The bus that took Mike from Beacontown back to Perkins smelled just as bad as the one that had brought him. Mike hated buses: the acrid stench of other people's sweat pressing against his nose, the smell of takeout food and gasoline that seemed to hang like a cloud over everyone's heads, the _bump bump_ of the bus on speed bumps that left him sick to his stomach when he got down.
He'd had no choice but to take the bus. Beth had vehemently refused when he wanted to morph into his wolf form and run all the way to Perkins.
Mike was still assessing his relationship with Beth. Theirs was a strained one at best, and he could not look at her without remembering the way she'd smiled down at him when he was strapped to the experiment table, the headlight above her turning her deep red hair golden. The feeling of immense hatred that had coursed through his veins alongside the werewolf Serum, that had changed his life forever.
She'd turned him to the monster he was, and there was no moving away from that.
He had bitten back the hateful words he'd wished to say when she'd insisted on the bus. He knew there was a lot of tension and drama going on in the house—between Lauren and Eric, Lia and Aidan—and he did not want to be the reason for another one. Drama was for teenagers.
So here he was, on a bus back to where it had all started. He was going to see Scott, his best friend and the man who had rescued him from getting hunted down in the woods, to ask him a few questions about Dr Makovsky and where his new hideout might be. Mike guessed he owed his life to the man.
Slowly they pulled into the town of Perkins. Mike watched from the window as little brown houses with white picket fences flashed past, at little children on scooters and adults gardening or mowing their lawn. The town had always been picturesque and relatively peaceful, and he wondered if that was the reason he hadn't left after Katherine had gone to be with the doctor.
This was the life that he'd had as a policeman with Lauren, before the experiment that had changed his life. There was a reignited feeling of self-hatred in his chest as he watched the perfect people in their perfect homes: this was the life he'd had with his daughter before that fateful night, and now he and Lauren were so estranged that she was content with calling total strangers her new family.
 His daughter? That was a very long stretch, he thought
 Hell, he wasn't even related to her. He was as much Lauren's father as he was Katherine's husband. Katherine, who still won't look him in the eye when he happened to be in the room, who still kept a wide berth between them emotionally and physically.
So many complications, so many broken relationships. So many things he wished would go back to normal.
The bus pulled up on the closest bus stop to the Perkins Police Department, and Mike got down with a couple of other people. He walked towards the familiar-looking station: by this time Scott would be on a lunch break and they could have a talk together.
He got to the building and sighed, looking at it. It was still painted white and red, the way he remembered. He felt a strange feeling of nostalgia looking up at it, then climbed the front stairs before the feeling could consume him.
He opened the door to the lobby and stepped in, the suddenly cool air taking him aback. When he'd been working here as a cop, they hadn't installed any ACs. He looked around: the doors that lined both sides of the wall was unrecognizable, the plushly-rugged floor, the bank of elevators on the other side. Even the blonde female cop that stared at him from the front desk was unrecognizable. 
So much had changed.
Mike walked over to the front desk and tried to put up a convincing smile. He was going to pieces inside. "Good morning." He greeted. "I'm looking for Officer Scott."
The blonde female cop looked up and perused him with pretty blue eyes. "Are you here to lodge any complaint."
He swallowed nervously and decided to run with the lie. "Yes. Yes, I am. And I'd like to make it to Officer Scott himself."
"Alright." She pointed to an open door to the left. "His office is over there."
Mike nodded in appreciation, then turned to move towards the door. There were four desks in the office, but the one he remembered as being that of Scott's was empty.
"Good morning." He called and the cops seated behind the other desks looked up. He recognised two of the cops: they used to work with him when he'd been a detective. Now their eyes grazed over his body without recognising him; he guessed the full beard he'd grown was enough disguise. 
"I am looking for Officer Scott." He continued. "I'm a friend of his."
"Oh." One of the seated cops responded. "Haven't you heard? If you're a friend of his, you must have heard already."
Shivers of apprehension suddenly engulfed Mike. "H—heard what?" He stammered.
"It's sad." The cop continued. "Officer Scott has been missing for several weeks now."
****
Mike stumbled out of the office and the police station in a daze. His heart thudded wildly as he stood before the large white building, considering the words he'd just heard.
Scott couldn't be missing. He couldn't....Mike tried to recall the last time he'd seen his best friend, which was in a bus station when he was on his way to Beacontown. That was almost a month ago.
How had he gone missing within a month? What had happened to him?
Mike took one look back at the police station, then walked resolutely down its front steps. He would find out how his best friend had gone missing. He had to know for himself.
*****
Scott's house was part of a row of small bungalows in an almost deserted part of town. It was on the far end of the street, close to the woods where he used to take shots at running deer from the balcony of his house. Mike had spent many afternoons on that balcony with him.
He jogged down the street and stopped in front of the house, looking up at it. The windows were dark, as though nobody was around, and Scott's mailbox had been knocked down too. 
Mike walked slowly to the mailbox and crouched in front of it. There were a couple of letters spilling from the belly of the mailbox, and Mike scooped them up. His eyes caught a couple of long, deep scratches on the side of the blue mailbox too, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, running his fingers over the scratches.
Only one animal could make marks like those on something that strong. A rabid dog.
Or a rabid wolf.
A sense of apprehension settled in Mike's chest and he shook his head. Scott didn't have anything to do with any wolf. This was just his mind playing tricks on him.
He walked up to the front of the house and stepped on the porch, then stopped. More scratches on the hardwood door, glaring and ominous. Mike swallowed nervously, then tried the doorknob. 
The door opened without any restraint, and he stepped inside. The interior of the house was dark, the curtains drawn. "Scott?" He called out, and silence answered him. 
He walked slowly inside the house. "It's your buddy Mike. I'm back from Beacontown. A lot of things happened, actually. I saw my daughter again—well, she's not actually my daughter. Turns out she's Dr Makovsky's daughter actually. I came down to Perkins and fought his rabid wolves at the laboratory. As crazy as all of that sounds, it actually happened. Anyway, I got your mail. Your mailbox was knocked down—"
A dull grunt answered him from inside the house and he felt the fear spread further in his chest. "Scott?" He called again, then felt around the wall for the lightswitch. Soon the living room was filled with bright white light. And he gaped.
The whole room had been turned upside down and torn apart. The stuffed chairs laid on their sides, and the potted plants in the corner had been smashed, dark soil spilling like char on the carpet. The paintings and murals that Scott had hung on walls had more deep scratches on them. The TV was still on, the screen showing dark static. Only the curtains still looked intact.
Mike swallowed past the fear that had lodged in his throat like a stubborn bird, and walked further into the house. The grunting he'd heard earlier was coming from further into the house, in Scott's bedroom. He stopped just before the door of the bedroom, then slowly peeked into the room.
A wolf stared at him from the other end of the room, it's glowing red eyes manic and unsettling.
Mike didn't have time to react or even step back in shock. The rabid wolf sprang from its perch on the bed and knocked him into the corridor. He saw stars as his head hit the ground hard, and felt slimy saliva drop on his face.
The wolf was breathing hard, its paws on Mike's chest. He opened his eyes slowly, his dark eyes meeting the red of the creature. 
_Something about those eyes_
Mike pushed the wolf off his chest with a loud grunt and stood to his feet, facing the wolf and snarling. His claws were out now, his fangs fully extended. His already-amber eyes caught the unnatural red of the wolf's, and Mike couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something familiar about those eyes.
Before he could think any further, the wolf leapt into the air and attacked Mike. Mike swiftly changed into his wolf form and the two beasts tumbled into the living room, tearing at each other's throats. The rabid wolf raised its paw into the air to strike, its claws sharp and massive and gleaming. Each one was like a blade of pain, and they raked across Mike's chest, slicing his skin.
Mike let out an animalistic howl and grabbed the wolf's neck, trying to twist it. It was like grappling with a tree trunk, and soon he felt himself tiring out. He knew the wolf would have him in shreds if he showed any sign of relenting, and he didn't back down.
The wolf raised its paw to attack again, but this time Mike was ready. As it let down its paw for a second strike, Mike reached up and grabbed its paw in his mouth, biting hard. The rabid wolf let out a cry not unlike that of a hyena, and Mike seized the opportunity to push it away from his chest. 
He held the wolf's neck to the ground, pressing down even as it struggled against its hand. Their eyes met for a third time, and the rage in Mike's eyes slowly dissipated as he stared into those red eyes—really stared this time—and he knew why they had looked so familiar.
Scott. He could see his friend, trapped beneath those manic eyes.
Mike's wolf eyes widened in shock and he released its neck for a second. That one second was enough for the rabid wolf to lash out and strike across his face with one paw. He yelled and stumbled backward as the wolf came for him again. 
This time, the brief moment of humanity he'd seen in those glowing eyes were gone. The rabid wolf who was once Scott was advancing now, slowly, deadly, and there was pure rage in those eyes. Mike knew what he had to do, knew there was no other way to save his best friend—no antidote in this world could change the effects of Dr Makovsky's serum. There was no coming back for this wolf.
He had to kill Scott to save him.
With one great yell, he grabbed the wolf's neck as it came for him and twisted once. It snapped violently to the side with a sickening crunch, and the rabid wolf fell to the ground.
Mike changed back to human form, then stared down at his best friend, watching as the life slowly faded from those scarlet eyes. And then he sobbed silent tears.