James Smith was a regular ass guy in a regular ass world—well, regular in the sense that people still went to work, still hated Mondays, and still posted cringe online for free.
But tech-wise?
Yeah, the world was somewhere between "modern day" and "yo why the hell do we have plasma guns but not flying cars?"
They didn't have hovercars yet, but they had handheld weapons that could turn a car into fondue, so... baby steps.
Anyway, none of that mattered. He never got one of those fancy neural implants everyone was hyped about.
Why would he? He didn't trust that chip-into-brain nonsense.
That was how horror movies started.
"Bro, did you see the latest episode of One Punch Man? That shit was straight ass."
Michael looked offended. Not annoyed—offended, like James had personally spit in his cereal. His eyes going from their usual blue to red for few seconds.
A change that seem to happen, anytime his emotions flared.
They did return back to Normal, a brief description of the man...well, Michael was 6 feet tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, most of the time.
Basically the "corporate approved white boy" template. His muscles were compact, clean, and built for speed. Sometimes he got pale from being a night owl; man slept like he was allergic to sunlight.
He also had this old ass ring he wore around his finger 24/7.
From what James knew, Michael was rich. Like old money rich. His family immigrated to the US during slavery times—he said around 1619.
James didn't pry about how his family multiplied wealth that fast. If Michael didn't wanna say it, James wasn't asking.
All that to say: Michael came from money, yet still chose public school because he wanted to "experience the world."
Rich people were weird.
"Yeah, they cropped Atomic Samurai's hair. It looked horrible," James said.
He and Michael couldn't be more different. Michael was the golden boy.
James was dark-skinned, muscular, and carried something like a "permanent anti-bitches aura." Didn't bother him, though.
"Did you pass the math exam?" Michael asked, already expecting the answer.
"Yeah, I did. Shit was easy."
Michael yawned like this wasn't even worth discussing.
"Of course it was for you. You get straight A's." James groaned.
Michael playfully punched him.
"Cheer up, Bob. You'll get it next time."
"Easy for you to say. Your grades don't look like this."
He showed him the paper—F's. A whole graveyard of F's.
"Oof." Michael winced.
James sighed. Oh well.
"You wanna hit the arcade?"
"Why not." James had already hit rock bottom emotionally, so whatever.
As a side note, James had a white-ass first name despite being black as hell. America was like that.
They headed into the gaming café.
"Michael, James, same as usual?" the shopkeeper called.
"You know it," Michael said.
James sighed.
"Failed again?" the shopkeeper asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You look like you watched your crush get smashed in front of you... so yes."
James paused.
...Okay maybe it was obvious.
Michael jumped in to change the vibe. "Got any new games?"
The owner thought, then grinned.
"Oh yeah. New one just dropped: Werewolf vs Vampire. Apparently a best seller."
Michael instantly looked disgusted.
"As if those furry bastards stand a chance."
"Sure, I'm in," James said.
"It's in the back. Don't forget, we close at 8."
They walked to the back. James dropped his backpack, turned on the PC, and opened the DVD tray.
"I can't believe this place still uses these."
Michael shrugged. "I like it better. Physical copies give more freedom."
"You like old stuff."
"Feels nostalgic."
"Or because your house looks like a museum?"
Michael didn't deny it. Just yawned, clicked "Vampire," and leaned back.
"Guilty as charged."
His canines were already sharp-looking, and his blue eyes briefly flashed red—the kind of red that says 'I'm hungry and trying not to eat you right now.'
James didn't notice.
What he did notice was the game.
"What is this bullshit?!" James yelled. "Why do vampires get all the cool moves and the werewolves get—what? Super strength? That's it?!"
"Cope harder," Michael smirked. Ragebaiting at max efficiency.
"This is so stupid! Vampire bias is CRAZY."
Michael looked smug.
"It's the truth. Those beasts only have strength. We vampires are better."
James stopped.
"...What do you mean we?"
Michael smiled like that was funny.
James lost again.
"This is some bullshit," he muttered, slamming the keyboard.
"If you want, I could turn you into a vampire,"
Michael said casually. "You'd be better."
James waved him off. "Nah, I'm good."
He glanced outside.
It was dark.
"Shit, I gotta go!" He grabbed his bag. "Thanks for the game, bro—but I gotta run!"
Michael waved lazily.
"Be safe."
James sprinted off. It was already 7:50 and pitch black—daylight savings was doing its thing.
Running through the streets, he saw something.
A wolf.
In the forest line.
Bleeding.
If he stopped now, he'd be late... but he sighed.
Cut to him inside a convenience store:
"Yes, I'd like bandages, a towel, some meat, maybe disinfectant."
"That'll be $30."
"That's expensive."
"Blame tariffs."
He didn't care.
He paid with Apple Pay and followed where he'd seen the wolf. Ofcourse he did make sure to close the shop door behind him.
In the woods, he found it: a snow-white wolf with blue, almost human eyes. Female. Normal wolf size, but clearly hurt bad.
He approached.
The wolf growled, baring teeth.
He placed the raw meat on the ground and backed up 30 feet.[recommanded distance]
The wolf limped over and began eating.
Beautiful creature, even while injured.
He approached slowly.
"I'm friendly," he whispered. "I just wanna help you."
The wolf stared at him, clearly untrusting.
He started working anyway: disinfecting the wounds, using tweezers—
"Silver?!"
He pulled out five silver bullets.
Who the hell shoots wolves with silver?
After bandaging her, he offered more meat.
"There... you're safe."
He reached for the other leg—
The wolf bit him.
"OW—okay, damn!" He winced. "Can I PLEASE heal you?"
They locked eyes.
Then she relented.
He fixed her up... and then checked his phone.
11 PM.
FUCK.
He booked it toward home, cutting through the forest.
He was moving—jumping over logs, swinging on vines like Tarzan, sprinting full speed with the moon overhead.
He was 75% home when—
Rustling.
Nope.
Nope nope nope.
He immediately turned around and SPRINTED.
He was black, not white—he wasn't about to investigate shit.
A deep, primal owl-like screech came from the bushes.
Nope².
Running on pure fear, adrenaline flooding him, heart pounding—
A shadow leaped overhead.
THUMP.
A 9-foot-tall monster landed in front of him.
A bipedal wolf, muscles flexing like it bench-pressed cars, fur bristling, jaws filled with razors.
"...Fuck."
"Well, well. Where you think you're going?"
Oh good.
It could talk.
Wonderful.
It walked toward him on two legs—unnervingly human.
James ducked as it pounced.
It flew past him, biting a tree in half.
He wasn't fast enough to avoid everything—its claws raked his back, carving a massive gash.
The wolf ripped the tree in half and threw it aside like trash.
Oh, he was SO cooked.
It pounced again—
But a white blur slammed between them.
The white wolf.
Except now she was bipedal, fur glowing in the moonlight.
Majestic and terrifying.
"Luna, what the hell?" the male wolf growled.
"We're not allowed to hunt humans. Did you forget?" she barked back.
"It was just a quick snack," he grumbled. "Don't be on my ass."
"Because of your rampages, the hunters are in town. Tone it down unless you want us ALL dead."
He snarled.
"Such a bitch."
Then left.
The white wolf shrank down, returning to normal wolf form.
She padded over to James.
"You'll forget this," she whispered.
His mind fogged instantly.
His will crumpled.
And he passed out.
A/N so the date it get release is important to me for lore reason, if I could I would have dropped this the 29 of February when it was a leap year but I was still writing fic back then.
This book will get updated once or twice a week, depending on how I feel that days, I am already an arc ahead so that like 30 ish chapter guaranteed.