In his dream he strolled lazily through a bright sunny field of tall grass and wild flowers. The laughter of children could be heard in the distance, their voices like chimes on the wind. He smiled and felt relaxed and at peace. His hair was blue today, and blue was always a good color for him. Sometimes it meant that dinner would be especially surprising in its flavor, sometimes it just meant that he wouldn't sleep through his alarm.

Something more insistent drowned out the laughing children, it was fast and steady like the sound of a helicopters blades cutting through the sky. Only much, much lower to the ground. The sound was soon joined by a smell, and the smell made him smile with all his teeth glinting in the bright sunlight.

Soon the sunlight faded to dusk and the rapid pounding echoed in his ears, calling to him. Nostrils flared as he scented the air, it was sweet, lingering like a fine wine. Before long he was running; crouching low to hide below the line of the tall grasses. With ever increasing urgency he raced through the field, his hands at first dragging on the ground then meeting the ground as all four of his legs sprang into a feral run.

Glowing eyes pierced the dark, his prey cornered with no escape and he lunged. Blood and sinew filled his mouth as he tore at the animals flesh and he wondered at the meaning of it all. If you are what you eat, does this mean he is an amalgamation of human and deer and wolf and the carrots he ate last week? Each drip of blood that spilled down his throat made him feel alive and free. He reveled in it because he knew, when he woke up his prey wouldn't be so sweet and pure. It would be dark, and sick with corruption, and that was why when he woke up, his hair would be un-dyed, red and uncorrupted and his dinner wouldn't have any surprising flavors hidden in the basic military rations.

That's how the dream always seemed to end since coming to the war zone that had once bee Los Angeles. After The Wolf, the Ram and the Heart had began their attack on what remained of Angel and his companions, Dragons and all, the Initiative commandeered the Army and began bombing the Los Angeles Basin. Later, Buffy and a team of her Slayers went in during a temporary cease fire, to look for survivors and to try to take out what remained of the demonic force.

After leaving Sunnydale Oz had returned to Tibet and continued his training to better control his wolf. Eventually he became a teacher to the newly bitten, teaching them to control and embrace their wolf as he had. That was where he'd been brought in to this mess. Buffy had tracked him down and asked him to come with them, saying that they would need his kind of tracking skills as much as they needed her slayers. Also, there were werewolves loose in the city, infecting people and those people would need a teacher. If they lived long enough to get out, and weren't driven mad just by being stuck in this hell hole without any explanation as to what had happened to them.

Something had awakened him though, brought him out of his dreamscape. Something was close to the base camp they'd set up in the ruins of an old store front. He was reluctant to get up though, because rest had been so scarce. It felt as though he'd only just gone to sleep a few minutes ago, though by the feel of the night and the pull of the moon he knew he'd had at least a few hours.

Like an animatronic toy he sat up in his sleeping bag that rested not far from one of the base camps hummer shaped walls. Eyes darting about like a caged animal, though he knew he wasn't caged. All of his senses worked at taking in his surroundings reporting back that blood was in the air and someone was injured, that there was a storm of chatter going on near by.

He'd sleep fully clothed so he jumped up and went to investigate. As he got closer he could see that Xander and Buffy were huddled over one of the young slayers. It was her blood that he'd smelled. Though for the life of him he couldn't quite place her name with her face. Who would have ever thought there'd be a day when there were so many slayers one would have trouble remembering their names? "I smelled blood, it woke me up." Kneeling down next to the huddle he listened to the weakening heartbeat of the girl and knew the injuries were very serious.

"She's pretty weak. Hearts slowing down, best call for transport out for her." As ever he was outwardly un-phased by the situation. But internally he was fighting the urge to sprint off into the raging city around them and hunt down the nearest demon and eviscerate it with a viciousness that would shock those that knew him. His anger was sparked by the wounds. The wounds were familiar, because they looked like he could have made them, but he knew he hadn't. Which meant one thing, there were werewolves in the area, it also meant that this slayer might be infected.