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Charles was annoyed at his new condition. Freaking bunny rabbit. Of all the stupid were variants for him to catch, it had to be a stupid shit-eating bunny rabbit. Well he certainly wasn't going to be eating his own shit, and if that led to a slight nutritional imbalance, so be it, it certainly wouldn't be a fatal imbalance. He checked his cellphone. It said they would be there in 5 minutes. He checked it just in time, because it seemed they were entering a wireless dead spot. Damn, they should have designed the GPS function to still work even without a connection into the phone communication network. But he got the answer he was after, it wouldn't be long. So he tried to calm himself, he was so impatient, but that wouldn't help anyone. Certainly since he wasn't the one paying for the gasoline, he at least shouldn't be a pill about the trip. He wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. He looked at the wolf-man in the driver's seat and tried to keep his jealousy hidden.

At long last, they arrived. And they got out of the car.

"So, this is the camp site," Charles said to his one-block-down-neighbor Phil the wolf-man. Another car had pulled up. Out of it, came another wolf, this one a woman, and a cat-man. Damn. He would have loved to have been a cat-man. But no, he had to get infected with the shit-eating rabbit variant. Goddamn the cat-man was a good looking cat-man. No homo, Charles thought to himself.

"So, a rabbit this time," the wolf-girl said. She's kind of hot, Charles thought. Shit, am I thinking like a rabbit, constantly thinking about sex? No, I would have thought she was hot anyway. Shit, I'm just a stupid rabbit, of course she's not going to be interested in me.

"I'd have been something that didn't suck so much if I had a choice about it," Charles chimed in, as he took a drag from his cigarette he had just lit up. "I don't even know how I got infected with this thing in the first place. I certainly haven't run into any rabbits myself."

"The virus works in, somewhat strange and unpredictable ways," the cat said. "It can pass through a host and yet hold onto the DNA of several hosts back."

"Well I have found the world works in whatever way possible to fuck me over, with some bullshit as the excuse, every time," Charles said.

"That's not a healthy attitude to have," the cat-man said.

"Hmm, well, call it a serious case of Murphy's law if you want. I'm inclined to favor the theory that there's a worldwide conspiracy against me," Charles said, "and every day is just fuck Charles day."

"I like this guy," the cat said wryly. "Can we not, um..."

After a few seconds of silence, Charles said, "Not what?"

"Er, nothing," the cat said. Goddamn the cat-man is so fucking good looking, Charles thought. Everyone else looks awesome and I'm just a stupid bunny-rabbit.

They waited about 5 minutes, and another car arrived. And out of it came two more wolves? No, one of them was a fox. An actual fox-girl. Shit, she was fucking hot as hell too, Charles thought. So we've got two wolf-men, a wolf-girl, a fox-girl, and a cat-dude, and I'm the awkward odd one out, because fuck me.

"Sorry about being late, we have to set up the tent fast, before it gets dark," the new wolf-man said. "We can see pretty good compared to a human in the dark, but even so, setting this up is too hard in the dark."

They introduced themselves. Charles knew his nearby neighbor Phil the wolf already, but the wolf-girl was Sally, the fox-girl was Sarah, the cat-man was Bob, now there was an unfortunate name, though the joke was on Charles since Bob had a nice, long, respectable tail and Charles was the one with the stupid bunny bobtail. And then the last wolf was Mike. Mike's fluffy wolf tail flowed out of a hole in the back of his pants and wagged happily. Stupid sexy Mike, Charles thought, entranced by the swishy tail.

Charles helped set up the tent and they got it done before it got too dark. And so his spiritual experience awaited. Or something like that. He knew they were going to build a fire for some sort of spiritual thingie, but he didn't know what to expect, what were they going to do, sit around a campfire and tell stories and possibly do drugs? You know, that might not be too bad, now that he thought about it.

"All right. We're all ready to go then. All right," Mike said nervously.

"So, do we have firewood already, or do we need to quick and go collect some?" Charles asked.

"Oh don't you worry about that," Phil said. "I'd say it's about time to come clean."

"Can we just, not?" Bob asked. "I really don't want to do this."

"I'm the pack leader, and I say what needs to be done," Phil said commandingly. "All right, Charles, here's the deal. We're going on a little hunt. One guess what we're hunting. You get a 5 minute headstart."

Charles looked at him for a few moments, one of his foot-long bunny ears raised high, the other pointing horizontally from the top of his head. "The fuck you say." It made a sort of retarded sense, actually. It was remote, they had gotten Charles to come along not in his own vehicle. There was no trace of him being here. And of course, the campsite was apparently a dead spot of cellphone service.

"What did you expect, rabbit?" Phil said with an evil grin.

"Just to make sure, are all four of you in on this too, or is it just Phil here?"

Sarah, the fox-girl, smirked, while the other 3 looked down or away, ashamed. Shit, and she's so hot, why did she have to be a psycho, Charles thought.

"The clock is ticking, RABBIT," Phil continued. "Better get a move on it. Not that we won't easily be able to track you down."

Charles looked at Phil a few seconds longer. So much for being a good neighbor. "Nah, I'll just fight you here."

"You're going to make this easy, huh? You're not GETTING it, bunny rabbit, but allow my claws to make the POINT for you."

Phil swiped at Charles, his lethal looking claws out. But they didn't connect. Because Charles had swiftly caught his wrist in one hand-paw, while with the other, he had struck at the elbow joint palm first and pressed hard while yanking Phil's wrist back in the grip of his other paw, and forced it to bend in the direction it wasn't supposed to bend. It looked just absolutely dreadful, with his elbow joint bent in the wrong direction. Phil's eyes went wide.

"Aaaaaaoowwwwwww!!!!" Phil howled in pain. But his pain was only just beginning, because Charles had done something similar with one of Phil's knee-joints, the one Phil was putting his weight on, this time Charles striking it from the side with his foot, and then with the hand-paw that had just broken Phil's elbow, grabbed hold of the back of Phil's neck and slammed his face, his pointy wolf-muzzle first, straight into the ground. Every motion Charles made, looked effortless to him, like he wasn't even trying. As he dismantled the predator, he made it look like the strength difference was enormously in favor of Charles. Maybe it was, on top of the skill difference.

"That's good, your claws making a POINT," Charles said, as he rapidly and repeatedly ground Phil's face clockwise and then counterclockwise into the gravel. "As far as bad-guy one-liners go, that's pretty sweet."

Charles then lifted Phil back up to reveal his face was horribly messed up and broken and dislocated, and he resumed screaming, this time in a more human, less wolflike way, until Charles silenced him with a precise jab to the throat. As Phil stood there choking, Charles then delivered him an uppercut, and then swiftly ran behind him and jabbed him hard in the back as he was falling over backwards. Then Charles lifted him up over his head on one hand-paw, and bodyslammed him from 8 feet in the air, headfirst into the ground. Blood was everywhere. Phil was either dead or horribly injured, but out cold.

"Holy SHIT!" Bob said, as the other three watched open-mouthed.

"What Phil here didn't seem to understand," Charles said, not the least bit rattled by what he had just done, "is he wasn't a wolf, and I'm not a rabbit. He was a wolf-MAN, and I'm a rabbit-MAN. But more importantly, he was a stupid real estate agent and head of the neighborhood association larping as king of the werewolves, and I'm a professional hit-man."

The four onlookers remained speechless.

Charles then reached into his vest and pulled out not a cigarette this time, but a 9 mm pistol, and waved it in the air as he continued to speak. "So am I the leader of the pack now, or am I supposed to kill you too, or what?"

Later that night:

"Pass the dark meat," Charles said.

"It's all dark meat," Bob replied anxiously, as he watched Charles take a big bite out of campfire-cooked wolf meat, while Sarah and Sally cuddled up against Charles's left and right sides and licked at his fur. The pack leader had to look his best, after all.