Ken winced under the protection of his helmet, zooming down the highway away from the city. "Damn, It's starting… I hate winter and its early nights…" he thought to himself, hands gripping convulsively tighter to the handle bars of his motor cycle, pain lancing through him like hot knife slashes. Veering off the road onto a deserted field, swearing softly as he hurriedly got off the bike, tearing at the helmet. "Why does this have to happened to me…?" the brunette whimpered as he sunk to his knee's, hands clutching at his temples, damn, changing hurt. Cries of agony tore out of this throat, metamorphosing into howls as bright, winters full moon appeared.

The dawn's crisp light awoke Ken from his nightmare, he sat up, only glad for the fact that he never remembered much whenever he changed, never mind the fleeting images of the hunt, blood lust, and kill. As always, he was covered in sticky blood. Looking around, he saw the half-eaten carcass of a deer, most likely taken from the zoo. The coppery smell of the animal's blood hung in the air all around, the taste filling his throat, choking him. With unconscious tears flowing down the soccer players face, he turned away, desperately wanting to throw up, if only to rid himself of the cloying taste, but he knew that he wouldn't, that…thing…(he refused to dignify it with the name werewolf) that he periodically became would never let him, forcing Ken to live with its sadistic aftermath. Pulling himself up, he went to search for his bike.