When I awoke, I found myself tied to a chair inside the main hallway of the manor.

At first, I was groggy and didn’t understand what was going on, but as I came to my senses, the horror of what had just happened took over me.

The relief that we were still in the storyline—that we were still alive—was little solace. We were still at the very beginning of the Party Phase; this was just the setup for the story.

That would explain why Kirst had such high Plot Armor. He needed enough Moxie to ensure he could lure us in.

I looked around at the others. They were tied to chairs the same as me, and the thick ropes used to bind us did not look like the kind you could cut through quickly, and certainly not the kind you could muscle your way out of without a lot of Mettle.

Heck, this whole event might have been scripted so tightly that it couldn't be avoided, but I wasn't sure. I couldn't see the script, and our only ally with access to it had not made her appearance yet.

Kimberly was panicking—or pretending to panic; I couldn't tell which. Antoine and Michael were trying to break the ropes with pure strength, to no avail. Hawk Kipling was awake but kept his cool. Andrew was trying to reach the knot in the ropes behind him, but he had no success.

I wished that I had brought my Escape Artist trope, but I suspected that it wouldn't matter just yet. We were Off-Screen. I doubted any of us were getting out of our bindings unless the audience saw it.

So, I relaxed.

"This looks scripted," I said. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but keep your wits."

"How do you know this isn’t a game over?" Antoine asked.

I didn’t, but if it was, there was no use in panicking just yet. In my experience, emotions like that had a way of gaining momentum, so it was best to delay them as long as you could.

It wasn’t much longer after I woke up that our host, Egan Kirst, entered the room.

On-Screen.

We screamed at him and yelled to be let go, and all of it was useless, but we had to say something. He ignored us as he went into his monologue.

"I suspect you're wondering why it is that I called you here, although you are probably more specifically worried about why it is that I gassed you and tied you up. So, I’ll make you a promise: from this point forward, I will not lie to you. Of course, I don’t expect you to believe me, but it is true. I need you to know the facts so that I can best utilize your skillsets.”

He walked toward us slowly, with no trace of anger on his face despite what he had done to us. He was almost, friendly, but resereved.

"A month ago, if you had told me that werewolves existed, I would have laughed in your face. Oh, how jealous I am of my past ignorance. I digress… As a man of means, I’ve been able to give those I love everything they have ever asked for. And last month, my son asked to take a trip here to Carousel for a camping experience that he said would be like no other. It had a brochure and everything. I would never deny him his happiness; after all, one day, he’s going to need something to think back to when he’s sitting behind a desk making adult decisions, wouldn’t you say?"

He paused as if we were going to respond in kind.

None of us responded. Perhaps we should have, but the truth was, even though all of this was a show, there definitely was an aura of fear in the room because none of us knew what to expect, and we desperately wanted there to be good news somewhere buried inside his exposition.

"Well, it would seem that on that camping trip, my son and his friends were attacked by creatures that could not exist—werewolves. If I had not seen him transform after acquiring the curse, I would never believe it, but I have seen it. In the ensuing weeks, I have gone from someone who did not believe in werewolves to someone who knows everything there is to know—except for how to catch one. No, it would seem that such knowledge is passed down from hunter to hunter and is written about rarely in the texts I was able to acquire. For much of human history, the idea of purposefully going out and finding werewolves would have been seen as folly. But here you are, hunters of the howling shadows, defying all logic and common sense. I believe that you have the abilities and knowledge required to help me."

"So hire us," Hawk said. "Cut it out with all the theatrics. Give us money, and we will do the thing we do for a living. Why are you overcomplicating it?"

Kirst walked around us in slow circles, occasionally weaving in between us to examine our faces.

"I know the nature of men and the nature of tradesmen more so. And I know that no amount of money could ever buy a man’s entire heart, his entire mind. At most, you get 50%. The rest is saved because, in truth, the employee always resents his employer, and he will either subconsciously or purposefully withhold his true potential."

"What are you talking about?" Antoine asked. "Your kid got bit by the curse, and you want us to kill the pack leader. That’s what we do for a living. 50%, 100%—it doesn’t matter. A dead wolf is a dead wolf. In the heat of the hunt, we will do what it takes to survive."

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"Yes, a dead wolf is a dead wolf. Unless that wolf is twice as large as any other and is able to shift in daylight at will."

That comment sucked the air out of the room. I didn’t have the complete account of the lore because my character was, in many ways, an outsider—not a true hunter, but someone who had stumbled into the world of the paranormal.

From the videos I had watched, I knew enough to know that being able to shift in daylight was a sign of a very seasoned, mature wolf and that the size of a werewolf was determined by its rank in the pack, not only by the size of its human form.

"Sounds like you got quite the wolf problem," Hawk said. "But all the same, I’ve killed old wolves and young wolves. Ain’t no matter. Just pay me my money and untie me, damn it."

"It isn’t quite that simple," Kirst said. "I already tried that. Finding a hunter was one of the first things that I did. You see, I don’t lack for resources, and it took me almost no time to discover the secret underworld of paranormal investigation. In fact, I had purchased this legendary estate within a week in hopes that it might hold clues to the curse. Money gets people talking; curiosity gets them talking faster. As tight-lipped as you hunters are, you sure like talking when people believe you. I found a gentleman that liked to talk. He had a scar on the right side of his face and said that he could take care of my problem easily. I sent him and four of my men into the woods to hunt down and kill whatever pack of wolves was terrorizing Carousel, and that was the last I saw of them. You see, he took one look at our wolf infestation and hightailed it out of the state. I found out about his departure by post. My men were nowhere to be found."

"A scar on his face?" Antoine said. "You’re not talking about Tin Gun McAdoo, are you?"

"Patrick McAdoo," Kirst said curiously.

Antoine started to laugh, as did Hawk Kipling.

“Well, there’s your problem,” Hawk said. “Tin Gun McAdoo is a bottom feeder more concerned with his brand than he is with the hunt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he saw more than a few wolves and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Let me guess—you paid him up front?”

Egan Kirst lost all semblance of amusement or warmth from his face. He didn’t like being mocked.

“I suspected as much when he tucked his tail between his legs,” Kirst said. “I suppose I’ve learned a lesson about your industry—that when there are fewer than 100 people with a skillset, it can be difficult to find good help. Well, I’ve learned my lesson and learned it well, which is why I decided that money was not enough. You needed better motivation to give me the 100% that I’m paying for.”

Antoine and Hawk stopped laughing.

“And I will pay you,” Kirst said. “I am a man of my word, so here is my offer: you kill the leader of the pack who turned my son and his girlfriend into monsters before the setting of the last full moon of the cycle, and I will give each of you a million dollars. Do I have your attention now? Mock me all you want, but money always seems to quiet contempt. And as my insurance—” he said, reaching into his pocket, withdrawing six small capsules, and showing them to us.

A close inspection revealed that they were syringes. They almost appeared designed to go on the end of a dart for a dart gun, but they had not been fully assembled. They were filled with a liquid that wasn’t quite clear, almost like bleach.

“No,” Hawk said. “What do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Is that what I think it is?” Antoine asked.

“Oh yes,” Kirst said. “The werewolf curse spreads by saliva in the bloodstream. In fact, the only part of the werewolf that doesn't revert to human is their saliva. The way I see it, this will ensure your full participation. What is it they say? That you don’t truly care unless you have skin in the game? And you do. Or at least, you will soon.”

“No!” Antoine screamed. “I’ll do anything, just not that! Please, I’ll kill that thing—don’t stick me with that needle, please, no!”

At the sound of his screams, five decked out commandos came from the same direction that Kirst had. They each got behind one of us as we were strapped to our chairs and held us down as we tried to squirm free.

These commandos were no joke. Like Kirst, they were NPCs with high plot armor—25 apiece. This was going to be a high-octane story if the side characters were going to be that strong.

Hawk was the first to get injected. He fought as hard as he could, but at the end of the day, there was just nothing we could do.

These commandos must have been all Mettle. They certainly didn’t need Savvy or Moxie, and I half expected that their Grit would be low so that they could act as meat shields or cannon fodder. All 25 of those stat points were put into making them strong enough to hold us down, no matter what we did.

A simple injection in the arm was all it took. First Hawk, then Kimberly, who screamed and cried and put on a good show—though for what might have been the first time, she was shown up by Antoine.

He desperately did not want to get that injection, and it made a lot of sense for his character. His own brother had been turned into a werewolf. He fought as best he could, but at the end of the day, there was nothing to be done.

“Don’t you come near me with that thing!” he screamed. “You think you can just do this to a person and we’re going to forgive you because of money or because we feel sorry for you—your poor son? Money, no money, infection, no infection—you’re on my list.”

Kirst didn’t seem angry at that comment. He must have anticipated it or even respected it.

“If those be the consequences,” he said, “then I’ll take them. If you were a father, you would understand.”

He injected Antoine, and that was that. Antoine continued to scream, but there was nothing to be done. His rage meant nothing.

Michael was stoic as he was infected.

So, I had to decide. Did I get emotional like Antoine or Kimberly, or did I look Kirst dead in the eye like a man?

I chose a bit of both, but it wasn’t because I was afraid of the werewolf curse. I just had a thing with needles after being experimented on during the tutorial. I closed my eyes and let it happen.

After he was done, Kirst took a few steps back and said, “Now, I have your loyalty until the job is done. As I’m sure you’re aware, werewolf saliva is not potent. Most who are bitten will never change. They simply die of the injuries from their mauling. The odds are about one in four, but you’ll never know whether you have succumbed to the curse until the final full moon of the cycle. So until that happens, I expect nothing but 100% of your efforts in tracking down and killing this beast. In the meantime, I will supply you with unlimited resources—hundreds of pounds of silver that can be molded into any sort of weapon you think might be useful, wolfsbane by the bushel, guns, and several dozen highly trained mercenaries at your command.

“We have a week and some change. If we succeed in killing the pack leader, you will get the agreed-upon sum, and you will have every opportunity to murder me if that’s what you wish. But all I ask is that until we have the job done, we work together. You need me as much as I need you. The forest is crowded with wolves.”

He turned to his commandos and said, “Untie them. We have work to do.”

And so, each of the commandos undid the ropes that bound us.

Antoine put on a show of mean-mugging Kirst but didn’t attack him because the man was right—we did need him.

“Now, follow me. I’d like you to meet my son,” Kirst said.