That night was my first night. I forced myself out of the bed after I was absolutely positive that Derek was out good. Getting out of the house, without waking a werewolf was probably the most difficult thing I have ever had to do. My equipment was waiting for me in the car, tucked under the black hoodie was the shiny metal that seemed to be glistening in the light waiting for me to put it on.

I knew what I had to do. The house wasn't far and the man that lived there would be going to work in exactly 10 minutes. Then he'd get what was coming to him. Reports have said he is a constant offender of werewolf abuse and I was ready to allow karma to pay him a little visit.

The 12 minutes to get there felt like hours, the anticipation growing and stirring inside of me.

I made sure to park a few houses away to prepare. I grabbed the pile that sat in the back seat and placed it on my lap. I slipped on the hoodie, the black fabric feeling like silk over my arms. The gloves slid on with no problem, the golden claws shining, ready for vengeance. The mask was the last thing, the dark slits glaring at me, sucking me in. I placed the metal onto my face and secured the strap behind my head. I then pulled my hood up onto my head letting it lay right behind the pointy ears of the mask.

I looked up and through the slits of the mask I could see the man walk out from his front door. He locked it and proceeded to his car.

I glared at the man, watching as he walked as if he had no care in the world. Well I was about the change that.

Once he pulled out I grabbed the bag that was sitting patiently in the passenger seat and hopped out the car. The absence of street lights made my job so easy. I casually strode across the street and into the man's backyard. Breaking in was easy with the baseball bat I brought. A simple swing to the back door and the glass came shattering down in front of me.

I smiled and stepped through, greeted by darkness. The glass crunched beneath my sneakers as I entered the house. The house was huge, with a beautiful chandelier in the middle of the dining room to top it off. It made me sick. To see this man boast his wealth as if he was a saint. This sickness, this anger pushed me on. Encouraging me to do something I never thought I'd even consider in my lifetime.

I made my way through the darkness, the silence a thick heavy blanket that sat on my shoulders, pushing down on me with each step. I found the stairs with no problem and made my way to the second floor.

I knew no one was home. This man lived alone. His sad little life full of nothing, but torturing people who are too weak to actually fight back. His facebook had been so easy to find, full of pictures of him parading around with the people he calls friends. All of them there for nothing else, but his money. Of course he didn't care though. I mean what man would want real friends when he had this dirty little secret tucked into his jacket.

Oh, but I was about the bring that secret to the light. Broadcast to the world how big this problem is and, above that, how truly wrong it is. Show them that people like this are sick and demented and that they deserve to be punished. More than just a simple slap on the wrist, they need chains locked down on them in the form of handcuffs. Jumpsuits the color of the spilt werewolf's blood so people know. They know of what these people have done.

First, I had to focus on this though. So I gathered myself and entered the man's bedroom. There was nothing interesting in the room, a bland tan seemed to be the main color in the room, except a shiny object that sat upon the dresser. Once I got closer the shiny object became much more appealing, the metal becoming more threatening when I realized exactly what it was. A pistol sat atop the wood, glistening and calling for me just like my mask had. I grabbed the gun and held it in my hands, feeling the weight of it and the damage it could do. This was for protection though.

With that reminder I tucked the weapon into my waistband and took another glance around the room. I unzipped the bag that hung off my shoulder and retrieved the baseball bat I had stored in there. Once I held it in my hand, I let the bag drop to the floor. The thud sounded distant as I took the bat in both hands. It was a simple wooden bat, but the possibilities it held turned the room into a playground.

I turned my gaze on the lamp that sat in front of me and lifted the bat above my head. There was a split second before I swung that my morals seemed to creep up on me, forcing me to hesitate. I reminded myself, of exactly, what this man had done and that hesitation faded and I swung as hard as I could. The end of the bat collided with the lamp, shattering the vase and sending the lamp flying across the room. The pieces littered the floor, dotting the plain carpet.

There was a few seconds of silence before the relief flooded through me. The feeling of vengeance, of a righteous sin. Then the urge to do more, to feel more. I remember blanking out for second and coming to right before my bat collided with one of the windows. The glass shattered outward, dancing in the wind before collecting on the grass below.

The other two windows didn't have a chance for they were shattered in the few seconds following the first one.

My breath came heavy at this point, my chest rising and falling rapidly with my quick movements. That pause to catch my breath was when my eyes connected with a flat screen tv that blended with the wall. So camouflaged that I almost didn't see it...but I did and everything in that moment was telling me to destroy it. So I did just that. Swinging and hitting until the tv was in chunks upon the floor.

One look at my destruction and I knew one thing was missing. The reason why I was doing this. Something that when this asshole returned he would know why this was done to him.

I walked over to my bag and rummaged through it, moving the supplies I had in my bag around, searching for something. My gaze froze on a can of spray paint, the label screaming up at me. That's when I knew what I was to do.

I ripped the comforter off the bed, revealing the white sheet underneath. I gazed at my canvas as I shook the can of paint in my hand. I leaned onto the bed, watching as the red paint stained the fresh sheets. When I was done I stepped back and gazed at the words that were sprawled over the sheets.

'Blame The Humans, Not The Wolves'

The red paint was a stark contrast to the room, but I needed a little more anticipation than this. I wanted the man to feel utterly terrified as he made his way up to his room.

I used the red spray paint to add a little color to my glove, coating the end of the claws with red. As I made my way out into the hallway, I dug the claws into the wallpaper, clawing my way through it as I continued down. The red paint left perfect claw marks into the wall, dripping down in some parts. If it wasn't for the smell you wouldn't be able to tell it wasn't blood.

I made it down to the kitchen and decided to add one last finishing touch to the house. Starting from the door I had broken into and continuing until the staircase, I added paw prints. Crudely painted down with red paint. For someone whose art experience consists of doodles, the paws looked pretty professional. Proportioned perfectly and spaced out evenly, as if am actually wolf had padded through. It was all perfect, laid out beautifully for him to see and soon everyone else to see.

The break in was in the news, sprawled all over the front page with pictures of everything. My crude red lettering popping against the white computer screen. It was amazing, the publicity that this was getting...that I was getting. This was what the cause needed to get everyone to see what was going on.

I couldn't stop here. And I didn't. Every other night I would sneak out long after Derek was asleep and become a masked vigilante. House after house I broke into and left my mark, everyone proving a point. That enslaving werewolves was wrong and that abusing them was even worse.

Eventually people starting piecing together the break ins and speculations were made that it was a rogue werewolf. No one knew what to expect, until a nearby camera happened to capture a glimpse of me as I was entering a house. Thankfully my mask came in handy and that was the only distinguishable thing. Everything else was just a black shadow. So I guess that's how the name started. Every news reporter around town began calling me 'The Black Wolf'.

I couldn't help but adopt the name. It fit so well and, I mean, it did have a fantastic ring to it.