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well after 9 pages of TNOT I decided to reward myself with writing about a werewolf.  I say reward because writing about werewolves is easy for me.  I haven't checked this for grammer.  Anyway it's a bit darker than my normal peices, I haven't decided if this will be a longer peice or not.  I do have ideas for her so you never know.  It is in first person present tense, I was going for the feeling of a Daredevil from the 80's or maybe Batman the Dark Night.   Everything is mine with the exception of the title and the line Bang! Bang! Bang!

It's just a job I do


I'm sitting on the roof waiting for the werewolf to come.  He would at some point, werewolves are creatures of habit; I should know I am one.  Well sort of, I'm a were er- well just call me a werewolf, it's easier.  I change into a canine and I doubt you'd be able to tell the difference, not with me running at you. 

Anyway, the 'wolves' they call me Silverblade.  It's cause of my job of course.  I kill people - well Wolves.  There are rules to our existence and I get sent out to enforce those rules.  By the time I get called in the only option left is death.  I'm good at death.  See I've figured out some things most haven't.  Like the silver thing, complete bullshit; but if you believe in something it's true for you.  Most werewolves believe the silver thing so much that it burns their skin, poor bastards.  Makes my job easy, after all punching them with my silver rings slows most of them down enough for me to cut their heart out. Nothing living can live without a heart. 

I hear him below me.  I let him pass under me and then drop quietly form the roof.  Quietly, not silently: I want him to hear me, I want him to turn, and he does.  Now I'm facing a fully adult werewolf, and he's facing me.

"They sent a little girl like you after me?"  he says with a sneer looking me up and down, I don't know if it is the look he gives me or that he called me a little girl but I allow myself a flash of anger.

"They send me after people much bigger than you.  You may have heard of my, I'm called Silverblade," he looks hard at me and then he starts to change.   Slipping between forms isn't painful, but it is disconcerting and strange, maybe even uncomfortable.  We don't usually do it in front of people; not unless we have too.  He must have thought he had to.  I think about pulling my gun as his jaws elongate and he drops to all fours, but somehow that doesn't feel right.  When he reaches me I hit him in the face, it has the desired effect, he stumbles sideways skin smoking.  He sifts again, watching him makes my eyes hurt, the mind tries to make familiar forums out of things and no matter how many times you see it a shifting form is never familiar. 

"Bitch," he mumbles thickly through the pain. 

"Yes. I guess I am," say pulling my gun.  Bang! Bang! Bang!  And he falls.  I walk to his side and knell next to him, "We don't eat humans," I say as I plunge my knife into his chest.  It's not like I enjoy any of this, I don't like cutting out people's hearts, it is just my job.