By Moonlight (P.P + M.J)

24. Winter Werewolf

The rest of the day was a blur. Peter couldn't get what MJ had said out of his head. He needed to prove himself to her, but he had no idea how. She was the hardest person in the world to impress, but the thought of convincing her of something she didn't believe in sounded like the most terrifying task in the world. MJ was as stubborn as she was amazing.

Peter stayed out late that night, chilling out in a scrapyard just across the river from Manhattan. It was quiet and a good place for him to think. Sometimes there were friendly stray dogs that he'd give treats to, but there were none there on that particular night.

"What kind of things are gray, Karen?" Peter asked his A.I.

Hmm, there are some particular breeds of dogs and cats that are gray. Also vintage photos and old movies appear that color.

"Movies!" Peter exclaimed in realization, "MJ said she loves old black and white movies! Especially old shows like I Love Lucy and The Twilight Zone."

Before Karen could suggest anything else, another thought hit him. "And pencil lead! Charcoal pencils! The things she draws with! Almost all her pictures are gray!"

You're very observant, Peter.

"What else..? Maybe she loves gray because it's the perfect balancing color between light and dark?"

Is it that deep a reason?

"Have you met MJ?" Peter asked, "everything's a philosophical breakdown with her."

Then, there was a rustle from one of the scrap piles. Immediately growing alert, Peter stood up, letting his backpack slide off his shoulders onto the roof of the car he was perched on. Karen ran a scan, searching for a heat signature, but didn't find one.

Check behind you.

Peter did as he was told and turned, only to see a flash of orange across his lenses. Something was hiding out in the yard, and Peter began to feel like he was being hunted.

Peter, get out of there.

He was slow to respond, because every muscle was tense with anticipation. Something was waiting for him to move, baiting him to try and escape. He was being watched, being preyed on like a wild animal.

Or by a wild animal.

"Werewolf?" Peter called, taking a chance that it might be the anti-hero. There was no answer, and Peter started to feel stupid. It was probably just a cat or one of the dogs of the scrapyard. Nothing to get worked up about.

"Don't worry, Karen," he assured his A.I. as he picked up his book bag and started to hop the cars, "it was nothing."

He had spoken way too soon.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when a fearsome roar split the quiet night air. Peter whipped around to see the colossal form of Werewolf lunging at him. The young hero sidestepped out of the way, and the black-furred lycan landed back on the ground, turning on Peter with bared teeth. He wore ragged blue trousers and his eyes were glowing his usual brilliant blue, his pupils vertical slits like that of a snake.

"You know, I gotta admit, you had me there," Peter conceded, tossing his backpack aside.

But Werewolf wasn't into the banter, and instead of charging Peter, he rammed into the car he was standing on. The boy backflipped away as Werewolf tore his way through it, chasing after Peter.