4 Chapter 4: Howling for The Hood.

"Did you know him?"

Bronte almost jumped out of his skin, "God damn, dude. Where did you come from?"

"AP Calculus, what about you?" The student said as he smiled faintly and adjusted his glasses.

There were thousands of students at Midtown High-- and Bronte wasn't exactly popular, but he knew the faces of most. Except for the student that faced him. He looked impossibly normal with his stylized faded hair, black rimmed glasses, grey hoodie and blue jeans. Even so, Bronte felt slightly unnerved.

Maybe it was his hood that he wore halfway over his head. Damn hoods were going to give him an aneurism.

"Ethics....." Bronte replied to his previous question.

"Ou-- nice... nice." He replied.

"Yep."

"So, did you know him?" The student asked again.

Bronte shook his head, "Nah. I was a freshman when it happened. I didn't even come up here like that. What about you?"

"Same. I spoke to him a couple of times, but that was about it."

"Well, sorry for your loss either way." Bronte said.

The student smiled faintly and nodded in appreciation.

They stood in silence viewing the picture for a while. During that time, the music from Bronte's headphones became painfully loud. He turned them down.

"Uhm-- Can I ask you a favor? Thats actually why I came here."

Bronte looked at the student, "What's up?"

"I'm with the school's photo and video team and I was actually tasked with making a memorial image slideshow for him.... for Jimmy-- I mean." He said in reference to the picture of the student in the memorial.

"Yea...." Bronte said.

"And I was wondering if you could make background music for it. I'll pay you if it comes to that."

Bronte scratched his head in thought, "Man, I don't know. I don't really make music that goes along with.... well, this. Know what I'm saying?"

The student shrugged as he looked down at his headphones, "I spoke to a couple other students on the photo and video team that you've made tracks for. They all say you've got impressive range, man. And from what I can hear, they aren't wrong."

Bronte smiled sideways at him, "You buttering me up right now?"

The student chuckled and raised his hands, "Hey, I'm speaking the truth. A little flattery never hurt anyone though."

"Word... word." Bronte agreed as they chuckled faintly.

"So, what do you say? If you give me your number, I can send you the slideshow and you can decide what sound goes along with it? It would be due by next week." The student asked.

Bronte weighed his options in silence for a moment before nodding, "Yea I can do that." He said before they exchanged numbers.

"Alright thanks, Bronte." The student said.

"No problem at all... uhhh ...." Bronte struggled verbally as he reached out for the student with his right hand.

"Peter, Peter Parker." The student replied before they shook up.

"Right. No problem, Peter." Bronte replied before they parted ways.

"Oh shoot-- Gwen!" Peter panicked to himself in the distance before he began jogging off to the right of the memorial to head up the stairs to what Bronte could only assume would be the library.

Suddenly another bell rang signifying the start of another class. Bronte panicked and turned to travel the opposite direction Peter traveled to head to Gym class on the first floor. His lateness irritated him, causing him to lower his head and yell out, "Shi--oumf!"

His personal verbal outburst was cut short due to his face colliding with a wall. Or least something that felt like a wall.

He backed away quick in response, looking up to find that he'd walked into someone-- their chest just happened to feel like concrete. And the hood they wore cast their face in shadows.

Another hood. Similar to the others.....

Bronte backed away slowly, his heartbeat loud in his ears and his legs as weak as noodles.

"S-sorry about that..... I didn't see you there."

The hooded individual stepped forward, and Bronte couldn't help but notice the blood on their knuckles--- and the aviator jacket they wore over his hoodie.

"Tay Astra..... you need to come with me. Like right now." It was a man this time. A man with an unmistakably Japanese accent. The faintest hint but present, nonetheless.

Bronte froze, "-- What?" For a moment his fear faded as the man addressed him by his artist name. He was beginning to wonder if this was some joke and the man was about to tell him to drop some more music.

"Did I stutter? I said come with me-- now." He repeated, firmer than before. The idea of it being a joke had begun to fade.

"Listen man, I--"

"No, you listen to me. You scrawny little shit, you aren't safe here..... so that means we aren't either. None of us are. So follow me, before I drag you by your teeth." The hooded man said.

Yep. Definitely not a joke. Bronte was at a loss for words. It was so horrifyingly silent in the empty hallway. Peter's warm and impossibly normal presence had faded.... and Bronte felt like he was no longer in high school.

He could hear the man's knuckles cracking as he balled his hands into fists.

"NOW--" The man's words were cut short by a blood-freezing howl that shook the school as if it were played through the most powerful amp in existence.

Bronte could feel the hairs on his arms rising.

The hooded man's exposed lower jaw flexed with tensity.

"We need to move, Bronte..... or a lot of people will die."

After he spoke, two seventeen-inch bone-claws ripped out from the skin between his knuckles along with a third that burst from his wrist so violently it made Bronte flinch.

When the next howl came, it sounded infinitely closer-- and the man was on the move, pulling Bronte along with him....