Authors Note: This is a bit of an experiment. I had this thought today : What must it have been like for Oz to hear about Sunnydale exploding? It quickly morphed into a larger plotbunny involving a newly called slayer (who is most definitely NOT going to be Oz's love interest. So.. uh, here it goes. There will be more, and rather soon. I promise. Please leave reviews, hopefully the constructive criticism-y type. I'm worried as to whether I got Oz's voice right, so any tips I can get on that front would help.

The moon will be out tonight, full and bright. I can feel the wolf inside, fighting to get out. He's contained, caged within me, and it makes him furious. I wouldn't walk the streets in a city this densely populated if I didn't think I was in control.

I'm walking nowhere in particular, waiting for the sun to set. The smells all around me are almost overwhelming. Street food, the ever-present scent of pollution, and the individual smells of each and every human that passes me by waft through my nose. A few of the beings I smell are not so human, but that's not so worrying. I can smell danger, and there is none here.

As I pass by an electronics store, I see the headline from the news. "Sunnydale California Destroyed In Terrorist Attack." I close my eyes and breathe. I don't believe it for a minute. This is Hellmouth-y, apocalypse business. And I can't shake the feeling that I should have been there, should have helped somehow. Is Willow still alive? Are any of them still alive?

I don't want to think about it. I can keep my mind away from it; pretend they all got out safe. Pretend that She got out safe. The wolf can't pretend. He's to simple a creature for that. Within me, he yowls in pain. The only thing the wolf and I ever agreed on was loving Willow.

My hands fiddle with on of my Werewolf suppressing charms that I keep in my pocket. The howling dies down reduced to pathetic yelps of pain. I force myself to keep walking. I have a mission. I'm not a member of the Scooby Gang anymore, but my time with them taught me a lot. Every night that I can, I patrol. I'm no Slayer, but I've figured out how to channel the wolf now. He lets me do it. I think he enjoys the violence. It keeps him complacent, and I figure that if I can keep people safe, I should keep people safe.

I've had a few close calls, but I've saved a lot of people. Once you start fighting the good fight, it's hard to stop. I guess Sunnydale ruined me in more than a few ways.

The sun is going down. Spreading light out in a thousand different directions in a last ditch effort to give light to the world. It never works. The light always dissipates, in the end. A good part of me feels like I belong in the night, especially when I can feel the moonlight. It almost tickles me now, as if it knows I should be a wolf, but I've beaten the system.

My senses sharpen as the last of the sunlight scatters. I can smell death – cold flesh, stale blood. A vampire is near. Just one, so I should be able to take him. He's two blocks down. I jog my way there, dodging pedestrians as I go. It doesn't smell like he's feeding yet, so I can afford to take my time.

The scent trail leads me into a club. Loud music, but no band playing. I miss the Dingoes. I spot the vamp – he's dancing with a tall strawberry blond, some girl who doesn't really look old enough to be here. I can't fight him here; there are too many people. So I wait, and I watch. Order myself a coke – I have a strict no alcohol policy on full moons. From what I've been told, bad things happen when you mix wolfs bane and suppressant charms with alcohol.

Finally, he walks the girl outside, through the back exit. I make my way through the club, weaving my way through the throng of dancing drunks. Being short makes maneuvering through crowds easy. It's one of the few advantages that come with almost qualifying as a midget.

I make it out the door, and find myself in the cliché dark alley. I hear the sounds of a struggle. My jog breaks into a run. Further down the alley, I find them. The guy's in full vamp face, but the girl has her fist in his face. He's knocked back, hitting the wall. Then, I smell it. The girl – she smells like Buffy. Like power, like a Slayer. Buffy's dead. Is Willow dead?

I can't worry about that right now. There's still a fight to be won.
"Do you know what to do?" I ask, unsure if I need to explain things to this girl. Her head whips around, and she stares at me.

"Sure I know what to do. I need to beat this asshole up badly enough that he never comes near me again. I think he's some sort of druggy." She replied. Damn it. She had Sunnydale syndrome. Probably no watcher, no one to tell her about her destiny and things that went bump in the night. I envied her for a moment, because sometimes not knowing was better. While her eyes were fixed on me, the vampire leapt up and attacked her with a sweeping kick.

"Slayer!" he growled. I reached down, pulling out a stake I kept hidden in my jacket. Calling on my wolf, I felt anger and strength flow through my veins. Jumping, I gave him a powerful kick to his stomach. He hit the ground with a thud, and I staked him before he could get up. He dusted, and I breathed out, letting the power of the wolf flow out of me.

I turned around to check on the Slayer. She was looking at me, her eyes wide.

"What the hell did you just do? Where did he go?" she asked.

"This is going to be a very long explanation. I'll start with giving you my name. I'm Daniel Osborne, but don't call me that. Call me Oz. Who are you?" I asked. This girl was fairly scared. She hadn't grown up in Sunnydale, wasn't used to crazy things happening all around her. To her, his wouldn't be a welcome explanation. It would be an uncomfortable revelation.