Backstage at the Fox & Fen Hall smelled like stone, dust, and adrenaline. The post-show comedown was always a blend of buzzing nerves and body heat, but tonight, it hit differently. The lights had barely cooled above the stage when the crew funneled the pack toward the back lounge area — a space more broom closet than green room, with exactly one couch, a broken mini fridge, and a fan oscillating like it had given up decades ago.
Gabriel collapsed on the couch, bass still slung around his shoulders, claws drumming restlessly on the body of it. His eyes were wild. Not angry anymore. Just alive.
Thane paced a slow line by the door, head low, ice-blue eyes simmering. Mark leaned against a side wall, arms folded, watching the two of them with his usual tired patience.
Cassie finally broke the silence. “Well. That was… something.”
Jonah came in next, beaming. “Dude, the crowd went feral! They loved it!”
Rico followed him with a shake of his head. “Yeah, but that could’ve gone sideways fast. I thought for sure one of you was gonna tear the guy’s throat out.”
Gabriel let out a low laugh that didn’t quite hit humor. “Honestly? So did I.”
Emily stepped in cautiously, phone held out. “Uh… so, just FYI… that whole moment? It’s already got four million views on our TikTok.”
Thane looked up.
“Four. Million.” she repeated. “And it’s trending on X and YouTube. News outlets are picking it up. Some are calling it… well, ‘werewolf aggression.’”
Mark muttered, “Of course they are.”
Before anyone could respond, a sharp knock sounded on the doorframe, and a suited figure leaned in. He had the polished edge of a corporate type — well-dressed, earpiece, phone in one hand, an efficient smile on his face.
“Sorry to intrude. My name’s Elliott Pierce. I’m with The Guardian. One of our anchors is doing a special tonight — wants to ask a few questions. Live. We’ll run it as a remote segment. Ten minutes, tops.”
Thane gave a curt nod. “We’ll take it.”
Gabriel’s ears flicked. “We will?”
“You wanted to be heard,” Thane said simply. “Let’s speak.”
Five minutes later, the pack stood under the wash of LED lights rigged to a phone tripod in the hallway just outside the lounge. Emily held the camera steady as the call connected. On-screen, a studio anchor appeared: late 40s, slick blonde hair, that smooth tone of voice trained for debate and disapproval.
“Thank you, Feral Eclipse, for joining us,” he began with practiced warmth. “You’ve made quite the splash online tonight.”
Gabriel crossed his arms. “We aim to please.”
“I’d like to start with the obvious. The footage from earlier — your sound engineer, Thane, leaving the stage and confronting a member of the crowd. What would you call that behavior?”
Thane’s stare was flat. “Necessary.”
The anchor blinked. “You don’t believe it was a threat to your audience?”
Gabriel’s voice was sharp. “A threat to the audience was holding a sign that called us animals who belong in cages. You don’t get to throw hate and call it ‘free speech’ when it’s aimed at someone’s existence.”
“We’re not monsters,” Cassie added, her voice cool but fierce. “We play music. We tell stories. We connect. If someone shows up just to dehumanize us, they’re the threat.”
The anchor’s lips tightened, but he changed tack. “Some might say that kind of reaction — the aggression — feeds into negative stereotypes about werewolves. About your band.”
Mark stepped forward, voice low but firm. “Then maybe the problem isn’t the werewolves. Maybe it’s the stories people keep telling about us.”
Thane nodded. “We don’t owe anyone silence. Not when people try to paint us as dangerous just for existing. What we are… is protective. Of each other. Of our fans. Of our truth.”
The anchor glanced to his notes, clearly flustered by how tightly the pack was sticking together. “So… what’s your message to people who might be afraid of you?”
Gabriel bared his teeth in the closest thing to a snarl the live feed could handle.
“We’re not here to be your fantasy. We’re not your Halloween costume. We’re real. And we’re done pretending otherwise.”
—
By the time the segment ended, social media was already detonating again. Screens in the hall glowed with headlines, reaction videos, support posts, and hashtags like #FeralAndFree and #CagesAreForCowards.
Thane turned to Gabriel quietly, beneath the static of the dying LED light.
“You held it together.”
Gabriel exhaled. “Because you leapt first.”
He smirked. “Guess I’m learning from the best.”
Thane clapped a heavy paw on Gabriel’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before someone starts asking about leash laws.”