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Minutes after sunrise, Frank's eyes slowly began to open, as the pounding headache that typically accompanied the first few moments after reclaiming his humanity awakened him. He grabbed his head with both hands, slicking his sweaty hair back as he started to regain his bearings. It took him a few moments to realize that he was nowhere near the gravel lot where he parked his Focus. The room was blank white, with only a small window service as the only source of light for the time being, even though a bare light fixture with a single fluorescent bulb was installed in the center of the ceiling. Bars of solid steel bisected the room horizontally, with the window and door on one side of them, and Frank on the other - along with a small stool where a pair of boxer shorts had been placed.

After mustering enough strength to pick himself up off the floor, he nervously slipped on the shorts and scanned the room for a means to escape. Even in human form, there lies a trace amount of lupine instinct, so residual it would be nearly impossible for a layman to deduce that these mannerisms were the product of a bestial influence and not just a mild eccentricity. Wolves don't like cages. And Frank was in one.

He grabbed the bars of the cell gate and rattled them with all of his strength. "Hello?" He shouted. "Is anyone there? Somebody get me out of here, please! Hello?" He waited a few moments for some sort of response, and when none came, he shook his cage even more violently. "Please! I don't know who you are or what you want from me, but I don't deserve to be locked up in here!"

Just then, the door to the room swung open, and the same man who had shot Frank's werewolf form the night before seemed ready to do it again. His pistol was drawn, aimed straight at Frank's head. From behind the gun, the man spoke. "You're absolutely right. You don't deserve to be locked up, you deserve to be destroyed. Now back away from the gate and put your hands up, monster. I don't want to have to waste my time repainting this room."

Frank didn't even need to wait for the man to finish his tirade before the commands were obeyed. He stepped away from the cell door with his hands in the surrender position. "Who are you?" Frank asked. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"

"Sit down," the man ordered, his gun still locked on target.

Slowly, Frank walked towards the three-legged stool in the back corner of the room and took a seat.

"Werewolves," the man said in a disgusted tone of voice. "Some people say you're simply innocent men who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Others think you're willing tools of Satan, pledging your bodies and souls to do the dark master's bidding on Earth." The man came towards the cell until the barrel of his gun was practically even with the metal bars. "So tell me, werewolf... which one are you?"

"I... I'm an innocent man. I swear. You gotta understand..."

"All I understand is how much violence and terror your kind are responsible for," the man said, finally holstering his gun so that Frank could see his face. He reminded Frank of a lumberjack, with full brown beard, dark eyes, thinning hairline, and a scowl as the default expression.

"Look, I know this looks bad, but honestly, I do all I can to keep myself away from town on the night of a full moon."

"And yet, you keep finding your way over here." The man started to reach for his back pocket. "Care to guess how many innocent people you slaughtered last night?"

When presented with such a gruesome question, Frank recoiled. "I... I don't know. Not like I remember anything that happens. One, maybe? I hope?"

The man chuckled, but more in contempt than amusement. He whipped out a newspaper from his pocket and read the front page headline. "'Full Moon Killer Strikes Again: Seven more victims brutally mutilated by serial killer masquerading as werewolf.'" He tossed the paper into Frank's cell. "Last month, it was five. Month before that, eight. Twenty lives that you're responsible for ending."

"Twenty??" Frank gasped. It was the first time that anyone had confronted him with the aftermath of his condition. He knew that the werewolf probably wasn't particularly benevolent, but hearing the sheer number of times he'd killed made his blood turn sour. The only reason he didn't begin to shed tears was because it was too shocking. "Oh my God... I never imagined..."

"Save your remorse," the man grumbled. "A werewolf's apology is about as sincere as a bulimic's purge."

"Then what do you want from me?" Frank cried. "Why don't you just shoot me and get it over with? Hell, give me the gun and let me do it myself!"

"Because," the man explained, "I'm the only friend you have right now."

"'Friend?' What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have no idea what's going on in this world, do you?" the man said. "Just like there are thousands of people like you all over the world, there are thousands of people like me. Hunters, who swear their lives to protect humanity from your terror. And slowly but surely, we're losing the fight. More victims are being turned than we can hunt. And if we don't act soon, the world will be overrun by werewolves. Eventually, newspaper headlines will stop reporting about killers who pretend to be werewolves, and start reporting on real ones. Paranoia and fear will consume the globe. Economies will collapse. Governments will be torn apart. And you, yes you, might be the only one who can stop this from happening."

"Me?" Frank asked, dumbfounded. "How would I stop all this from happening?"

"If the Hunters lose too much ground, we may have to resort to more drastic actions," the man responded. "A 'nuclear option', as it were. Our scientists are slowly working out the differences in genetic makeup between a normal human and a werewolf. It'll only be a matter of time before all the differences are found, and a vaccine is created to eliminate it."

"A vaccine?" Frank repeated. "You mean a cure? Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"Except for the fact that it would kill every werewolf who took it, not to mention every innocent human who just so happens to have the same genotype. We may end up killing more people undeservedly than every werewolf in history."

"So how would I fit into all this?", Frank asked.

"There are some Hunters who believe that a werewolf can be rehabilitated," the man replied. "To change and still maintain enough control to not be of harm to anyone. I happen to be one of those people. I've been tasked with finding one such werewolf and proving to the other Hunters that such a thing can be done, and that werewolves can be quarantined during the full moon rather than exterminated. If I can't, the final stages of research for the vaccine will go forward and your kind will be doomed."

"So what you're saying is, you're going to try to teach me not to kill people when I'm a wolf?"

"Would you be willing to do it?" the man asked.

Frank shrugged. "You're not offering me much of a choice here."

"You wouldn't have much of a choice anyway," the man remarked. "The average lifespan of a werewolf is six months. Very few werewolves live beyond the one-year anniversary of being turned. Even if I hadn't stopped you last night, chances are you'd be halfway to being dead anyway."

Frank got up from the stool. "What's the catch, then?"

"For the next six moon cycles, you do exactly what I say. You don't leave this house unless I take you somewhere. You don't talk to anyone unless I'm with you. You don't eat, you don't sleep, you don't fucking breathe unless I give you permission. And if I think for one moment that you're more trouble than it's worth..." he motioned ominously to the .44-caliber pistol sitting dormant in his holster.

Frank sighed and thought for a moment. "I'll do it," he declared.

"Good decision," the man said as he plucked the cell key from his pocket, unlocking it. "Now go take a shower. I don't want this room to smell like a werewolf gym locker."

Frank chuckled. "Never did catch your name."

The man smiled. "You wanna know? Look who wrote the news story."

Frank approached the newspaper and unfolded it. Beneath the menacing headline sat the byline with the article's author: Henry Silver.