The wolves closed in faster than his eyes could track — the first snapped at his shin.
Tariq twisted mid-stride and barely avoided the bite, panic seizing his chest.
He didn't fight — not yet. He turned and bolted.
Confidence screamed at him to stop. Face them. Burn them.
But fear had his legs. And fear won.
He tore around one corner, then another. Damn. Damn. Damn.
No growling. No footsteps.
He risked a glance over his shoulder — the pack was rounding the turn he'd passed five seconds ago.
Wait… am I faster than them?
Another corner. Another street. Then movement caught his eye — a child.
A little girl stood alone in a cracked, weed-choked playground. She was sobbing, screaming for someone who wasn't there.
Tariq stopped.
Shit… she can't outrun them. She can't even see them.
He didn't think twice. He sprinted across the street, scooped her up in one motion, and kept moving.
She erupted into screams, flailing in his arms — terrified and inconsolable.
"I know, I know," he gasped. "Shhhh, shhhh… Shit, how does Zora do it?"
Rounding another corner, Tariq spotted a children's center.
Perfect.
He sprinted across the street and slammed into the front door — accidentally knocking it clean off its hinges.
"Oh God da—"
A chorus of growls cut him off. The wolves were almost on him.
"Hey!" he shouted into the building. "I'm sending a child in — please, someone, just watch her!"
He placed the girl down, crouched to meet her eye level, and very gently nudged her forward.
"It's okay. Go in there. I'll stop them."
She stared up at him — still crying, eyes full of fear.
Tariq hesitated… then gave her the only thing he could manage: a smile.
She screamed in response and bolted inside.
"…Um. Okay."
He turned around just in time to see the first wolf round the corner.
But something had changed.
His emotions — chaotic just moments before — now felt sharp. Simple.
He didn't care about running. He didn't care about fear.
He had one job now: protect the kid.
That was enough.
"Well… okay," he muttered, steadying himself. "I can do this."
The first wolf leapt.
Tariq didn't hesitate.
He punched the first wolf square in the face — and it burst into dirt mid-air.
The second came low.
He caught it by the neck, fingers sinking deep into its throat. It yelped, squirming in his grip — but he hoisted it effortlessly and hurled it into another, reducing both to clouds of dust.
More padded in from the shadows.
They didn't charge this time.
They started forming a semicircle around the children's center — closing in, cutting off any escape for Tariq… or the little girl… or anyone else still hiding inside.
Tariq's eyes swept the pack. His heart thudded once. Then came the howl.
From the gap in the semicircle, the white-furred werewolf emerged, stepping forward like it owned the air.
Its lips peeled back in a sinister smile.
It knew it had him boxed in.
Tariq took a long, steady breath.
"Fine," he muttered.
"Come on then, you fuckin' furry!" Tariq barked.
The werewolf growled — insulted — and dropped to all fours.
Then it launched.
It slammed into Tariq's chest like a freight train, blasting them both through the children's center and into the open field beyond. They hit the ground hard, skidding until the werewolf landed on top, snapping viciously at Tariq's face.
Its claws raked across his torso and ribs, carving streaks of fire down his side.
Tariq gritted his teeth, locking his left hand around its throat to keep its jaws at bay. He brought his right fist up and smashed it into the beast's ribs.
It barely flinched.
The hell is this thing made of?
Another punch. This one connected — he felt bone crack.
The werewolf yelped and dropped off him, writhing in pain. Tariq climbed to his feet, grabbed it by the neck, and lifted it into the air.
It snapped at him, still fighting.
Tariq grinned, something dark bubbling in his chest.
Look at these dogs... mutts are always mutts.
He raised his other hand and clamped it over the beast's snout.
"Shhhh."
With a sharp twist, the bone snapped.
The muffled howl of pain was... satisfying.
Bliss, even.
The wolf's body went limp in his grip. Around them, the rest of the pack dissipated, one by one — crumbling into dirt.
"Looks like someone couldn't handle it," Tariq chuckled. "You don't get to die peacefully."
He slammed his fist into the werewolf's face.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
He kept hitting it — beating the life out of something that had none left to give.
When he finally stopped, the creature wasn't recognizable. Its face was a crushed mask of blood and brain. Its chest caved in, arms snapped at grotesque angles. Its legs... gone, reduced to pulp.
Tariq stared at the mess.
Now that's a beautiful sight…
He looked down at his own hands.
Blood soaked. Shaking.
Wait... no... no it's not.
His heart plummeted.
This... this wasn't me...
He dropped to his knees, breath ragged, and buried his head in his hands.
I couldn't do something like this.
He was interrupted by a scream.
Tariq's head snapped toward the children's center.
Ah shit — the girl.
He scrambled to his feet and sprinted back, bolting through the broken doorway.
Inside, the building was eerily quiet — too quiet.
He spotted her, huddled in a corner, trembling. Alone.
He slowed his approach.
"Hey... hey, it's me. It's okay."
She didn't move.
Then she smiled.
Too wide. Too still. Too wrong.
Tariq's stomach dropped — and then something pierced his side.
He gasped.
Looking down, he saw a thin, gleaming needle embedded in his ribs — then felt it twist and yank free.
White-hot pain seared through him. He screamed and collapsed to his knees, clutching the wound with shaking hands.
A voice — smooth and singsong — drifted down from above.
"Thank you for getting rid of the mutt for me, dear. It was making me shiver in my boots."
Through the haze of pain, he looked up — and saw her.
Another impossibly large smile, floating above him in the dark.
"I do love children," she mused. "So taking them would've been quite the chore with that thing prowling around…"
She chuckled — light and melodic.
Tariq blinked. Her long black hair drifted like it had a mind of its own.
Her eye sockets were empty. Black voids. Deep and wrong.
He opened his mouth, but coughed up blood instead.
And then — the girl.
She whipped past him, yanked into the air by an invisible thread.
"Wh-what did you do…?" Tariq choked.
The woman tilted her head. That smile — somehow — stretched even wider.
"Oh, I just adore children, don't you?
They make the best bait..."
Her voice dipped, low and intimate.
"...especially once I make them a part of me."
Tariq's breathing grew shallow. Quick. Frantic.
And then — her body stepped into the light.
The woman stepped forward at last, into the light.
Her face was still. Smiling. Skin pale and paper-thin, stretched taut like a mask.
Her eye sockets were deep, endless pits — like staring down a well in the dark.
Her limbs moved wrong. Too smooth, too late.
Like she'd watched people walk… but never learned how herself.
Her stomach was stitched shut — crude, red, swollen.
The threads strained. Something pressed against the inside.
A hand.
A child's hand.
"It's okay now," she cooed.
"You brought me dinner."