Clark Kent gulped down his Mountain Dew so fast that he nearly felt the burning of carbonized water shooting down his alien throat. In one gulp he finished his 20-ounce soda, attracting the attention of some nearby drunkards.

One of them actually tried to chug down a bottle, but the burning sensation proved too much and they spat it back out. Clark would have found it amusing if his thoughts had not been wandering elsewhere. His thoughts delved into the sea of mysteries, which contained possibly every question he could ever think to ask, but they remained focused on his predicament.

He was in Ireland, halfway across the world from Kansas. How would he get back? The only way he, Lionel, and the troops stood a chance against the werewolves were if he could use his powers, but even then he was seriously outnumbered. Besides, how would he use his abilities without revealing them to Lionel?

"You gonna' pay for that?" barked Ian the bartender. Clark's attention snapped back to the present. He was in the bar that Ellem had introduced him to. Occupying some of the seats were the remaining troops, Willows, and Lionel – who sat down the counter from Clark. Lionel smiled and raised his hand.

"I'll pay for it," assured Lionel. He got down from his stool and trotted over to Clark, sitting in the bar stool next to him. "That is soda, right? You're not sneaking alcohol into it?"

Clark gave him a look of dislike. "I don't drink alcohol, Mr. Luthor, but I don't have to explain myself to you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I always felt we could be great friends. Why, someday you could help me run LuthorCorp. Lex is running around with his little LexCorp; I doubt that I'll need him."

"And what would make you think that I would want to help you in any way?"

Lionel chuckled. He chuckled a lot, Clark noticed. "I'm not going to be around forever, Clark. I doubt I'll be around much longer. I need someone I can trust, and I know a trustworthy associate when I see him. We could be great together."

Clark thought of something Lex would say and blurted it out, accidentally, "I plan to be great all on my own."

"I'm sure! You're on your way to the top, isn't that right?" Lionel chuckled some more. "Remember one of our earliest meetings? Last year? Back when I was, ah, blind?"

Clark nodded slightly.

"You left quite an impression. The type of attitude you displayed was the kind that will – well, I told you already, didn't? I said it would get you far. A shame you abandoned that persona," Lionel leaned in to whisper into Clark's ear. "I'm offering you power, Clark. Most people wouldn't turn that down."

Clark looked at Lionel dead in the eye. "I'm not most people."

"Ah, a cliché, but perhaps an apt one." Lionel pulled back and sat forward. He signaled for the bartender to come over. "I'll have some Scotch. You do have Scotch, yes?"

Ian grumbled, "Yeah, yeah..."

"Ahem, yes, anyway, where were we?" resumed Lionel.

Suddenly, a hairy figure burst in through the large window staring outside. Glass littered the ground, slicing into the people that sat nearby, though in number there were few. Fortunately, the bar counter and the troops were far enough away from the window that they had time to react. Willows and her troops yanked out their guns from their holsters and trained them on the figure.

It was a wolf, though twice the size of a normal one. He was large and had neat, tame fur with a black streak that ran down to his tail, which wagged furiously. This was Moonfur.

"Open fire!" ordered Sgt. Willows. No sooner had the bullets left the barrels of the firing guns did everyone drop to the floor seeking cover, except for Clark who shot two invisible blasts of heat vision.

The bullets had little effect, but Clark's heat blast successfully knocked Moonfur to the ground. Dazed, the wolf stayed on the ground, feigning unconsciousness. Seeing little reason to waste ammunition, Willows ordered the gunfire to cease.

Lionel looked up from beneath his bar stool and stared dead at Clark, "Never a dull moment around you, huh?"

Clark looked back at him to answer, and was tackled to the ground by Moonfur. He yelled in anguish as Moonfur's fangs sank deep into his shoulder.

"Fire!" Willows and the troops unloaded a magazine into Moonfur's back, but it caused little damage. Moonfur began to turn around, exposing Clark. "Hold your fire, you might hit the kid!"

"If we don't keep firing, that thing's gonna' tear his freaking head off!" argued Omar. He reloaded his Beretta and took aim. Willows whirled around and neatly grazed Omar's arm with a slug, causing him to drop the gun. "OW!"

"That was an order, soldier!"

Lionel was closest to Moonfur and Clark and revealed two handguns. One of them was the one he had borrowed from Derrick earlier that night, during their escape from the cave. The other was his own personal handgun, which was loaded with the silver bullets Clark had given him.

He trained the guns at Moonfur, who stared down the barrels. A flash of silver shined from deep inside one of the barrels, and Moonfur knew to back off. He let go of Clark, who slumped to the ground nearly unconscious. He whirled around and leapt out of the bar and into the night.

"We did it..." murmured Omar. "We won!"

Robinson thought we kill Omar, "No, you idiot, we just managed to scare him away. Who knows how many of them are out there. Why'd it run away, anyway?"

Lionel got up. "He must have sensed that my gun was loaded with a silver cartridge."

"Why didn't you shoot him?"

"I can't afford to waste bullets and scaring him off proved effective. We're going to need more of these, though."

Clark got up and groaned. If one were to live in a town where it was common knowledge that werewolves lived not a mile away, he or she would also make sure they were prepared to defend themselves. Therefore, he reasoned, there had to be silver somewhere in the bar. He turned on his x- ray vision.

Sure enough, hidden away in a closet behind the bar, was a trunk full of silver weapons.

"Oy!" called a drunk who hadn't moved from his booth throughout the entire fight. "Can I get another beer?"



Clark eventually managed to come up with an excuse to maneuver his way to the back of the building and pretended to just happen to find the trunk full of assorted silver weapons. It was locked with an advanced padlock (clearly Ellem wanted to be the only one with access to them) but Clark easily broke it off with his super strength and hid the remains.

"These are great," admired Lionel as he held up a silver sword. "One hundred percent pure silver!"

Willows had to smile, fighting back tears from remembering Jack's death, "Yeah... way to go, Smallville."

"Me likes," commented Omar, holding up another pack of silver bullets and loading them into his Beretta. "So let's go hunting."

Clark was glad that at least now they stood a fighting chance, even though he would of preferred to approach the situation with a non-lethal way, it didn't look like that was going to happen. Subconsciously, he scratched the bite mark on his shoulder. His vision suddenly blurred slightly and he almost toppled to the ground.

"You okay, Clark?" asked Lionel. "You look green."

"No... no, I'm fine."

The company left the bar armed with axes, swords, knives, and silver ammunition – leaving behind only scared patrons. As they walked down the street in search of the wolves that had attacked them, Ellem's words burned into Clark's mind: "There are no set rules to this werewolf gig."