Chapter 1- part 1

Winston had always found Furana’s moon cycle to be annoying, even before he actually needed to know it. He’d learned about it in second grade, but they never followed a complete path. They were still predictable, but it was like someone had put them through a randomizer; they switched positions constantly. Calling it a “cycle” was plain inaccurate. He was staring at the calendar he made every month on his phone, knowing that the predictions he read in the news were subject to change any day, but as of right now, it looked like he had three days left until the most important moon was full. Furana had eight of them, and the only one he needed to study was the white one. He decided it was time to leave, knowing that the person who owned the restaurant he was getting internet from would probably come out to chase him off for loitering.

Lycanthropy wasn’t a common illness, but it made up for it in how annoying it was trying to live with it. People who had the illness were liable to go completely rabid when they changed, which could spread the illness or injure anyone nearby. The transformation only ever happened when the white moon was full. It was a very painful process, and the afflicted have nearly no self-control when it happens. Besides the agonizing transformation, the most obvious thing it did to someone while they were still human was cause their legs to bend backward unnaturally. This was useful for something that usually walked quadrupedally, but humans were bipedal.

He started walking in a random direction, trying his best to make sure to stay as far from other people as possible. Winston avoided human interaction like the plague. His grayish-green hoodie concealed his ears well, and he could forge an explanation for the funny way he walked, but the glowing, slitted eyes he had weren’t exactly a human thing. The alleyway he was walking into looked damp and smelled strongly of mold and rot, a harsh contrast from the bright lights and fresh bread smell coming from the restaurant. The coolness of the place caused him to shiver. Sunflower’s buildings and streets were made of mostly tungsten alloy, but its inhabitants enjoyed making the city feel as ancient as possible, despite the year being 7026. The streets were made to resemble cobblestone, and the buildings were all supposed to seem like they were made of bricks or wood, even though it was straight metal. Better durability, he guessed.

He soon heard steps behind him, probably just an officer on evening patrol. He quickly made a turn, his senses immediately being assaulted by a rotting scent from a nearby dumpster. He put a hand over his nose, not wanting to know what might be in there. The steps came closer and closer. Running was just going to make him seem suspicious, though. He felt a sudden tap on the shoulder and flinched, quickly turning around. It was an officer, as he’d thought, but she seemed more concerned than anything. She hasn’t drawn a weapon just yet. He stares at the ground.

"Sorry for the scare, kid. What're you doing out so late at night?" she asks him. Her tone didn’t indicate any ill intent. He struggles to think of something she'd consider to be a valid excuse.

"Just walking home from work," he lies. That makes sense, right? He was old enough to have a job, after all. Probably thinks I’m out partying or something, he thinks. She looks him over for a second. Winston felt a shiver run down his spine. She knows. She checks her watch and eyes him suspiciously. No doubt it was in the early hours of the morning, twelve to two A.M. he guessed. He’s shaking all over; if she brings him back to the station, he’s done for.

“I’d be careful out here from now on; there’s gangs, werewolves, and ferals all over the place,” she finally says, her hand over where he assumed her weapon was. Her expression remained concerned; maybe she knew he didn’t have anywhere to go.

“Yes ma’am,” he mutters, very quietly. He starts backing away from her, but she follows him. He turns around and starts walking away faster. You’re being ridiculous, he tells himself. She’s probably just headed the same way you are. He takes out his phone in an attempt to ignore her, checking the predictions again. He hopes she isn’t trying to follow him home, not that he has one. He’s lived alone since he was seven. Ten years. He’s fully capable of surviving by himself. He looks at the two suns starting to show themselves. This would have to do. He takes a right, but she doesn’t follow him.

He lets out a sigh of relief and walks into an old warehouse that he’s stayed in before. The place was completely abandoned, but he felt less…alone this time. You’re being paranoid, he tells himself. He sits down near the far wall, he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep. He starts looking through his phone. The shattered screen made reading anything on it nearly impossible, but with the number of times he’d dropped and stepped on it, he found that sin forgivable. He began reading through the predictions and was happy to find that they hadn’t changed…yet.

He thought he saw something move in the corner of his eye. Someone. He quickly turned toward it, but it was gone. He shudders, starting to rummage through his backpack. He took out a small plush wolf. It was pretty old, he’d kept it for nearly twelve years, but it was somehow in prime condition. He looks around the room again. There’s nothing there, you’re being paranoid. He contemplates going to investigate, but then he reconsiders. It could be a Feral. Ferals were like semiferal Furanians, only much bigger, and much meaner. On all-fours, they were as big as a normal one, which was eight to ten feet tall. On two legs, twice that number, and they killed on-sight. Ferals were something everyone understood not to mess with, including Winston. It runs past him again, and he quickly turns in that direction.

It’s messing with you. The entire room falls silent as he stares in the direction where he last saw it, but hears heavy breathing from behind. He remains motionless, knowing that any sudden movement will trigger an attack if it's a Feral. It’s not going to leave. It won’t leave. Winston struggles to remain calm. He knew some of the creatures brought from Earth tended to toy with their prey before delivering the final blow, and now he was sure he was experiencing it firsthand. The breathing on his neck abruptly stops, and he can hear loud thudding where the animal, or whatever it was, was walking away, along with what sounded like its form of laughter. Winston didn’t know Ferals had a sense of humor. He turns around, but it’s long gone. He lets out a small yawn, but now he’s not sure if he should try sleeping or not. Then again, that Feral was just playing a prank on him, so maybe he’s fine. He curls up on the floor like a cat and quietly closes his eyes.

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