text: You sigh, pressing the number. It rings for a few second, a bright, electronic noise, before it stops.
  
  
  "Hello," a deep voice answers.
  
  
  "I'm looking for Mr Gaange. I need that favor."
  
  
  A light chuckle comes through the phone.
  
  
  "Already? My, my, someone's been having fun. What do you need?"
  
  
  "I'm here in the mineshaft just North of that fucking country house your lieutenant was holed up in. There's a werewolf pack based here, with servants helping them and large numbers. I need them wiped out."
  
  
  "Yes, that does seem like an issue. Well, it's a serious favor, but it is in my interest to deal with these whelps and mongrels either way, they'll be a threat. You do know this means you agree to serve me, don't you?"
  
  
  You pause for a moment, the room silent.
  
  
  "I do."
  
  
  "Good. Then let's get down to it."
  
  
  You tell Mr Gaange everything you know about the pack and your location, before he stops you.
  
  
  "That's enough. I have all I need. You're lucky, I have a team nearby covering what happened with my lieutenant. See if you can last another fifteen minutes, and I'll do the rest."
  
  
  "OK," you answer heavily. "OK."
  
  
  "Good. Best of luck, Mr Matasan."
  
  
  The phone line goes dead, as you slowly move to the table ahead of you, picking up your shotgun, loading it carefully. You grab Father Féval's silver crucifix, leaning against the wall and sliding down it into a sitting position. You prop the shotgun up in your hands, aiming it at the tunnel ahead of you, and wait.
  
  
  The waiting is long and hard. Blood loss and exhaustion is an issue, and you focus to stay alert now that the night's adrenaline has calmed. In addition to that, the beast within is howling and roaring, and at several points you have to harshly dig your silver crucifix into your bullet wound, the roar of burning pain and the cross' silver driving the wolf back for a while.
  
  
  Suddenly, you see a figure entering the room, clad all in black. The figure wears black combat armor with a black gas mask, an assault rifle in his hands. The figure immediately swivels his gun to aim at you, dropping to a knee.
  
  
  "Drop your weapons!" he yells, his voice muffled by his gas mask.
  > You embrace the beast within
  You dig your nails into your skin, roaring as you burst forward. The soldier swings his gun around, dropping to his need with incredible speed and pulling the trigger, a blast of silver bullets spraying out and hitting you square in the chest. You collapse to the ground mid transformation, the silver in your chest stopping your heart and transformation instantly. You hit the ground with a thud, gasping for bloody breath, before going still.
  
  
  "Enemy combatant down, move in!" he says in a deep voice, motioning to the rest of his squad.
  
  
  You watch as a squad of the soldiers enter the room, clad in black and wielding the same guns. Feeling the silver bullets burn in your chest as he fades black, you feel a glimmer of hope. You're dying tonight, but so are the werewolves. Tonignt, Fenrir's put down.
  
  
  Minutes later, when Mr Gaange's men move your body from the mineshaft, they wonder why you're smiling.