The clock neared midnight as a swarm of police car lights descended upon the Sugar Mills subdivision, cutting through the heavy Bayou Mounds humidity.

  Detective Olivia Hale stepped out of her Dodge Charger, her boots crunching on glass from the shattered living room window. She was met by Officer Jerry Butler, whose face was a pale shade of grey.

  "What’s the situation?" Olivia asked, her voice steady despite the chaos.

  "It’s a slaughterhouse, Detective," Butler replied, swallowing hard. "Three dead inside. One guy had his neck completely torn out; the young lady’s throat was slit with surgical precision, and the third was gutted—stabbed or clawed through the stomach. But there’s more."

  He gestured down the dark road toward the forest line. "A few blocks down, we found a Mustang on fire in the trees. There’s a body in the street near it—face dismembered, slashed so many times he’s unrecognizable. Inside the car... we found charred remains."

  Olivia walked into the house, her eyes scanning the tactical brutality of the scene. She didn't see the work of a man or a dog. She saw the signature of a predator that moved with a strength that defied physics. The front entrance frame was twisted and shredded, as if a hurricane had tried to squeeze through the door.

  She stepped back outside to find Police Chief Charles Davis standing by the perimeter tape.

  "Assessment, Detective?" Charles asked, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

  "I know you don't want to hear this, Chief, but we have a serious problem on our hands," Olivia said, looking him dead in the eye. "It’s a wolf creature. A werewolf."

  Charles scoffed, blowing a cloud of smoke into the night air. "Oh, here we go. We debunked that myth years ago, Olivia. It’s been two years since those wild dogs disappeared."

  "They may have disappeared, but the catalyst—the reason they existed—is still here," Olivia countered. "The lab explosion. The airborne strain. It never left the soil, Charles."

  "Listen, you’re not bringing those conspiracy theories into this investigation," Davis snapped. "How do you even know it’s a monster? The killer could have had a trained German Shepherd or a Pitbull. There are too many variables to jump to fairy tales."

  "A Pitbull didn't rip a front door off its hinges and toss a Mustang fifty feet into the woods," Olivia said coldly. "But fine. We’ll do it your way for now."

  "I know you'll get to the bottom of it, Olivia. You always do," Charles said, turning away to deal with the press.

  Olivia retreated to the sanctuary of her Charger. She waited until the door was closed before dialing a familiar number.

  "Hey, battle. Where are you?" she asked when the line picked up.

  "I’m at home, what’s up?" Derek Brown’s voice was deep, already sensing the tension in her tone.

  "There’s been an attack in Sugar Mills. My colleagues are playing blind, but it was a Lycan, Derek. I'm certain."

  "Are you sure?" Derek asked, his tone shifting into his 'Savage' persona—calculated and alert.

  "The victims look like they went through a blender. One guy’s neck is practically gone. There are claw marks across a girl's throat that no blade could make. And the front of the house? It’s been torn open as a tin can."

  "The news just broke," Derek said, his voice dropping an octave. "They aren't mentioning wolves. Just 'animal attacks' and 'homicides'."

  "Delusional as usual. That’s Bayou Mounds for you," Olivia sighed.

  "You want me to come through?"

  "No, stay back for now. We’ll discuss the logistics at the command center tomorrow. But Derek? You need to find Dr. Marsh. He understands the mechanics of this virus better than anyone. Word is he moved back to the area."

  "I’ll track him down," Derek promised. "See you tomorrow."

  "Here we go again," Derek muttered to the empty room as he hung up, the quiet peace he had discussed with Sheryl only hours ago now nothing but a memory.

  The transition from predator to prey was as violent as the transformation itself. Kimberly awoke at dawn beneath the weeping boughs of a massive pine, the forest floor damp against her skin. She was naked, shivering, and disoriented, her original 245-pound frame returned as if the 8-foot-tall monster had been nothing but a fever dream. But the copper tang of blood stained her mouth, and her hair was matted with pine needles and grit.

  She tried to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead—the "Snapback" effect of the virus had drained her caloric reserves, leaving her muscles weak and her stomach growling with a hollow, aching hunger.

  A rhythmic crunching of gravel announced a pickup truck pulling over on the nearby access road. A local fisherman climbed out, his expression shifting from curiosity to alarm.

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  "Ma’am? Are you okay?"

  Kimberly flinched, trying to cover herself. "I... I can't get up."

  "It's alright, it's fine," the man said, his voice gentle. "I’ve got some extra sheets in the cab. Just stay put." He returned quickly, draping two heavy cotton sheets around her shoulders. "Do you need a ride home?"

  "Yes," Kimberly whispered, the memories of the night before—the screaming, the smell of burning rubber, the crunch of bone—flickering behind her eyes like a broken film reel. "I would appreciate that."

  The drive to the River Oaks Apartments was a blur of suburban landscapes that now felt alien. When the truck pulled up, Kimberly saw Dale standing at the upstairs window, his silhouette sharp and accusing. She stepped out of the truck, clutching the blue sheets around her like a shroud.

  As she entered the apartment, the air was already thick with his resentment.

  "Where were you?" Dale demanded before she could even close the door. "Your friends were murdered last night, Kim. Murdered."

  "I... I got totally drunk," she lied, her voice trembling. "I left before everything went down. I don't know anything."

  "So you’re drinking again?" Dale’s eyes narrowed. "And why are you naked? You expect me to believe you got 'hammered' and just wandered into the woods?"

  "I told you, I don't know why I did it," Kimberly snapped, a flash of the Gray Wolf’s irritability surfacing. "I’m the one who did it, but I don't know why."

  "Listen, cut the crap," Dale growled. "Lately, you are all over the place. You’re late for work, you can’t get in shape, you’re hopping into wolf enclosures—get it together, Kim. Before it’s too late."

  "I will," she said, ducking past him toward the shower, desperate to wash the scent of Leon’s blood off her skin before Dale’s nose caught it.

  By noon, the team had assembled at Derek’s home. The air was somber as Olivia, Sheryl, and Derek pulled up the crime scene photos on a central monitor.

  "We’re going to have to run this investigation outside of the official channels," Olivia said, her eyes tired. "Chief Davis is calling it a 'wild dog' incident, but it’s my case. We do our own thing, like always."

  "I agree," Sheryl added. "But we have to find out why it happened there. Why Gloria’s house?"

  "I say we go back tonight," Derek suggested, his Savage instincts already pulling him toward the wood line. "Look for trails the patrol officers missed."

  A chime echoed through the room as a secure video link opened on Derek’s advanced computer. The face of Dr. Carlos Marsh appeared, his clinical surroundings a sharp contrast to the scenery of Derek’s living room.

  "Good afternoon," Marsh said, his tone devoid of warmth.

  "Hey, Doc," Sheryl said.

  "So, we have another Lycanthrope case," Marsh said, leaning into the camera. His eyes weren't those of a healer; they were the eyes of a weapons specialist assessing a malfunction. "Do we have a profile on the suspect yet?"

  "Nothing yet," Derek replied. "But we’re working on it."

  "Was it a pack or an isolated event?" Marsh asked.

  "One person," Olivia confirmed. "They turned a party into a slaughterhouse. We also found a burned Mustang in the woods—two bodies there, one charred, one unrecognizable."

  Marsh’s expression shifted into something more calculating. "Listen carefully. As a bio-weapons researcher, I can tell you that if this is a new strain, the window for containment is closing. I need DNA. I need a follicular sample, saliva, or a blood smear from that Mustang. My background isn't in 'medicine'; it's in applied molecular engineering. I need to map the protein spikes in this virus to see if it’s been 'weaponized' for higher aggression."

  He paused, his voice dropping an octave. "My biggest fear isn't the bodies you've already found. It’s the survivors. If anyone escaped that house with so much as a scratch, you aren't looking at one monster—you're looking at an incubation period for a plague. Get me the evidence. The sooner the better."

  "Here we go again," Derek muttered as the screen went black.

  Later that same night, the "Snapback" lethargy had finally lifted, replaced by a cold, humming energy that vibrated beneath Kimberly’s skin. She had recovered physically, but the woman who had woken up under the pine tree was gone.

  While she stood in the upstairs bathroom brushing her teeth, the Mind of the Gray Wolf reached out. The walls of the apartment seemed to melt away as her hearing sharpened, catching the low, treacherous frequency of Dale’s voice from the living room downstairs. He was on the phone, his tone dripping with the same condescension that had defined their relationship.

  "Hey, look, man, I think I’m out," Dale said, his words echoing in her ears as if he were standing right behind her. "She has a good heart, but I can’t go on with this. She’s doing all kinds of crazy stuff. She came home this morning in nothing but blue sheets... claimed she was drunk, but I think she’s cheating on me."

  Kimberly froze. She spat the mouthwash into the sink and gripped the porcelain until it hairline fractured under her fingers. The betrayal wasn't just in his words; it was in his dismissal of her worth.

  Suddenly, the lion-like growls erupted in her mind, a thunderous approval of the rage she was feeling. Her head dropped low over the sink. Beneath her skin, the virus began to rewrite her once again. Her fingernails elongated into jagged, obsidian points. When she finally forced her eyes open and looked into the mirror, the reflection was a nightmare: her eyes were solid, glowing electric blue, her jaw was extending into a heavy, hairy snout, and razor-sharp fangs crowded her mouth.

  Downstairs, Dale hung up the phone and started up the hallway. He heard a heavy thump against the bathroom door. Then another. Before he could reach the handle, the third strike shattered the wood entirely, sending splinters flying like shrapnel.

  "Kim! What's wrong!?" Dale yelled, stumbling back.

  The figure that emerged wasn't his girlfriend. Kimberly was crouched in a digitigrade stance, her 245-pound frame already dense with the muscle of the beast. She didn't speak; she only let out a low, chest-rattling growl that vibrated the floorboards.

  Dale sprinted for the stairs, but it was like trying to outrun a hurricane. Despite her size, Kimberly launched herself from the floor, her massive weight slamming into Dale’s back and pinning him against the carpet. She didn't hesitate. She sank her fangs deep into the left side of his neck, the same spot where the wolf Bo had claimed his victims.

  "Ahh, Kim! Please... stop!" Dale’s scream ended in a wet, gurgling silence.

  Kimberly stayed there for a long moment, the passion of the kill fueling the virus’s demands. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a mask of blood. She stood over the remains of the man who had called her "deadweight" and released a bone-chilling roar that surely echoed through the River Oaks complex.

  She returned to the bathroom, staring at her deformed, blood-streaked reflection. She didn't flinch. Instead, she slowly licked the blood from her lips and let out a dark, guttural laugh.

  With the cold efficiency of a career predator, she cleaned the apartment of the physical evidence. She hauled Dale’s body into the night, disposing of the "deadweight" in the dark currents of the nearby river. As she drove back from the forest line, the dashboard lights illuminated the predator's grin.

  "My revenge tour has begun," Kimberly whispered to the empty car.

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