"I...I have never seen this in thirteen years, and I never hope to again. Catch this SOB, if not for the sake of the poor guy wiped on the walls, then for your own conscience." The man need not have worried. Any trace of professionalism lingering from Joseph's job had just vaporized. This killer seemed to Joseph, to respect, no, to revere the violence which separated him from other cases he and Mitch had worked on. Joseph and Mitchell's horror grew as they surveyed the remains of the scene. The body hadn't been left in one room. Not all of it, anyway. Dunn left the house after only a few minutes, citing a need for air. Finally, both men returned to their station's detective offices. Joseph, however, discredited the theory that the killer had already left town. "He still hasn't seen anything from police to scare him away, and he doesn't seem exactly tense. He has no reason to leave, because he's obviously a psychopath, so he isn't playing by the same rules as a normal person." "Okay," Mitchell responded, "but that's judgmental. You're assuming it's a person, and you're still stuck on that idea, when we've seen crap that points to some kind of mad lion or tiger. Either way, what do you want to do about it?" Joseph leaned back in his chair. "Let me get in touch with some of my contacts. They may turn up something interesting."

Night. The bright orb flits through the clouds as Joseph/Not-Joseph runs the alleyways. Joseph, inside the creature, recognized the irony of trying to catch a murderer in the form of a creature made to kill. Not-Joseph recognized nothing but the intangible, the senses it had used since first appearing. It knew that a being of virulent nature was somewhere, but with nothing to enhance its senses, a midnight run was no better than a guessing game. It was inevitable, however, that if the killer was anywhere near, his smell would more than give him away. Any soul containing such anarchy had an inherent stench. The smell of fear would soon follow in his wake. So Joseph/Not-Joseph ran again, but tonight, the reserved appearance of the night was broken. Not-Joseph raised its muzzle, dubious of whether this could be the scent. A stench, but combined with something not quite human. Joseph however, understood the scent perfectly, and urged his arrogant other-self to pursue the stink. His internal persuasion rang true, as Not-Joseph turned and sprinted towards this new smell. Turning a corner, Joseph found himself faced with one wolf creature, and a shaggy old man that had apparently been injured, and who held a bloodied knife out to defend himself. "Get away!" he screamed. Joseph charged the other wolf creature, about to take a lethal swipe at its throat, when something wafted across the air. Cheap cologne? Joseph scrabbled to a stop, and now even Not-Joseph could understand the smell's meaning. Mitchell! What? The other werebeast looked directly into Joseph's eyes, and new meaning passed between them. Joseph could now pick up on the sulfurous smell of the scraggly man, who was now busying himself by jabbering about Charlie in the trees, and the bamboo prisons they had for you if you got caught. The man, seeming to notice now that two of these monstrosities were present, and even more, they were both staring at him, stood up, fearfully jerking his head from Not-Joseph to Not-Mitchell and back. Finally he fled, screaming, into the street. A cop car, screeching to a stop, contained Roger Dunn, who got out and cuffed the man as he was still screaming. From the shadows, Not-Joseph looked over at Not-Mitchell. The bloody knife would have a lot of explaining to do. Not-Joseph nodded in acknowledgment, and padded back to its home.