Well folks it's been too long, but here I am once again with yet another whacky tale of werewolves that I hope you'll all just gobble right up!

Quick warning: It's pretty Violent, and not yet finished, I'll post more as I get it done because I like the instant gratification of people reading my stuff!

EDIT: So yea, I'm an idiot and posted this in the wrong spot at first!

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    Clear skies, warm night, and a handle of cheap whiskey. It was a good night for Henry overall. Any night where he's eaten his fill and drank his thirst he'll count as a victory. Leaving the “Trump Towersâ€� as they called it. A row of abandoned factories and warehouses on the outskirts of the city. The kind that once held a neighboring suburb of copy and pasted houses they sold as quick as they were erected, a monument to America's post war prosperity. But that was all gone now. There were no more white picket fences, 2.5 kids or Joneses to keep with. Oak Street was now 13th & 7th Street, one of many in the meticulously placed grid that was this city. A street light flickered as Henry took a swig from his drink, a brown paper bag wrapped around it. The clerk behind the pane glass window never carded Henry, not that anyone could mistake him for under the limit. Fifty-eight years of bare exposure to the harsh winters of New York can age a man, as can forty years of heavy drinking, and ten years of seeing with only one eye. Whoever would call Henry a young stud was drunker than he planned to be tonight. But this wasn't the time to think of those winters, to think of the time he killed that cat to stay alive, or robbed that junkie of her EBT card. No, this was the spring of an election year, a time for celebration. A time when the Mayor, desperate for those last few points in public confidence poured what's left of the years budget into charities worth their weight in PR gold, and lucky for Henry homeless vets were a hot topic this year. And thus he swayed into the night with twenty dollars in his pocket, and promise of a free meal at one of the hastily constructed soup kitchens.
    Henry smiled to himself as he continued his drunken stagger back home, half the bottle was nearly gone and his vision was blurred, soup never did act as a good base. Not that Henry needed his one eye to tell him how to get home anyways, New York has always belonged to the rats, and Henry was indeed a rat. Half a street down from the liquor store, a cut through a few alleys and voila he'd be back at his deluxe suite at the tower, and old shipping container he'd claimed for himself years ago, and that would remain his until he either died, or they blew the damn place up.
    As he descended deeper into the alleys, the city that never sleeps began to show it's eyes drooping. Lit only by lights in distant windows, a stark contrast to the constant glow the street lights poured out, Henry continued his stagger through the alleyway, the pulsing sounds of the city growing ever more quiet the deeper he went, until his only companion was a single lit window three stories above him. Henry stopped, took a swig of his drunk and waved to whoever was sharing his journey in this night.
    “wanker probably can't even see me!â€� he slurred to himself, the handle feeling frighteningly light to him considering how far he was from the Towers. “Dammit Henry, you just never had patience did you?â€� He continued, quoting his late father may he rot in hell. Another swig blessed his throat as the light shone above him. Before he could finish his swig Henry was joined by another traveling companion, a pair of two round orange lights. Two round orange lights not fifteen feet away from him. Two round orange lights accompanied by a growl.
    “Calm down pooch!â€� Henry slurred, reaching for the rusted knife he always carried on him. It wouldn't be the first time he had fight off a dog, and he hoped this wouldn't be the last time. “Where'd you come from anyways?â€� He said approaching the dog, arms up covering his throat. “They got another dog pit running round here? gently caressing awful!â€� What stepped out was no dog, at least no dog Henry knew of. It looked like one for sure, fur, ears, tail and all. But what dog looked built like a linebacker. What dog stood up on two legs, and what gently caressing dog had fingers!
    Henry dropped his knife and his bottle, the glass shattering as it hit the pavement, whiskey fumes wafting over Henry and this...thing. He slowly began to back away, hands outstretched, his first mistake. The beast lunged at him, one paw grabbed Henry's left arm and bent. Henry tried to scream but no sound came out, through his blurred vision he could see bone jutting out from his forearm as blood splashed against the creature mocha fur. As the beast hauled him up, Henry got up close with his muzzle. The beast's face looked so....young. Henry let out a quiet moan before the beasts teeth gripped his throat, slowly digging into the skin. It reminded him of the time he gave blood, a pint for 10 bucks, he bought a nice handle of off-brand vodka with that. That was a good day! The beast dug its teeth deep, blood already oozing its fangs before it reared back, taking its first, but not last bite out of the prey once known as Henry.

    Tyler woke up at the earliest crack of dawn, his muscle screamed with soreness as he stretched out. The ground felt cold and metallic and as Tyler's fingers touched they felt moist and warm. His eyes shot open. His was naked, save for the blood. Tyler “Tyâ€� Shaw was laying naked on the fire-escape outside his bedroom window, his mocha skin caked in blood. As he stood up his stomach lurched as, like the universe decided to give him a punch in the gut. He gripped the railing and leaned over to vomit, watching his stomach bile fall onto the pavement four floors below him. “Wh....what the gently caress!â€� he muttered to himself once he was done retching. Before he could even enter full panic mode he opened his bedroom window and dove in. His cellphone by his bed read the time as 5:37 A.M. He panted as he looked down at himself. Blood, in it's sickly rust color caked nearly all of his body, Tyler held back tears.
    “Ok....ok, just, just get a hold of yourself! Wash....I gotta wash it off!â€� He thanked whatever god he didn't believe in that neither of his parents were awake as he bolted into the bathroom.
    He scrubbed for what felt like forever, slowly but surely chipping away the coat of vile paint, when the bathroom door gave it's familiar creaking sound.
    “You're up early Ty!â€� His father said with a yawn “I told you I fixed the water heater, no need for a crack of ass shower, anyways...â€� His father began brushing his teeth “Happy Birthday, breakfast is on the table, lunch in the fridge and your mother and I will see you tonight at the match.â€� He spit out his toothpaste. “Left you a present in your room!â€� Ty poked his head out of the shower curtain to look to his father.
    William Shaw was a dark haired man with broad shoulders and a large chest. The kind of man you could see being hired as a bouncer something William had done many a night during his college years.
    “I'm Polish, I'm practically obligated to be orbiting around bars until I'm at least in my 30s.â€� He would joke with his friends in grad school, and later with his students whenever Albert Camus' 'The Fall' was on the syllabus, where he would begin the class pretending to stagger in drunk, mumbling his life story to his students. It made Ty wish he could have had his dad for Junior English.
    “So you almost done in there?â€� William said to his son as he was walking out. “I gotta shower too, leave the water on!â€� The door closed behind his trailing voice. Tyler snapped awake from his deer in the headlights demeanor, stepping out of the shower. His hands were still shaking and he felt like he might vomit, but the blood was off!
    Tyler all but ignored the video game the hundred and seventeen dollars his father left on his bed for him as he got dressed. A day ago he would've been ecstatic, would've teased his dad that he's seventeen not one-hundred and seventeen, just like he had on his sixteenth birthday, but none of that mattered now. He took a deep breath as he put his shirt on, running over the mental checklist of things he had to say to his father for him to seem normal.
    Two plates adorned the table, his father sat drinking a cup of coffee. “Good, you're just in time for my World Famous... BACON AND EGGS!â€� His father shouted like an announcer, gesturing towards the two plates. Tyler faked a laugh “More like Most Wanted!â€� He cracked back, another tradition with his father “and dad I'm seventeen, not A hundred and seventeen!â€� He hoped he had dosed enough glee into those words.
    “Technically you're One-hundred seventy and seventy-eight cents, those games aren't cheap yanno?â€� His father said as Tyler picked at his food.
    “I thought Mom bought the game!â€� Tyler retorted.
    “Well regardless, they still aren't cheap! Why I tell you back in my day all I had to make do with was a rock, and I had to share it with my twenty siblings!â€�
    Tyler forced a smile, but he couldn't force himself to eat, idly picking at the breakfast with his fork.
    “Something wrong bud?â€� Tyler froze, a deer once again in the headlights.
    “No...why do you ask?â€�
    “You've barely touched your breakfast? Are you feeling sick? You wanna stay home?â€�
    “N..no, sorry I'm fine dad, coach just wants me to stay at my current weight for the match tonight, so I gotta eat light y'know?â€� It wasn't a complete lie, Tyler did fit just perfectly into the top percentile of his weight class.
    “I swear, those sadists starve you poor kids!â€� William retorted. “Come on, I'll drive you to school!â€�

    It was a short ride from their apartment to Frederick Douglas Public High School, a ride copulated by William singing along at the top of his lungs to every song that was played on Q104.3, New York's home for classic rock. Normally Tyler would join in with singing along with his dad, even if he would beg for him to play something from this millennium during any ad breaks. Today he sat silently, eyes out the window. The world allowed him seemed brighter, louder, even with his thoughts clouded by this morning he was noticing things he'd never noticed before, all the different voices, all talking at once.
    “No I heard they traded him to the Mets!â€�
    “So dinner at five?â€�
    “I mean I can't just tell my dad I dropped out last month!â€�
    Tyler shook his head, trying to quiet the world down as the car finally pulled into the teacher's parking lot.
    “Well kiddo this is our stop!â€� William said “I'll see you tonight after I pick up your mom from the hospital!â€� Tyler's mother was an ER nurse at Saint Mary's. “And Ty, I love you!â€�
    “Ye...yeah Dad, I love you too!â€�