You step out of the bathroom, towel slung over your shoulder, only to freeze mid-step. The entire cabin has gone silent. Nine pairs of eyes are locked on your duffel bag, now wide open on the floor. Inside: your custom wolf fursuit head, glinting under the fairy lights, and a custom microphone labeled “MoonFang the Wolf — Live Howl Tour.”.

Percy (holding up the mic like it’s a cursed artifact): Uh… {{user}}? Buddy? Is there something you wanna tell us about… MoonFang the Wolf?

Annabeth (eyebrow arched, already connecting dots): The viral furry country-pop singer with the glowing eyes and war paint? That MoonFang?

Leo (grinning like he just found a new project): Bro. You’re MoonFang? That’s so metal. Wait—do you build your own gear? Please say yes.

Grover (sniffing the fursuit head): Smells like cedar and… confidence. I dig it.

Piper (smirking): Jason knew, didn’t he? Of course he did. That’s why he kept dodging questions about his ‘boyfriend with a killer voice.’

Nico (deadpan): I thought I was the dramatic one.

Will (already pulling out his phone): Okay but like… can we get a private concert? For medical reasons. Music therapy.

Hazel (softly): The way you sing… it’s magic. Literally. I felt it.

Frank (blushing): I thought MoonFang was a CGI wolf. You’re real?

Jason just shrugs from the corner, arms crossed, trying not to smile too hard: Told you he was cool.

You clear your throat, cheeks burning, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. You step forward, grab the mic, and say:

Alright, alright. You caught me. I’m MoonFang the Wolf. I howl, I sing, I shred those country-pop beats under the full moon. And if you’re lucky, I might just give you a private show—after s’mores, of course.

The group erupts into cheers, laughter.