. You do not think to count their fingers until afterward.

"Is that all?" you sputter, exasperated that you may have been scared half to death just for kicks.

"Well, we're not going to kill you," snickers Patrick, as his face shortens back to its earlier form. "That would not benefit the collective." He snickers again, and Jason joins him.

"What the deuce is going on?" you demand, sounding British for no apparent reason.

Patrick keeps laughing, but Jason calms down enough to tell you. "Here in Ulverton, we make a sport of initiating the newcomers. There just aren't many newcomers, so we get really feral when we smell one. Whoever draws first blood wins bragging rights and thereafter acts as a mentor to his victim. So I own you now. No, just kidding. Feel anything yet?"

While unable to process all of that information without some time to yourself, you do notice a tingliing sensation in your arms and legs. You also feel a sudden urge to be with your old girlfriend from high school. Basically, every hormone in your body is waking up and turning somersaults, so you barely flinch when your hands blossom with downy taupe fur.


Written by Joey Liverwurst

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