Stepping out of my Safe Circle, I found Annalise and Snuggles already waiting. Annalise looked tense, her eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting trouble at any moment. Snuggles, perched on her shoulder, was uncharacteristically quiet.

“You guys get the message too?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Annalise nodded grimly. “Less than eighteen hours to get to who-knows-where, probably fighting our way through whatever nightmare fuel this place decides to throw at us. Just another day in paradise, right?”

Snuggles snorted. “Paradise? More like a cosmic comedy club where we’re the punchline. But hey, at least we’re not bored, right?”

I cracked a smile at that. “Always looking on the bright side, eh Snuggles?”

“Someone’s gotta keep morale up in this cesspool of existential dread,” the plushie retorted. “Now, are we gonna stand around comparing notes, or are we gonna go kick some goddamn ass?”

We headed out across the wasteland again as balls of cassette tape tumbled past us, and as usual, I wondered idly what may have been on the tape before it got all tangled up. Someone’s mixtape maybe? Phil Collins’ Greatest Hits? Or more likely, a recording of someone being tortured for hours on end.

Above us, the sky’s color turned to a deeper red, making the landscape seem darker and more ominous than it already was. Dark cloud roiled as if a storm was coming, and occasional flashes of red lightning turned the landscape into a nightmarish tableau, frozen for a split second before plunging back into shadows.

Ahead of us stretched an impossibly vast forest of dead trees, their branches bare and twisted like arthritic fingers reaching for the blood-red sky. But these weren’t just any dead trees—oh no, that would be too mundane for Infernum. Each trunk was actually a giant, petrified boombox, complete with dials and cassette slots. The “branches” were tangled masses of headphone cords and auxiliary cables, swaying in a non-existent breeze and occasionally sparking with residual electricity.

Scattered among the boombox-trees were clearings filled with throwback horrors. In one, a group of Rubik’s Cubes the size of houses continuously solved and scrambled themselves, their spinning faces creating a dizzying kaleidoscope effect. Another clearing housed a sea of molten vinyl records, bubbling and hissing as if they were trying to play one last power ballad before melting into oblivion.

To our left, a field of oversized Atari joysticks sprouted from the ashen ground like some demented crop. Each one twitched and jerked sporadically, as if invisible players were engaged in the world’s most futile game of Pac-Man. The orange buttons glowed ominously, pulsing in time with the distant thunder.

“Jesus H. Christ on a Rubik’s Cube,” I muttered, shaking my head at the sheer absurdity of it all. “Did we just walk into Reagan’s worst acid trip?”

Annalise snorted, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. “More like Max Headroom’s personal corner of Hell. Look over there.”

I followed her gaze to see a collection of giant CRT televisions, their screens flickering with static and occasionally displaying distorted images of long-canceled sitcoms. The laugh tracks emanating from them sounded more like the wails of the damned than any expression of mirth.

Snuggles, perched on my shoulder, let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Looks like someone in the cosmos’ art department just discovered cocaine and MTV. This is gonna be one hell of a trip, kids.”

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I warned, instinctively clenching my fingerless gloves. “No telling what kind of messed up mobs might be lurking out here.”

Annalise nodded grimly, her neon pumps glowing softly in the eerie light. “Right. Because nothing says ‘mortal peril’ quite like murderous Cabbage Patch Kids or a rabid Teddy Ruxpin.”

We stopped for a moment to check our maps, to see if the Second Trial location had been added yet. It had. “Seems like a long way away,” I said. “Anyone would think the bastards who run this shitshow don’t want us to make it in time.”

“We’ll get there,” Snuggles said. “At least we’re going in the right direction.”

“Let’s not hang around this time,” Annalise said. “We barely made the last Trial.”

“And whose fault was that, ninja girl?” Snuggles said. “You let yourself get captured by Herbie Floss.”

“Fuck you, Snuggles.”

“Hey, calm it down kiddies,” I said. “What happens in this place is no one’s fault. We’re all doing our best, right?”Annalise nodded curtly, but said nothing, walking on in silence. “Nice job, Snuggles.”

“Hey, I was just saying,” Snuggles said, then called over, “Sorry, Annalise.”

“Whatever, fur ball.” She walked on, a neon pink tonfa materializing in her hands, like one of those batons with the handle on that the cops carry sometimes. I assumed she got it in a chest after our quest in Glitch Haven.

“And here was me going to congratulate you on a job well done at the radio tower,” I said to Snuggles. “You can go fuck yourself now.”

Snuggles took no offense. “Whatever, dude. But thanks for picking up on that, anyway. I was quite pleased with my efforts. Y’all would’ve been screwed without me there.”

I shook my head. “Where’d you learn that stuff anyway? Come to think of it, I know shit all about you, Snuggles. You said you’re from Earth. What was your name?”

Snuggles was quiet for a moment, his button eyes seeming to lose focus as he stared off into the distance. When he spoke, his voice was softer than usual, lacking its typical sarcastic edge.

“Frank,” he said finally. “Frank Callahan. Been a long time since anyone’s asked me that.”

I nodded, sensing there was more to the story. “Frank, huh? You want us to call you that from now on? Or maybe Fuggles?”

“I’ll stick with Snuggles. Frank is long dead, anyway.”

“So, what’s your deal, Frank? I mean Snuggles. What kind of life leaves a guy equipped to rewire alien radio towers?”

Frank... Snuggles… let out a sound that might have been a chuckle or a sigh. “MIT grad, class of ’54. Electrical engineering. Worked for IBM for a while, thought I was hot shit.” He paused, his tiny paws fidgeting. “Then Uncle Sam came calling in ’67. Next thing I know, I’m in the jungle, trying to keep comm equipment running while dodging bullets.”

“Vietnam,” I said, the pieces falling into place.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Snuggles nodded. “Two tours. Didn’t think I’d make it through the first, but I did. Second one...” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “Well, let’s just say I didn’t come home from that one. At least, not alive.”

I could see Annalise listening intently, her expression softening. “You had family?” she asked.

“Wife and two kids,” Snuggles replied.

There was a heaviness in the air, the weight of lives unlived and futures stolen. I found myself wondering about Frank’s family, imagining the hole his death must have left in their lives.

“Last man standing,” Snuggles continued, almost to himself. “Whole platoon gone, and there I was, still breathing. Until I wasn’t.” He shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memories. “Hell of a thing, dying. Worse thing is, you don’t even stay dead.”

I reached out, awkwardly patting the little plush on the head. “I’m sorry, man. That’s... that’s rough.”

Snuggles seemed to snap out of his reverie, his usual snarky demeanor reasserting itself. “Yeah, well, what can you do? At least all that engineering know-how came in handy with that radio tower, right? Saved our asses.”

“That you did,” I agreed, deciding to let him steer the conversation back to safer ground. “Guess we lucked out getting a genuine MIT grad as our plush companion.”

“Damn straight,” Snuggles said, puffing out his tiny chest. “Now, if you’re done with the therapy session, we’ve got a Trial to get to. These monsters aren’t going to kick their own asses, you know.”

“Eh, speaking of monsters,” Annalise said. “Looks like a group of them just emerged from those trees… or whatever the hell those things are.”

My eyes followed Annalise’s gaze toward the forest of boom boxes, only to see what appeared to be a half dozen wolf-like creatures come stalking out about a hundred yards up ahead. “Jesus, are those—”

“Werewolves,” Snuggles finished, bouncing down off my shoulder, growing to his full height when he hit the ground. A second later, he had Granny’s Knitting Needle of Fury in his hand, only it didn’t look like a needle anymore, but a small sword almost. It was about two and half feet in length and the blade’s edge had a faint electric blue glow to it.

“Fucking werewolves? So we’re in The Howling now? Great.”

“Not just werewolves, Kade,” Snuggles said. “These are some next-level, Infernum-grade lycanthropes with an ‘80s twist.”

As the pack drew closer, I could see exactly what Snuggles meant. These weren’t your standard, run-of-the-mill werewolves. No, these were like someone had taken the entire decade of excess and crammed it into canine form.

Howl High Howlers - Level 7

They’re 80s jocks… but also werewolves. All they want to do is stuff you in a locker and eat your flesh.

Each beast stood about seven feet tall on its hind legs, their muscular bodies covered in fur that seemed to shimmer and change color like some unholy mix of wolf and mood ring. But it was their faces that really caught the eye—and not in a good way. Their muzzles were elongated and filled with razor-sharp teeth that glowed neon, creating a nightmarish rave effect every time they snarled or howled.

To add to the bizarre spectacle, each werewolf wore a letterman jacket, the kind you’d see on high school jocks in every ‘80s teen movie. The jackets were in various eye-searing color combinations—hot pink and electric blue, neon green and atomic orange—with glowing letters that spelled out “HOWL HIGH” across the back.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered, readying my nunchaku. “It’s like a John Hughes movie had a baby with An American Werewolf in London, and that baby grew up listening to nothing but Duran Duran.”

Annalise nodded grimly, her pumps beginning to glow as she prepared for a fight. “Yeah, and I’ve got a feeling these guys aren’t here to ask us to prom.”

As if to confirm her suspicion, the lead werewolf—sporting a jacket in radioactive yellow and purple—let out a howl that sounded disturbingly like the opening riff to “Sweet Child O’ Mine”. The others joined in, creating a cacophony that was equal parts terrifying and absurd.

“Alright, team,” I said, twirling my nunchaku. “Looks like we’re about to find out if these Thriller rejects can dance as well as they dress. Let’s show them how we do things downtown.”

As the pack of werewolves charged at us, a guttural roar erupted from the lead beast. “Tear these dweebs apart!”

My heart thundered in my chest, but I didn’t hesitate. With a battle cry of my own, I swung my nunchaku with every ounce of strength I had. The weapon connected with a sickening, bone-shattering crunch against the jaw of the first werewolf that lunged at me. Blood and teeth sprayed through the air.

[CRITICAL HIT! Jaw Fracture Inflicted - Werewolf 1: -25% Health]

“How’s that for thrashing, Fido?” I snarled, feeling the adrenaline surge through me. “How the fuck do I turn these notifications off? They’re distracting.”

The werewolf recoiled, its neon fangs flashing as it spat blood. “Bogus move, bro!” it growled, lunging at me with blinding speed. I barely managed to sidestep, but not fast enough. Razor-sharp claws raked across my back, and white-hot pain exploded through my body.

[SYSTEM WARNING: Severe Lacerations Detected - Kade: -15% Health]

I gritted my teeth against the agony, refusing to fall. At the same time, I did some mental gymnastics to turn the notifications off, wondering why I had suddenly started to see them. I guess I must’ve messed with the settings accidentally somehow.

Annalise was a whirlwind of fury beside me, her tonfa nightstick crackling with electric energy as she fended off two snarling werewolves. She spun and struck, each blow a precision strike that left deep gashes in the monsters’ flesh.

“Eat neon, you furry freaks!” she shouted, her voice dripping with venom as she smashed one of the beasts across the muzzle. Its skull caved in with a sickening squelch, and it staggered back, howling in pain.

“Totally tubular, babe,” the beast howled, its voice warped by the shattered remains of its face.

Snuggles, all 2.5 feet of him, darted between the werewolves’ legs, his tiny sword a blur of deadly precision.

“Hey, fleabags! Down here!” he taunted, slashing at tendons and arteries with surgical accuracy.

A werewolf in a garish hot pink jacket, its eyes filled with murderous glee, snatched him up with one massive paw. “Prepare for a gnarly wipeout, little dude!”

It snarled, its jaws snapping down around Snuggles, shaking him like a rag doll. The sickening crunch of his plush body echoed through the clearing.

“Snuggles!” I screamed, my voice breaking as horror crashed over me. The sight of his torn fur leaking out blood made my stomach twist.

Annalise let out a primal scream, her eyes blazing with fury. In a single, fluid motion, she leaped onto the werewolf’s back, her tonfa raised high. With a savage thrust, she jammed it into the beast’s eye, twisting with relentless force. “Let him go, you overgrown lapdog!”

The werewolf shrieked, its eye bursting in a spray of neon blood. It released Snuggles, who hit the ground hard, his torn body twitching. “I’m okay,” he croaked. “Just a flesh wound...”

Before I could move to help him, another werewolf tackled me from behind, slamming me into the ground with bone-jarring force. Its claws sank deep into my side, tearing through flesh and muscle.

“Time for a radical makeover, dweeb!” it snarled into my ear, its breath hot and reeking of decay.

Gritting my teeth against the agony, I slammed my head back with all my might. The impact was like hitting a brick wall, but I felt the crunch of its snout breaking under the blow. Blood spurted from its nose as it howled in pain.

“How’s that for radical?” I spat, twisting free and rolling to my feet.

The battlefield was a chaotic mess of violence and gore. Annalise was a berserker, her leg a bloody mess from a vicious bite, yet she fought on with savage determination, her tonfa leaving streaks of light as she battered the werewolves with relentless fury. “Come on, you flea-bitten MTV rejects! Is that all you’ve got?” she yelled.

Even Snuggles, despite his injuries, was still in the fight, using his small size and speed to his advantage. He darted between the legs of the towering beasts, slicing and stabbing with his tiny sword, leaving trails of neon blood in his wake.

The battle raged on, brutal and unforgiving. I found myself face-to-face with another werewolf, its eyes blazing with feral hunger. With a roar, I wrapped my nunchaku around its neck, using all my remaining strength to choke it out. The beast thrashed wildly, its claws tearing into my arms, but I held on, tightening my grip until its struggles weakened.

“Nap time, Lassie!” I hissed, feeling the life drain from its body as it slumped to the ground.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of violence, we stood amidst a sea of fallen werewolves, their bodies twisted and broken. Only two remained, both battered and bloodied, their bravado shattered.

“This scene is totally heinous,” one whimpered, fear replacing the malice in its eyes.

“Let’s bail, dude!” the other yelped, and without another word, they turned tail and fled, disappearing into the forest of boombox trees, their howls of terror echoing behind them.

We collapsed to the ground, bloodied, battered, and utterly exhausted.

“Everyone okay?” I gasped, trying to stem the flow of blood from my countless wounds.

“Define ‘okay’,” Annalise groaned, her leg a ruined mess of torn flesh and shredded denim.

Snuggles stumbled over, leaking blood from numerous gashes, yet somehow still managing a grin. “Well, that was more exciting than Saigon. Anyone got a needle and thread?”