You limp over to the table, breathing heavily. You slowly go up to the corpses of your friends, too tired and exhausted to even feel sick or disgusted. You're just a professional doing one more job, you don't have time for disgust.


You strip yourself a mismatched outfit from the corpses to at least afford you some protection from the cold, before grabbing a revolver and holstering it by your side. You grab a knife and sheath, attaching it to your belt, before looking to your shotgun. Running your hands along its familiar contours, you smile, feeling a sense of finality come over you.


"Just one more push," you say to yourself, loading the shells into the cold metal chamber. 


Your gear ready and costume on, you look to the map one more time, scanning the paths you can take to get to the equipment area. Once you're sure of the way to go, you head off through the tunnels. Marching through the mine shafts at a reasonable, you keep your shotgun raised and your ears twitching. At this point, the beast is raging again inside of you, its sense allowing you to hear ever creak through the caverns and smell every scent. Its only through focusing on the painful silver throughout your body and fighting the beast every step of the way, but exhaustion is meaning that's getting harder and harder.


Stumbling down the hallway, you hear the distant growls of a werewolf pack echoing off the walls. You flinch, as your ears perk up and you realize that the sounds are growing louder. A group of werewolves, more than one but no more than four or five, are coming. You swear under your breath, ready to fight them off.

You fall back and find another way

You turn, quickly hurrying back along the mineshaft at a light job. You try move at a reasonable speed, dealing with your exhaustion as best as you can. You struggle to remember the map's various roots to your destination, and manage to turn off where you're supposed to, heading through the halls at a light jog.


You have to move quick to avoid the prowling werewolves, but your senses mean that by time they hear you, you hear them, and you manage to move quickly to avoid the bastards. 


It takes some time, but you manage to come across the heavy wooden door to the armory, a dusty "Equipment Storage Area" sign above the door. You breathe a sigh of relief.


Your journey's nearly over now.

You fire through the door!

You raise your shotgun, aiming through the door as you try to target where a sitting man's head would be or a standing man's heart. You take a deep breath, before squeezing the trigger.


The shotgun bucks, the blast tearing through the door and carving a hole, wood breaking, cracking and splintering from the blast. You hear a grunt from inside, quickly reloading as you stare through the hole, seeing a limp man lying in a chair, blood running down his chest.


You wince as you hear the shot echoing off the wall, realizing just how loud it was. That'll no doubt draw the attention of the werewolves, so you need to act fast. You reach through the newly formed hole in the door, unlatching the door lock and opening the door. You move into the room, staring around it at the racks of equipment. Most of it is useless to you, picks, shovels and other mining tools. Most importantly, however, are your targets. Racks of C4, plastic explosives, dynamite and timed explosives are stacked haphazardly in crates in the corner, no doubt to be used for sabotage and destruction by the werewolves' servants, and the werewolves in their human forms. You smile, seeing nothing but potential there. There's definitely enough to wipe out these sons of bitches and bring this mine down on its...


A growl interrupts you from your planning, as you turn to see a group of werewolves racing down the mineshaft towards the armory, no doubt attracted by the gunshot. You swear, seeing how close they are, and that you've already damaged the door beyond repair, leaving you with little defenses against them.


"Fuck!" you snarl, seeing the werewolves quickly approach, a large, black creature with streaks of gray in its fur taking lead, as you hurry with the explosives, trying to arm them in time as you fumble with triggers. 


The werewolf claw tears through the bullet hole from the shotgun, claws tearing through splintering wood and breaking past it as it quickly carves its path through the door. It lunges through the hole, barreling on top of you as you scream, shaking desperately to get the beast off you, before it finishes you off with a weak claw strike that tears through your neck and carves open your spinal cord.