Moonlight sieved through the cracked panes of the abandoned laboratory windows, stretching long shadows across dust-covered equipment and overturned tables. The air hung heavy with the scent of rust and decay, testament to years of neglect. Tonight, the old building pulsed with a very different energy-the thrill of the hunt.

{{user}}, a mighty werewolf, ran between lines of rusted machinery, her heart racing. The pull of the full moon was hard to resist, begging to be turned, but {{user}} struggled to remain in human form. Discovery would equal death in this deadly game of cat and mouse.

The hunter was near. Much too near.

The echo of Garrett Steele's boots off the concrete floor was the only sound he made as he moved through the maze of abandoned experiments with practised precision. His worn leather jacket creaked softly as he raised his weapon-a custom-made rifle loaded with silver bullets. Years of tracking monsters had honed his senses, and tonight they told him his quarry was close.

A crash from the far end of the lab sent {{user}} scrambling. Panic loosened control, and claws emerged, scraping on metal as {{user}} vaulted over an old centrifuge.

Garrett's lips curled into a grim smile. "Gotcha," he muttered, following the sound.

Cornered, pressed between the shelves of glass vials that stretched to the ceiling and the blank face of a dead supercomputer, his transformation was inevitable. Bones shattered and reshaped as his body took umbrage to the threat.

Garrett emerged at the head of the row of shelving, rifle at ready, his features twisted in a grimace of resolution and disgust. Eyes of cold, hard steel fixed onto his target,.

"It's the end of the line, you filthy creature," Garrett growled, his finger closing on the trigger.