The rhythmic thud of sneakers on treadmills provided a dull backdrop to Sheryl and Karen’s leg day at Planet Fitness. It was 6:30 AM, and the gym was sparsely populated, but the air felt thick with the news that had just broken across Bayou Mounds.

  “So, there was another murder last night. Did you hear?” Sheryl asked, her voice low as she prepared for a set of squats.

  “Another zookeeper, right?” Karen said, wiping sweat from her brow.

  “Exactly. Second day in a row. A neighbor heard a scream and heavy thudding and called 911 immediately. They found the victim, Paula, tied to a chair in her own basement. Her face was… unrecognizable.” Sheryl paused, her jaw tightening. “They were close friends. It’s too specific to be random. This is grounds for werewolf activity.”

  “Indeed it is, girl,” Karen agreed. “Any word on the analysis Dr. Marsh is running on that torn clothing from Gloria Martin’s place?”

  “We should have an answer today. Derek and Olivia went behind the red tape for that sample—you know we do our own thing,” Sheryl said with a grim smile. “But I think the werewolf from the party is the same one hitting the zookeepers. I have a name: Kimberly Watson. She was the one bitten by a wolf at the zoo right before all this started.”

  “So the virus jumped species?” Karen asked, her eyes wide.

  “Yes. She isn't a full-blown pure species like me. She’s something else—closer to what Derek has become, but fueled by a different source. She’s a hybrid, and that makes her just as dangerous. I gave her name to Detective Hale. Now, we just wait.”

  The two cousins finished their session with a grueling two-minute plank before heading to the showers, the calm before the inevitable storm.

  At noon, the team gathered in Dr. Marsh’s lab. The air smelled of ozone and sterile chemicals. Marsh stood before the Next-Generation DNA Sequencer, his face illuminated by the flickering blue data on the monitor.

  “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, the moment of truth,” Dr. Marsh began, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had seen too many monsters. “We have an interesting case here—fascinating, but not surprising given the volatile nature of Project Death Claw.”

  He gestured to a complex genetic map scrolling across the screen.

  “The process I used was a deep-cell extraction from the shredded fibers. My analysis confirms that this subject is not a pure-strain Lycan. However, the digitigrade bone density markers and the hyper-muscular protein codes show an undeniable link to the Death Claw lineage. But here is the biological deviation: the DNA sequence shows a massive Zoonotic Drift. This wasn't a lab-to-human infection.”

  Marsh leaned in, pointing to a specific protein bridge. “This strain mutated inside a canine host—the wolf, Bo—and was then transmitted back to a human through a direct bite. This created a 'Gray Wolf' variant. It has the predatory instincts of a wild animal but the tactical spite of a human. It’s female, high-functioning, and currently in a state of rapid cellular bonding. The sequencer is clear, Sheryl. The genetic signature is a 99.8% match to the medical profile from the zoo incident.”

  “It’s Kimberly,” Sheryl said, her voice flat.

  “We can’t be certain for a court of law,” Olivia cautioned, the detective in her pushing back. “After the LLETS search, Derek and I decided to approach her at the zoo. We don’t have enough for a warrant yet, but we have enough to ask questions.”

  “When are you going?” Sheryl asked.

  “Around seven tonight,” Derek said, checking his watch.

  “Good. Pick me up,” Sheryl replied, her eyes flashing with a familiar golden hue. “I’m going too.”

  On the other side of town at the Bayou Mounds Zoo, the air was thick with the suffocating weight of mourning. For the second time in forty-eight hours, the staff had been called together to hear the impossible: another of their own was gone.

  “I just don’t get it,” Kellen Harris muttered, his voice hollow. “They were good people. No enemies, no drama outside of work—nothing.”

  “Do you think they’re connected?” Mark Gillis, a member of the maintenance crew, asked as he leaned against a supply crate.

  “I don’t know,” Kellen replied, rubbing his face with trembling hands. “The fact that it happened one day after the other... It’s got me wondering.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Listen, man,” Mark said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Take some time off. I know you were close with Josh and Paula. You need time to process this.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Kellen sighed. “I’ve got vacation time I need to burn anyway.”

  “See you around, Kellen. Be safe.”

  While the rest of the staff moved like ghosts, Kimberly Watson moved with a newfound, terrifying efficiency. She went about her daily duties as if the deaths of her colleagues were nothing more than a minor scheduling conflict. There was no grief in her eyes, only a flat, cold politeness when she offered condolences. Since bonding with the Gray Wolf strain, her attendance had reached a level of perfection that caught Kellen’s eye as they crossed paths in the hallway after lunch.

  “Hey, Kim. You doing okay?” Kellen asked, pausing.

  “I’m doing great, sir. Better than ever,” Kimberly said, her voice ringing with a confidence Kellen had never heard before.

  “You sure? With everything going on, you seem... upbeat.”

  “You have to be,” Kimberly countered, her smile not quite reaching her solid blue eyes. “I’d drive myself insane if I constantly worried about what went down the last two days.”

  Kellen blinked, taken aback by her bluntness. “That’s... good to know. Look, I’ve noticed your work ethic has skyrocketed lately. You keep this up, that raise will be yours in no time.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, sir,” Kimberly said, her tone almost dismissive as she walked away.

  At 7:00 PM, the sun was dipping below the horizon as the shift change occurred. Kimberly walked toward her Ford Focus, but stopped dead when she saw three figures waiting for her. Derek, Sheryl, and Olivia stood like a wall of judgment in the fading light.

  “Can I help you?” Kimberly asked, her voice dropping into a low, defensive register.

  “Detective Olivia Hale, Bayou Mounds PD,” Olivia said, stepping forward. “These are my associates, Derek and Sheryl Brown. We just want to ask you a few questions. You aren't under arrest.”

  “What questions?”

  “Do you know anything about the murders at Gloria Martin’s home?” Olivia asked, her eyes locked on Kimberly’s. Kimberly remained silent, her face a mask. “What about your coworkers? Joshua Bronson? Paula Creed?”

  Suddenly, the mask broke. Tears began to stream down Kimberly’s face, but her voice wasn't weak. “Yes. It was me,” she sobbed. “I killed them all. Gloria, Mark, Sally, Leon, and Jeffery. They were my friends.”

  But as she wiped the tears away, the sobbing turned into a jagged, chilling laugh. A smile spread across her face—one of pure, unadulterated joy. “It was necessary. I had to do it. Paula and Josh... they were saying rude things behind my back and calling me worthless. Calling me deadweight. I heard it all.”

  Olivia’s hand drifted slowly to her holster. “Alright. Next question. Are you a werewolf?”

  Kimberly froze, caught off guard. “How do you know?”

  “Evidence at the scenes,” Olivia said, her voice steady. “A normal person can’t do what you did. And these two?” She gestured to Derek and Sheryl. “They’re werewolves too. Well, one is—the other is a cat. A real big cat.”

  “Alright, go ahead and arrest me,” Kimberly joked, her eyes flashing solid blue. “Where can I go?”

  As Olivia moved forward with her cuffs, the Gray Wolf took over. Kimberly lunged, grabbing Olivia by the shirt and hurling her backward against a car door.

  “Kim, stop! We can help!” Derek yelled, rushing forward.

  Kimberly didn't hesitate. She pulled her taser from her belt and jammed it into Derek’s stomach, the high-voltage arc sending him to his knees. Before she could fire again, Sheryl closed the distance, knocking the taser away and pinning Kimberly against the trunk of a car.

  “Kimberly, stop! You don't want to do this!” Sheryl commanded, her own eyes glowing with Alpha authority.

  With a guttural snarl, Kimberly broke Sheryl’s grip with unnatural strength and shoved her to the asphalt. Kimberly’s face began to deform, her nails lengthening into obsidian talons as she dropped into a predatory stance. Growling erupted throughout the parking lot as Derek and Sheryl followed suit, their bodies tensing as they entered the posture of the hunt.

  Kimberly took it another notch. For the fourth time in three days, she surrendered to the change. Her zookeeper uniform shredded into rags as the Gray Wolf emerged—a hulking, 8-foot mass of silver-gray fur and raw muscle. Across from her, Derek and Sheryl shifted into their alter egos: Savage and Death Claw.

  The battle of the apex predators began.

  Kimberly roared, lunging across the lot to seize a Ford F-150 by the bumper. She hurled the truck at Sheryl, who batted the vehicle aside with a heavy, bone-crunching strike. Kimberly then tore a light pole from the concrete, swinging it like a club at Derek. He caught the steel pipe in mid-air, wrenched it from her hands, and threw it aside as the two collided, clawing at each other's shoulders.

  Sheryl dove into the fray, breaking the hold and body-slamming Kimberly into the pavement. As the Gray Wolf struggled, Sheryl—in her Death Claw form—bit deep into the side of Kimberly’s neck. Kimberly let out a deafening roar of pain, slashing upward with her claws and gouging Sheryl’s snout.

  The Gray Wolf scrambled to her feet, but Derek speared her from behind, driving her onto the hood of a Chevy Suburban. The metal buckled and glass shattered under their combined weight.

  “Kimberly, stop!” Derek’s voice was a deep, animalistic rumble.

  The Gray Wolf ignored him, her mind completely consumed by the virus's ego. She rolled off the car and charged again. For several minutes, it was a blur of gray and black fur—a cacophony of roars and snapping jaws as the three monsters wrestled across the asphalt.

  Kimberly managed to kick Derek away and break Sheryl’s hold. As she scrambled to her feet, a series of sharp cracks echoed through the lot. Olivia, having regained consciousness, fired multiple rounds into Kimberly’s side.

  The Gray Wolf recoiled, reaching down to touch the blood slicking her fur. She stared at the red on her claws, looked at the three of them, and then retreated, vanishing into the dense wooded line behind the zoo.

  The silence that followed was heavy. Derek and Sheryl stood among the wreckage of smashed cars and torn asphalt, slowly reverting to their human forms.

  “I’ll go get the van,” Derek panted, his body smoking from the heat of the shift. “Find somewhere to hide.”

  The first major battle between the apex predators had ended, but the war for Bayou Mounds was only beginning.

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