Three Werewolves: Tour Blog

The mall lights dimmed.

Well… some of them. Others just kind of flickered awkwardly while Mark barked into his headset and wrestled with a control panel that looked like it had been installed in 1992.

“Thane, I swear on every bulb I own—if one more fluorescent tube hums at me I will physically unplug this mall.”

Backstage, Cassie rolled her eyes. “You mean with your claws or with violence?”

“Yes.”

Out front, the crowd packed the food court and beyond. There were fans pressed up against the Orange Julius. Teens hanging from the second-story railing. A Wetzel’s Pretzels employee openly weeping from joy. An entire line of kids in makeshift ears and tails bouncing with excitement.

And then… fog.

Not the elegant, stage-enhancing kind.

The way-too-much-because-Gabriel-found-the-switch kind.

White haze rolled out like a horror movie gone club scene. Someone in the crowd yelled “IS THIS A DREAM?” as a laser pointer swept over the Hot Topic sign.

---

Gabriel walked out first, bass slung across his back, bouncing slightly on his clawed toes, tail swishing.

Behind him, the humans stepped out in sequence—Rico, Cassie, Maya, Jonah—each one getting a wave of cheers loud enough to shake the Dippin’ Dots freezer.

Then Mark’s voice crackled through the headset into Thane’s ear:

“Lights are dead. I’m improvising.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look up.”

Thane glanced skyward just as a series of home improvement clamp lights and modified emergency flashlights flicked on in timed bursts—strapped to ceiling vents and support beams with copious amounts of duct tape.

“Of course,” Thane muttered. “That tracks.”

---

Cassie stepped up to the mic and grinned.

“What’s up, Sooner Hills?! Who’s ready to say they saw a concert between Sbarro and Build-A-Bear?!”

The crowd lost it.

Drums kicked in. Guitars screamed. Bass thundered. And just like that… the band tore through their opening song like the world was ending.

Gabriel spun mid-stage, claws flashing, tail flicking wildly, bass thumping like a second heart. Rico dropped to his knees in front of a Claire’s kiosk and shredded a solo that made one of the earring displays collapse. Cassie’s vocals shook the ceiling. Maya windmilled her guitar so hard she knocked over a mall plant someone had moved too close.

And Thane—barefoot, grounded, grinning like a wolf who’d earned every second of this madness—ran the soundboard from side-stage, eyes sharp, hands fluid, making everything sing through a system never meant for anything louder than elevator music.

---

Somewhere between the second and third song, someone fired a t-shirt cannon.

Mark: “WHO GAVE JONAH THE T-SHIRT CANNON?!”

Jonah (over drums): “NO ONE SAID I COULDN’T.”

A fan caught a shirt, screamed, and fainted directly into a fountain.

---

They closed with their viral hit—“Field Notes From the Stars”—and as the last note echoed through the mall, the entire crowd sang the final chorus back to them. Loud. Proud. Perfectly off-key.

Gabriel clutched his chest, eyes wide.

Thane didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just gave his bandmate the smallest nod across the stage.

And Gabriel smiled.

---

Afterward, fans flooded social media:

🐺 @WolfSnack17: “Just saw Feral Eclipse perform next to a Panda Express and I transcended. #FoodCourtLegends”
🧃 @BobaAndBass: “Mark duct-taped the LIGHTS to the CEILING. THE MAN IS A GOD.”
💀 @ChaosRiot666: “Pretty sure Jonah hit me in the face with a t-shirt and I loved it. 10/10 would get injured again.”

---

Back on the bus, later that night, everyone was exhausted but grinning.

Diesel stepped on, chewing a churro. “Y’all leveled a mall today. Proud of you.”

Thane slumped into a seat with a satisfied huff. “Let’s never do that again.”

Gabriel leaned against him, tail flicking. “Until next year.”

Thane side-eyed him.

“…We’re calling it Mallpocalypse 2026, right?”

Everyone groaned.

And Jonah—shirtless, covered in glitter, and eating the last churro—simply whispered: “…I’m in.”

Backstage at Werewolf Day at the Plaza was about as organized as a dropped burrito.

The “green room” was the former storage closet of a Bath & Body Works. Half the band was perched on plastic folding chairs, the other half pacing around trying to find their gear among a mountain of promo boxes, crumpled banners, and one extremely panicked mall intern in a headset.

“WHY ARE THERE TEN BOXES OF GABRIEL BALLOONS?!” Cassie shouted, digging through a stack of merch with a marker between her teeth. “WHERE IS MY MIC?!”

“I told them no balloons,” Gabriel moaned, watching his own face drift past the door on a cartoon helium wolf-head. “It’s so round. I look like a squeaky meatball.”

Maya nearly tripped over a crate labeled “Jonah Temporary Tattoos – Glitter Version” and just snarled, “Who authorized this?”

From the far corner, Jonah—now shirtless and wearing half a cheap inflatable wolf mascot costume—popped his head out and said, “I did!”

“Take that off!” Mark growled, clutching the lighting cue sheet like it personally insulted his ancestors. “You’re shedding foam everywhere.”

“I thought it’d be festive!”

“It’s traumatizing!”

---

Thane, seated calmly with his arms crossed, tried not to smile as he observed the utter breakdown unfolding in front of him. His claws tapped the side of a rolled-up audio cable in his lap.

Emily poked her head in, camera in hand. “Hey, so the mall manager just asked if we could extend the show another 30 minutes… because the churro cart got knocked over again and apparently they need ‘time to mop.’”

Everyone turned slowly.

Rico blinked. “Why does that involve us?”

“Because fans tripped over the VIP rope trying to get autographs, and now there’s a cinnamon-sugar war zone near the pretzel stand.”

Mark stared at the ceiling. “We’re going to die here.”

Thane leaned over to Gabriel and muttered, “If I go missing, tell them I died doing what I loved—dodging inflatable versions of you.”

Gabriel bumped his hip. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it. Because you love it.”

Gabriel beamed. “Same thing.”

---

Just then, someone burst in breathless and panicked—it was Marcy the PR Director, flailing like a malfunctioning sprinkler system.

“THE SCAVENGER HUNT KIDS BROKE INTO CLAIRE’S. WE HAVE GLITTER EVERYWHERE.”

Cassie deadpan’d, “Cool. Let them open for us.”

---

Finally, just as the chaos hit its peak, a faint rumble shook the floor—fans chanting.

“FERAL! ECLIPSE! FERAL! ECLIPSE!”

Everyone froze. Then looked at Thane.

He stood slowly, cracked his neck, slung the coiled cable over his shoulder, and said with an utterly straight face:

“Let’s go break the mall again.”

The call came in the next morning.

Thane had just settled into his seat on the bus, fresh cup of gourmet coffee in hand, when Emily peeked her head out of the front cabin, phone in hand, eyes wide.

“Uh… the Sooner Hills Mall marketing director wants to talk to someone. Like, officially.”

Thane raised a brow. “Tell me they’re not suing.”

Emily laughed nervously. “No. They want to throw us a party.”

---

An hour later, the band was on a video call with a woman named Marcy, who had enough energy to power the entire lighting rig by sheer force of will.

Her voice crackled over the laptop speaker:

“We’ve seen a 380% increase in traffic since your little visit, and corporate loves it. So, we’d like to invite Feral Eclipse back for an official Werewolf Day at the Plaza!”

The silence was deafening.

Mark’s eye twitched. “Please tell me that’s not the real title.”

“It absolutely is!” Marcy beamed. “There’ll be themed treats, limited edition merch, a mobile stage in the food court—and a ‘Find the Wolf’ scavenger hunt where fans get to win signed gear!”

Jonah leaned in. “Do we get costumes?”

“NO,” said Thane, Mark, Maya, Cassie, and Rico in unison.

Gabriel grinned. “I wanna be the prize at the end of the scavenger hunt.”

“You already are,” Thane mumbled under his breath.

Marcy continued, undeterred. “We’ll even re-enact the mall incident with full actors and a narrated walkthrough experience! Mallgate: The Interactive Exhibit!”

Cassie facepalmed so hard her rings clacked.

Emily, who had been silently taking notes, blinked. “This is… kind of brilliant.”

Thane groaned. “This is how it starts. Next thing you know we’ve got a branded candle line and a signature scent called ‘Stage Sweat and Churros.’”

“I’d wear it,” Gabriel whispered.

---

Despite their very understandable hesitations, the team agreed to the madness.

A week later, Feral Eclipse returned to Sooner Hills Mall—this time as official guests, not chaotic fugitives. The plaza was decked out in black-and-blue banners with paw prints and fake claw marks. There were Thane plushies in the toy store, churro carts renamed “Wolf Whiskers,” and Gabriel’s face was on a balloon animal station sign.

Fans swarmed in cosplay: wolf ears, fake fangs, one kid even wore a full Jonah costume complete with pretzel holster and glitter eyebrows. Another brought a LEGO replica of the mall scene, complete with a falling display cart.

The band didn’t even try to pretend they weren’t enjoying it.

---

At one point, a fan asked Thane if he could “sign their emotional support backpack,” and he glanced toward Gabriel with a smirk before crouching down and scrawling his name across the front pocket with a silver Sharpie.

“You really okay with all this?” Gabriel murmured beside him, watching the crowd swell with joy and laughter.

Thane let out a breath and nodded, eyes scanning the fans, the stage, the chaos, the delight. “Yeah. I mean, it’s a circus. But it’s our circus.”

Gabriel leaned against him, giving a gentle bump of his shoulder. “That’s my wolf.”

---

And then, right in the middle of it all—between a churro cart giveaway and Jonah trying to sign someone’s face—a little girl tugged on Maya’s sleeve and held up a handmade drawing.

It showed all of them standing together onstage, smiling, beneath a banner that read: “My Heroes.”

Everything froze for a second.

Maya knelt and hugged her tight. “You just made this worth it.”

Even Thane went quiet.

---

So yeah… Werewolf Day at the Plaza?
Kind of a hit. 😎

The bus was parked behind the venue—tonight’s sold-out arena gig was still a few hours away, and most of the crew was inside doing soundchecks, lighting queues, and last-minute rigging.

Inside the bus, however, it was unusually quiet.

Too quiet.

Mark sat alone on the sofa, flipping through a well-worn paperback copy of Dune. He wasn’t one for drama, but his left ear had twitched three times in the last five minutes. Something… wasn’t right.

He looked up, nose twitching subtly.

Nacho cheese.
And not just any nacho cheese—the specific kind found only in crinkly plastic bags from gas stations.

Mark slowly set his book down.

---

Meanwhile, behind the lower bunks, a young teenage fan named Toby was trying his absolute hardest to keep still. He had somehow—somehow—followed the bus from the hotel to the venue, dashed across the service lot with nothing but a hoodie, a VIP lanyard he definitely did not earn, and a snack-filled backpack… and slipped aboard during a gear load-in.

“I just want to meet them,” he whispered to himself. “One selfie. One autograph. I’ll be quiet, I swear—”

His whispering was interrupted by a soft, echoing voice. Dead calm.

“You’ve got exactly five seconds to come out before I pull you out by the ankles.”

Toby froze.

A shadow moved in the dim hallway.

Mark.

The gray-furred werewolf stood there in jeans and a faded black band t-shirt, looking completely unamused, a brow arched so far it practically touched his ears. He didn’t even look mad. Just… disappointed.

“Three,” Mark added.

Toby scrambled out with hands up, hoodie half-tangled over his head and backpack swinging behind him. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean any harm! I just — I love your band so much and I had to try and I brought snacks and —”

Mark held up a claw. “You brought Doritos onto my bus.”

“…Yes?”

Mark stepped closer, slowly, looming like a parental thundercloud.

“Jonah’s gonna smell those from three blocks away. Gabriel’s probably already tail-twitching in the green room. And Thane will make you clean out the cable bins by hand.”

Toby gulped. “Am I… banned?”

Mark exhaled, rubbed his temples. “No. But you’re about to get the most awkward lecture of your life.”

---

Twenty minutes later, the entire crew was gathered in the front lounge of the bus as Mark recounted the events with dramatic pauses and slow, judgmental glares.

Thane crossed his arms, barefoot claws tapping the floor. “You snuck onto a werewolf’s tour bus?”

Gabriel, perched beside him with a coffee in hand, was trying really hard not to laugh. “I gotta admit, the guts on this kid. I kinda admire it.”

Cassie squinted. “Wait. Did he really bring a bag of Cool Ranch and try to bribe his way to a selfie?”

“Yes,” Mark said flatly.

Jonah burst in from the stage door with a shout. “SOMEONE SAY DORITOS?”

Rico clapped a hand to his forehead.

---

Eventually, after a very firm but surprisingly kind conversation, the pack did what they do best—turn chaos into connection. Thane made Toby promise to never pull a stunt like that again and attend a fan safety workshop run by the crew’s tour assistant. Emily took a photo with him. Gabriel signed his backpack. Jonah stole his Doritos.

And before the show, Toby was escorted (legally this time) into the VIP area—where he promptly burst into tears when the whole band gave him a group shout-out during the set.

Sunlight filtered in through the thick penthouse curtains, casting golden streaks across velvet couches, designer coffee tables, and a blanket pile where Jonah was still snoring like a motorboat. Somewhere deep in the suite, the luxury espresso machine was already purring to life—thanks, of course, to Gabriel.

Thane padded barefoot into the kitchen area, stretching with a grunt and raking a clawed hand through his tousled fur. Gabriel passed him a coffee without a word, the two of them sharing a sleepy glance over the mugs.

“You good?” Gabriel asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Yeah. Just… waitin’ for the chaos.”

Right on cue, Rico’s phone buzzed with a ding. Then another. Then Cassie’s. Then Mark’s, followed by a very muffled, “What the heck?” from Jonah under his blanket.

Emily stepped out from one of the guest rooms with her laptop already in hand. “It posted around 6am. I added closed captions, stitched in slo-mo, and… well. It’s everywhere.”

Thane raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘everywhere.’”

She turned her screen.

The video title read:
“The Wolves Who Tried to Blend In (And Failed Spectacularly)”
Views: 4.8 million and rising
Hashtags: #Mallgate #FeralEclipse #WerewolfWatch2025

---

The footage was a masterclass in controlled chaos.

It started with a blurry zoom of Thane examining LEGO sets like a dad comparing prices. Cut to Gabriel presenting a cinnamon roll like it was an artifact from a museum. Then the fan recognition moment—dramatic music sting included—followed by a sudden edit of Jonah tripping over the pretzel stand in slow-mo with airhorns layered over it.

Fans online were howling:

🐺 @MoonlitMoshpit: “Thane in boots is my Roman Empire. #Mallgate”
🎤 @CassieForPresident: “The eyeliner mustache was a CHOICE. Jonah you absolute icon.”
🥨 @FeralSnaccs: “I can’t believe security just let them escape like they were royal fugitives. I love this stupid band.”
📸 @EclipseEditz: “Petition for Gabriel to give city tours in disguise. I would pay so much.”
💔 @TeamSaintsSwitch: “Okay but I used to stan the Vandal Saints. Now I’m Team Eclipse and I brought snacks.”

---

Gabriel scrolled through the comments, his muzzle twitching with laughter. “Oh my god someone drew us as mall ninja superheroes.”

Thane peered over his shoulder. “Is that… me with a boot launcher?”

“Yes. And Diesel’s driving a Segway tank. Look.”

Mark walked by with a dry grunt. “Y’all broke the fanbase.”

Cassie, sipping something pink and fizzy, waved her phone. “We’re getting tagged in mall cosplay now. There’s a Jonah lookalike doing a dramatic reenactment with a churro sword.”

Jonah wandered in, wrapped in a robe and clutching a banana. “I regret nothing.”

Emily sat down at the table, pulling her laptop closer. “But the end of the video—where you and Gabriel are on the balcony? Fans loved that.”

Thane raised an eyebrow. “You left that in?”

“I added music. Just something soft. People needed to see that side too.”

Sure enough, comments had already flooded in:

🌙 @WolfpackDreams: “That moment on the balcony… it felt real. I teared up.”
🎥 @BehindTheFur: “They’re not just rockstars. They’re home to each other. #RelationshipGoals”
💙 @ThaneAndGabriel4ever: “I swear I could feel the love through the screen. I’ll never recover.”
📦 @EmilyTheIntern: “New editor unlocked. 👋 Hi.” — pinned comment

Gabriel leaned over and gave Emily a warm nose-nuzzle to the cheek, catching her off guard and making her laugh.

“Guess we’re stuck with you now,” he said.

Emily flushed. “I mean… I wasn’t gonna leave anyway.”

---

The day rolled on, but not before Diesel sauntered in, coffee in hand, and muttered, “Y’all made the morning news. And someone sent flowers from a Wetzel’s Pretzels corporate account.”

Thane blinked. “Are they thanking us or suing us?”

“Too early to tell. I say we roll with it.”

Thane looked at Gabriel, who grinned back.

“Next city?” Gabriel asked.

“Next adventure,” Thane replied, their claws brushing again under the table.

It was late. The rest of the band had drifted into their separate corners of the luxury suite—Maya asleep with a half-finished magazine draped across her, Cassie curled into the crook of a couch, and Jonah somehow passed out with a face mask on in the guest bath. Even Mark had settled in with a soft snore and one arm draped over his eyes.

But the balcony doors were still cracked open, letting in the warm, lazy breeze of the Oklahoma night.

Gabriel stepped outside, the black silk of his fur catching in the ambient glow from the city below. The lights of Sooner Hills stretched to the horizon—cars like fireflies, office towers blinking, far-off neon signs flickering into the late hours.

Thane followed, his clawed feet silent on the stone tiles. He still wore the black polo and jeans, though the collar was loose and the air felt soft against his arms.

Gabriel didn’t look up right away. He just exhaled slowly, his arms resting on the railing, icy blue eyes watching the world turn below them. “You think they’d recognize us from up here?”

Thane stepped in close behind him, wrapping his arms around Gabriel’s waist from behind and resting his chin against Gabriel’s shoulder. “Only if they’ve got werewolf-grade night vision.”

Gabriel huffed a quiet laugh, leaning into him. “Today was… something.”

“You mean the disguises? Or the pretzel parkour? Or Jonah arguing with a mall cop about ‘artistic freedom’ while covered in churro dust?”

“All of it,” Gabriel murmured. “But mostly… you. Treating everyone. Giving us this. It was thoughtful. You didn’t have to.”

Thane’s voice was low, steady. “No. But I wanted to.”

He gently nudged his muzzle against Gabriel’s. “You’ve given me so much, my wolf. You keep us laughing. You play your heart out. And you keep reminding me there’s more to life than cables and cue sheets.”

Gabriel turned his head, brushing their noses together in that quiet, sacred way they always did. It was soft. Affectionate. Wordless. The kind of thing that didn’t need a crowd—or ever would.

“You’re the reason I have this,” Thane whispered. “The band. The fans. All of it. I’d have burned out years ago if you weren’t beside me.”

Gabriel’s claws found Thane’s, their fingers lacing together. “Same.”

For a long while, they stood like that—two wolves above the city, wrapped in each other and the warm hum of the night.

Eventually, Thane pulled Gabriel in tighter, his muzzle tucked against the curve of Gabriel’s neck. “Stay here a minute,” he murmured. “Just like this.”

Gabriel smiled, eyes closed, chest rising and falling against his bandmate’s. “Forever works too.”

And for a while, there was no music, no lights, no fans—just fur, warmth, and the silent rhythm of two hearts still beating in perfect time.

The elevator chimed as it opened onto the penthouse floor of the La Luxure Grand, the most opulent hotel within a hundred miles. Thick cream-colored carpet muffled the footfalls of the band and crew—well, except for Thane’s clawed toes clicking across the tile as they made their way toward Suite 1402. The doorman had barely opened the door when Gabriel bounded past with a wolfish grin.

“Thane, look!” he shouted, spinning into the living room and collapsing onto an enormous L-shaped sectional wrapped in deep blue velvet. “This couch is bigger than our bus!”

Thane walked in behind him and just stared, blinking. “This suite has a grand piano.”

Diesel strolled in next with an appreciative whistle. “Who do I gotta bite to get one of these every week?”

---

Within minutes, everyone had scattered to explore the full three-bedroom, two-balcony palace. One side overlooked the glittering skyline; the other revealed a resort-style pool with glowing fountains and a swim-up bar. Jonah immediately declared one of the bathtubs as his and began filling it with both hot water and complimentary bath bombs. (“Don’t judge me,” he muttered. “My soul needs healing.”)

Cassie was already checking out the minibar, calling out flavors of chocolate truffles like it was a wine list. Maya, clearly impressed but pretending not to be, threw open a robe closet and held one up.

“If anyone posts a pic of me in one of these, I will end you,” she warned. Then five minutes later, she was on the balcony in full robe, sipping champagne like a queen.

---

Rico kicked back in a leather armchair with a drink, scrolling through his phone. “#Mallgate is trending. Someone got a video of Jonah doing a full parkour vault over the Wetzel’s Pretzels cart.”

“I tripped!” Jonah shouted from his bath cave. “It was tactical falling!”

Thane padded into the master bedroom, where Gabriel had flopped onto a mattress that had more layers than a lasagna. “Are we allowed to keep this bed?”

Gabriel stretched luxuriously, icy eyes half-lidded. “Let’s never leave.”

Thane chuckled, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto a velvet bench. “Pretty sure the hotel wouldn’t survive two werewolves full-time. One of us would try to install fog machines in the lobby.”

Gabriel smirked, turning his head. “Not me. I’d just build a coffee bar next to the minibar. Priorities, my wolf.”

---

Meanwhile, Emily was curled up in a corner armchair with her laptop, editing footage from the mall incident. She kept trying to focus, but every few minutes one of the crew burst into laughter somewhere in the suite.

Mark, ever the quiet observer, finally wandered over, a glass of sparkling water in hand. “You’re gonna post it?”

Emily hesitated, then smiled. “Yeah. But I’m cutting it so the fans see how much fun we were having. Not just the chaos.”

Mark gave her a rare, approving nod. “Smart. The truth and the myth.”

---

Later that night, the whole crew gathered in the massive living room. Robes, sweats, pajamas, and clawed feet everywhere. Champagne flutes clinked. Feet were propped on furniture that cost more than Jonah’s drum kit. Outside, the city sparkled.

“I could get used to this,” Maya said, swirling her glass.

Thane gave a soft grunt of agreement and glanced at Gabriel, who was nestled against his side with his cheek resting on Thane’s shoulder.

“You earned it,” Thane said simply. “All of you. I just wanted… one night where it’s clear how far we’ve come.”

Gabriel’s claws slipped into his. “And we’re not done yet.”

Diesel raised his glass from a corner. “To the pack. To the music. And to never setting foot in another shopping mall without a battle plan.”

Everyone laughed.

By sunrise, Rocklahoma looked like a battlefield with tents instead of craters and hangovers instead of casualties. The sky was pale pink, the air thick with leftover smoke, and most of the festival-goers were either passed out in camping chairs or groggily wandering in search of coffee.

But the notifications hadn’t slept.

Phones were blowing up.

Rico was the first to say it: “Guys… we’re trending. Like, hard.”

Thane blinked, half-dressed and half-awake. “Trending what?”

Cassie turned her phone around. “Everything.”

#FeralEclipse
#AlphaMark
#ClawTheStage
#RocklahomaRoyalty

There were videos. So many videos.

• The bonfire acoustic set.
• The entire crowd howling during Howl With Me.
• Mark’s no-nonsense takedown of the Vandal Saints, now with 2.4 million views and counting.
• A slowed-down montage of Gabriel signing a shoe and dramatically handing it to a crying fan.
• A meme of Jonah with nachos photoshopped into epic battle scenes.

Then came the articles.

Rolling Rock: “Who the Hell Are Feral Eclipse — and Why Are They the Only Band That Mattered at Rocklahoma?”
AltPress: “Werewolves in the Wild: Feral Eclipse Eviscerates the Stage and Social Media.”
Billboard (yes, Billboard): “Feral Eclipse May Be the Real Future of Live Rock.”

Their inboxes exploded.

Cassie’s was filled with interview requests.
Rico’s had podcast invites.
Jonah’s had… two separate nacho sponsorship inquiries.
Gabriel got DMs from verified artists, including John Petrucci, a guitarist he’d worshiped in high school who just wrote:

“Dude. You killed. Let’s collab.”

Mark’s phone buzzed once. A text from a private number:

“Would you be open to management representation? Call me. You’ve got presence.”
Mark grunted, locked the screen, and went back to eating his oatmeal.

And Thane — Thane’s inbox had several emails flagged as “URGENT.” One from a regional tour promoter. Another from a late-night talk show. One had the subject line:

“Have you considered a West Coast headline run?”

Gabriel peeked over his shoulder. “Are we… like… famous?”

Thane closed the laptop slowly. “We’re something.”

Out near the firepit, still smoldering from the night before, fans were already gathering again. One held a sign that read “NO CHAINS LEFT = NO STAGE LEFT.”

Another had already sketched Mark in charcoal on a torn pizza box like some kind of patron saint of intimidation.

Jonah dragged a folding chair into the center of the group and flopped down dramatically. “Sooo… we should probably figure out how to survive this.”

Cassie leaned against the van, sipping coffee with a slow, satisfied smile. “We don’t survive it. We ride it.”

Gabriel looked at Thane. “What now, my wolf?”

Thane looked toward the rising sun, already seeing the next storm building beyond the horizon.

“…We howl louder.”

The tour bus rumbled into the parking lot of Sooner Hills Mall, a mid-sized two-story retail center tucked into a suburb just outside Oklahoma City. It wasn’t the fanciest stop on tour — but that was exactly the point.

Diesel killed the engine and turned around in the captain’s chair. “Alright, wolves. You’ve got one hour before someone clocks you and the whole damn food court turns into a furry fan convention.”

Gabriel was already half-shoving a hoodie over his ears. “Challenge accepted.”

Inside the bus, chaos unfolded as each member of the crew assembled their terrible disguises. Rico wore aviator sunglasses and a “Bass Dads Do It Deeper” shirt. Jonah added a fake mustache so crooked it looked like it had been drawn on with eyeliner during a moving vehicle. Maya just threw on a poncho and dared anyone to question her.

Cassie, meanwhile, slipped on oversized sunglasses and declared she was incognito as “Not Beyoncé.”

Thane, standing near the front mirror with a grimace, tugged on a pair of huge gray Keen Voyageur boots and muttered, “This feels unnatural. Why are my claws in prison.”

“You look great, my wolf,” Gabriel growled from behind his shades. “Very tourist-casual elder millennial. Very ‘I hike on weekends and complain about parking apps.’”

“Say that again and I’ll rewire your bass with catgut.”

---

Once inside the mall, they tried to split into pairs—Thane with Gabriel, Mark with Jonah, Rico with Maya, Cassie solo. The plan was to blend in, pick up some new socks and maybe some bubble tea, and absolutely not get recognized.

For exactly seven minutes, it worked.

Thane and Gabriel were admiring a LEGO display at a toy store when a kid tugged on his mom’s sleeve and whispered, “Mom… that’s the werewolf with the cable coil!”

Gabriel turned just enough to glance at Thane, who was frozen mid-step like a brown-furred deer in headlights.

“Oh no.”

Across the food court, Mark squinted from behind his reader glasses and nudged Jonah. “Told you this was a dumb plan.”

Within minutes, the group had gathered near the Cinnabon as more fans began circling like sharks. Some were cautious—snapping pics from behind sunglasses or pretending to browse—but others straight-up sprinted toward them with phones out and Sharpies in hand.

Jonah took off his mustache and yelled, “EVERY WOLF FOR HIMSELF!” before bolting toward the pretzel stand.

Cassie ducked behind a kiosk shouting “I am not affiliated with these creatures!”

Mark just stood there, arms crossed, quietly watching as mall security rolled up—and then gave the wolves a knowing nod.

“Back door’s open,” the guard muttered. “Go. Now. But grab me a signed CD before you bounce.”

---

Back on the bus, everyone collapsed into seats or bunks, breathing hard from laughter and exertion.

Thane yanked the boots off with a satisfying grunt. “Never again. I’m free.”

Gabriel leaned against him with a smirk. “You say that, but admit it… you kinda rocked the suburban dad look.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t leave you in the LEGO aisle.”

Jonah, still panting from his mad sprint, flopped into his bunk. “Okay, next time we do this—we try disguises that don’t look like a bad Halloween party.”

Mark, deadpan: “Next time, we don’t.”

And from the back of the bus, Diesel’s voice echoed forward with a laugh: “I told you wolves can’t go unnoticed. Y’all are like glitter in a carpet.”

The Spokane show had barely ended before chaos descended at the back gates.

Security was baffled. Meet-and-greet passes hadn’t even been issued for this leg of the tour—but that didn’t seem to matter to the mob of former Vandal Saints fans now waving homemade signs, elaborate costumes, and—unfortunately—at least one actual fog machine outside the venue fence.

It started with a chant:
“Let us meet the wolves! Let us meet the wolves!”

One poor security guard just blinked. “Did… did that guy bring a full couch?”

He had. It was set ablaze (safely…-ish) in a barrel off to the side with a sign that read:
“WE BURN FOR YOU, THANE.”

Inside the venue, Thane was finishing teardown, calmly coiling a final cable when Emily ran in, out of breath and barely able to speak.

“You… need to see this,” she wheezed.

Thane gave her a quizzical look, then followed her up to the back gate. Gabriel, Cassie, Jonah, and Maya were already crowded around the security monitor, howling with laughter.

On screen:

• A group of fans wearing homemade wolf ears and black hoodies scrawled with “Saints Who Saw the Light.”
• A girl with glitter face paint holding a handmade sign: “I WAS WRONG ABOUT BRET. FORGIVE ME, OH FERAL ONES.”
• A guy with a bass guitar painted red and labeled “GABRIEL 2.0” kneeling dramatically in front of the barricade.
• Another fan in a fog machine costume, complete with blinking LEDs and a sad face drawn on the front.
• And one guy, proudly holding up an entire hand-crocheted Thane body pillow.

Gabriel clapped his paws together, cackling. “THAT’S IT. They’ve ascended.”

Maya squinted at the pillow. “That’s… actually terrifying. And kinda flattering.”

Mark, peering over the top of a lighting case, added dryly, “I bet they have fog PTSD.”

Cassie just leaned on Thane’s shoulder, wheezing. “They have no shame. None.”

Thane blinked slowly at the screen. “I didn’t even authorize merch pillows.”

Emily, fighting back giggles, asked, “Should we let any of them in?”

Gabriel grinned wickedly. “I vote yes. Let the glitter one in. And fog machine guy. And—only if he swears to behave — Pillow Dude.”

---

Fifteen Minutes Later – Backstage Lounge

The chosen few sat nervously on the worn velvet couch, clutching VIP lanyards that had been hastily assembled from spare laminate stock and gaffer tape. The couch-burner guy was still slightly singed, but beaming.

Glitter Girl, a former Saints superfan named Kaylee, sniffled as she looked around the lounge.

“This is just… I never thought I’d actually be here. You guys—your music changed me. Like, Bret was cool and all, but… this is real.”

Jonah leaned back in a beanbag chair, holding a soda. “Bret was cool in the way parking cones are cool—until you trip over one.”

Kaylee laughed through her tears. “You’re all so nice too. Even Thane!”

Thane, standing nearby with crossed arms, arched an eyebrow.

She quickly added, “In a ‘stern guardian of the sound realm’ way! Like… intimidating but noble.”

“Acceptable,” he rumbled.

Fog Machine Guy, whose real name turned out to be Nate, carefully set down his costume head and looked starstruck. “I just wanted to say thanks for not laughing at us.”

“You set a couch on fire,” Mark said without looking up from his tablet. “We’re required to laugh. But… you’re still welcome.”

Then there was Pillow Guy—Ben. He nervously held the handmade plush version of Thane with the exaggerated claws and glowing eyes.

“I, uh… I meant it as a tribute,” he said, visibly sweating. “Not like… a weird thing.”

Thane just stared at the pillow. Then blinked.

“Flattering,” he finally said.

Ben nearly fainted.

---

Later That Night – On the Bus

Gabriel flopped into a lounge seat, scrolling through the hundreds of photos taken during the impromptu fan hangout. “They’re totally in. Converted. Redeemed.”

Cassie added, “They went from Saint worshippers to couch-burning disciples of the pack. We need a loyalty pin.”

Emily chuckled. “I already designed one. It’s a little flaming couch with a fog machine crossed out.”

Thane looked up from his laptop and said dryly, “We’ll need extras.”

Diesel, kicking back near the front of the bus, chuckled into his mug. “Whole tour’s gone feral.”

Gabriel grinned. “Damn right.”

And outside the bus, long after the show had ended, a fog machine costume lay folded gently beside the stage gate… waiting for next time.