You push your head up to the bizarre object, sniffing. The outside seems to be made of burning metal, its very aura unnerving you, but the inside is made of colder metal, and you gently press your nose against it, smelling it. It smells ever so faintly of blood, and...


Suddenly, the device snaps shut, slicing through your nose as you scream out in pain, collapsing back. The object traps your face in its burning saws, sending waves of burning pain through you. Blood pours down your snout as you scream, the tip of your nose messily hacked off, beginning to burn. You yank your face back, breaking free of the device and spraying the area with a light mist of blood as you find yourself collapsing to the ground, darkness hitting you in waves which contrast with the waves of burning pain, as you're left lying there, your body breaking and burning with pain once again.


You don't know whether it's hours, minutes or seconds later, but soon, you find sanity once again. You slowly take breath through your lips, which are torn up, cut and bleeding, your upper lip barely hanging on. Thankfully, the healing factor of the werewolves has left your upper lip scabbing up in a mismatched mess of colors. You nose is heavily damaged, smell somewhat obscured in your left nostril from the dried blood and pus clogging it. You scratch at it, a thin stream of warm blood running down your face. You groan, before finding the strength left in you.


Knowing that it's too late for you to just lay down and die, you take a deep breath, focusing your remaining strength of what you can find inside you. You roll to your knees, resting a hand against the cold earth as you relax your tired muscles, looking around the room. 


The room must've been a mineshaft intersection at one point. It's been rigged up with lights and electricity, with a large desk stacked with television screens in the corner of the room. You peer over at them, watching the various scenes of the forest. It must be another bunch of cameras connected to the screens.


Your eyes flicker to the hung up "meat" ahead of you, hanging from the ceiling, as you begin to feel sick. The mutilated, bleeding corpses of Hans Hirsch, Russel Sloane and Father Charles Féval hang from the ceiling, blood dripping down and pooling underneath them. Russel Sloane's been hacked apart, his face a crushed mess, his body missing dozens of chunks of flesh all over him from the pickings the werewolves chewed off him. Hans Hirsh is even less so, his upper body entirely missing, only a pair of legs in gray trousers with black, polished boots. You recognize him from his boots, and his boots alone.


Father Féval's body still bares the marks of your shotgun blast, his chest blown apart, ribs hanging down to the ground. He's the most intact corpse there, yet the most gruesome. His face is stuck forever in an expression of fear and pain, his eyes dead and hollow, completely lifeless. You reach for your knife to cut them down, sighing as you realize its not there, and you're several outfits from the one you dressed yourself in this morning. Hell, maybe you should leave them up there anyway. At least the rats won't get there.


You feel a pang of hunger, and draw your eyes away from your comrades. You won't disgrace them like that.


Scanning the room, you find yourself staring at the table propped up against the wall, stacked with various items. Cellphones, guns, knives, ammo, equipment and an assortment of other items. 


At the 


Then, there's the tunnel. A long, dark cavern going in the other direction that you've went down. The howls you heard came from down there. That's where the wolves are. That's where you'll need to go to finish this.


You look down at the map ahead of you, a sprawled out blueprints of the mine. Scanning it quickly, your old eyes take in the information you need. Though you're weak in Norway, you manage to make out the notes sprawled across the page. There's a dozen designations across the various areas in the mine. Judging by where you came in, you're in the "Security Room". There's also the "Sleeping Chambers", "(HUMAN) Sleeping Chambers", "Feeding Area", and...


You pause, tapping your finger. The "Mine Equipment Storage Area (Armory)". Given the impressive arsenal of explosives that was at the scout house, there'd be even more explosives there at the armory. Enough to take down a mine. If there's even a fraction more explosives there, there might be enough to collapse the mine on itself and to kill all the beasts that prowl these mines. Perhaps you might find some use there. It's as good a place to start as any, given you won't be able to take down the horde with firearms alone. 


You turn your head, hearing a low growl nearby, only to find yourself staring at the blank stone walls. You squint your eyes, making out murals among them. Blood red images crudely painted, depicting fearsome creatures and other scenes. Interesting.

You gather up the gear you need and take down the pack

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 hide and let them pass

You find a hiding spot along the mineshaft, a collapsing crook in the wall that you can clamber down into the hole. You tighten your body, moving into the cramped place and dusting dirt across onto you, to cover yourself up. You begin waiting, as the growls grow closer and closer.


Soon, the werewolves appear, prowling along the dirt path. They creep forward, heads low as they sniff the air, slowly stumbling 


The lead wolf stops, nose flickering as its ears perk up. It sniffs the air, its head turning as its bright eyes zero in on you. It growls, as you realize it's caught your scent.


Lying on your back, undefended and incapable of fighting, the werewolves tear you apart before you can even reach for your weapon.