Logan

A silver moon slices through skeletal branches. The night air is heavy and still — but something shifts on the dusty forest floor.

A figure writhes in agony. Her body convulses, twisting, breaking — pulled into another realm, an undead dimension of tooth, claw, and blood. Skin blisters and bubbles. Bones snap, stretch, reform. Fingers split and elongate into claws. Hair bursts forth — coarse, tangled — spreading down arms, chest, legs.

Her human eyes glaze, then burn amber. Her teeth sharpen into razors. The girl is gone.

In her place, a towering wolf-woman rises — muscles heaving, breath steaming. She throws back her head and howls — a sound of torment, rage… and something deeper.

WOLF GIRL (V.O., BROKEN WHISPER)

I don’t want this…

It’s coming back…

No control…

She stumbles from the woods onto a deserted road — wild, unsteady. Moonlight glints off thick, matted fur… and the heavy, shaking breasts of something still unmistakably female — but utterly monstrous.

⸻

[EXT. DESERTED ROAD – NIGHT]

Headlights slice through the darkness. A beat-up car slows as it approaches. Inside, a young couple laughs nervously.

The wolf-girl’s nostrils flare. The scent—perfume and sweat—hits her like a thunderclap.

Suddenly, memories crash in like a tidal wave:

⸻

[FLASHBACK — INT. RESTAURANT – EVENING]

A bright but awkward first date. The girl — before the transformation — sits stiffly across from a man who’s too close, too touchy. His hand creeps up her thigh. She tenses, voice shaking.

GIRL

Please… don’t.

He laughs, dismissive, pawing at her anyway. She bolts, nearly knocking over chairs, fleeing into the night.

⸻

[BACK TO PRESENT – ROADSIDE]

The wolf-girl’s breath hitches. Rage floods her senses, raw and uncontrollable.

She charges the car, ripping the door off with savage strength.

The girl inside screams as claws dig into flesh.

The beast has no mercy. The primal howl echoes — a tragic, furious song of pain and lost humanity.

⸻

[EXT. DIRT ROAD – NIGHT]

The girl bursts from the car, lungs burning, heart hammering. She doesn’t look back—only runs.

Branches scrape her arms. Her bare feet hit the rough ground, stumbling over roots and stones.

Suddenly, her foot catches on a jagged rock. She crashes forward, face scraping the dirt, the cold earth stealing her breath.

Darkness swells at the edges of her vision.

⸻

[BLACKOUT]

⸻

[INT. WEREWOLF’S ARMS – NIGHT]

Her eyes flutter open to a blurry, heavy weight pressing down — rough fur brushing her cheek, the steady thump of a heart beneath thick muscle.

She tries to scream but only a hoarse croak escapes.

Instinctively, she thrashes, clawing at the massive arm holding her.

The werewolf’s grip tightens—not cruel, but unbreakable.

⸻

[GIRL (panicked whisper)]

Let me go… please…

⸻

The beast’s amber eyes meet hers for a fleeting second — wild, furious… and something almost like regret.

Then the world tilts, and she’s swallowed by darkness again.

⸻

[EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET – NIGHT]

Jeff stumbles out from behind the bushes, gasping for breath. His hands are shaking.

JEFF

(voice barely above a whisper)

What the hell…

He peers down the moonlit road.

A figure lumbers under the amber glow of a streetlamp. Hulking. Fur-covered. Carrying something.

A girl.

She’s limp over the werewolf’s shoulder, her bare skin smeared with dirt and blood, hair dangling like a rope.

Jeff takes a step back, nearly trips.

JEFF

Oh God… oh God…

He bolts up the sidewalk and bangs on a door.

[EXT. HANK’S PORCH – MOMENTS LATER]

Hank opens the door with a beer in one hand and an annoyed look on his face.

HANK

Jesus, Jeff. What now?

JEFF

It’s real, man. I saw it—swear to God—I saw a goddamn werewolf! It was carrying a naked girl like it was nothin’! Walkin’ down Apple Blossom like it owned the place!

HANK

(laughs)

Oh come on. You’ve been into the mushrooms again? You really expect me to believe that?

JEFF

I know what I saw!

A distant howl rips through the neighborhood.

Jeff pales.

JEFF

I’m out. You can die drunk and wrong.

He sprints down the street, not looking back.

HANK

(shouting after him)

Yeah, run home to mommy! It’s just a big dog! Idiot!

He laughs, long and loud, then takes another drink.

⸻

[EXT. EDGE OF THE WOODS – MOMENTS LATER]

The werewolf pauses mid-stride.

The laughter cuts through the night like a blade.

A sound too familiar.

Too sharp.

[FLASH – MEMORY:

YOUNG LOGAN, high school age, sitting at a table at a party, being laughed at by a group of guys after she slapped one for grabbing her.

“Come on, lighten up!”

“Frigid bitch can’t take a joke.”

“What, you think you’re better than us?”

Her face burns with shame, rage rising like bile.

[END FLASH]

⸻

Back in the present, the werewolf’s breathing quickens.

Laughter continues.

She sets the girl down gently in the grass, almost with care.

Then turns.

Her claws flex.

She explodes forward with terrifying speed, crashing through bushes and fences, charging straight toward the porch.

⸻

[EXT. HANK’S PORCH – CONTINUOUS]

Hank doesn’t even have time to drop his beer before the beast is on him.

He screams once.

Then silence.

Blood sprays the side of the house.

The beer bottle clinks as it rolls off the edge of the porch.

⸻

[INT. JEFF’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – MOMENTS LATER]

Jeff slams the front door shut behind him, locks it, deadbolts it, then stumbles toward the window. His breathing is ragged.

Outside, the street is silent… until something wet hits the window with a splat.

Jeff flinches, then peeks through the curtain.

Hank’s porch is drenched in gore. A limp arm hangs over the railing like a broken puppet. There’s blood everywhere—on the steps, the siding, even the lawn flamingos.

JEFF

(whispers)

Jesus Christ…

He grabs his phone with trembling hands and dials 911.

911 OPERATOR (V.O.)

911, what is your emergency?

JEFF

(stammering)

Yeah—uh—my neighbor—he—he just got ripped apart by a… look, I know how this sounds—but it was a werewolf. I saw it from my window. It’s real. He’s dead. There’s blood everywhere.

911 OPERATOR (V.O.)

Sir, could you repeat that? A what?

JEFF

A werewolf! Big as hell. Blond-brown fur. Standing on two legs. Claws like butcher knives. It just tore him up right there on his porch!

911 OPERATOR (V.O.)

Sir, have you consumed any alcohol or illegal substances tonight?

JEFF

I had one beer and a trauma! Look, just send someone. Please. It’s heading into the neighborhood. It’s not stopping.

911 OPERATOR (V.O.)

Okay, sir. We’re dispatching units now. Please remain inside and do not engage with the individual. Lock your doors.

JEFF

Too late for that advice.

He peeks out the window again.

The werewolf is standing in the street now, breathing heavy, blood steaming in the cold air.

Its eyes snap to his house.

Jeff drops the curtain.

⸻

[EXT. SUBURBAN STREET – NIGHT]

Logan—the werewolf—staggers from Hank’s gore-soaked porch and lurches down the sidewalk.

Blood glistens on her claws. Her fur is matted, steaming in the night air. Her breath rasps in ragged bursts.

She stops beneath a streetlight. The harsh white glow stings her golden eyes. She growls and lifts one clawed hand, slashing at the light, cracking the bulb. Sparks rain down. She recoils, snorting, confused. Disoriented.

SIREN WHOOP-WHOOP.

A motorcycle cop slows, then pulls up, engine rumbling.

MOTORCYCLE COP

Hey! You alright, buddy?

The werewolf stands still. Chest heaving. Eyes glowing like twin embers in the dark.

MOTORCYCLE COP

(tapping mic)

Dispatch, this is Officer Martinez. I’ve got an individual at Apple Blossom and 9th. Large. Possibly injured. Barefoot, shirtless… Looks like we’ve got a 10-96, possibly off meds.

She parks the bike. Leaves the motor idling.

MOTORCYCLE COP (CONT’D)

(raising voice)

Sir, I need you to—

The werewolf spins. Her snout lifts, catching the scent of gunpowder. Her ears pin back.

MOTORCYCLE COP

(taps mic again)

Stand by, dispatch—subject may be on something. Acting agitated.

BANG! BANG!

Two shots ring out—reflexive, panicked. Both slam into Logan’s torso…

…and pass clean through.

No blood.

The werewolf blinks. Her hackles rise. Not in pain—but clarity. Like the bullets pulled something back into focus.

Flash:

[FLASHBACK – LOGAN’S MEMORY – POLICE LIGHTS IN HER FACE]

Young Logan, huddled on a curb, crying. Blue and red lights wash over her. A cop asking too many questions. Hands grabbing her, rough and sterile. No one listens.

BACK TO PRESENT

Logan roars—a full-throated, bone-shaking explosion of rage.

The cop stumbles back, drawing her sidearm again.

MOTORCYCLE COP

Jesus—stay back! Stay—

But the werewolf lunges.

They vanish behind the motorcycle in a flurry of movement. The engine revs from the impact—then sputters as something wet hits the pavement.

A scream.

A choking sound.

Then silence.

The werewolf rises, the officer’s helmet tumbling from her hand. The headless body slumps beside the idling bike.

She turns, nostrils flaring. Blood on her muzzle.

She sniffs toward the town.

Then begins walking.

⸻

[INT. JEFF’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT]

Jeff’s hand trembles as he lowers the curtain. His face is pale, drenched in sweat. He stares blankly at his TV, which still blares reruns. In his other hand, his phone is already dialing.

911 OPERATOR (V.O.)

911, what’s your emergency?

JEFF

I—I just saw a werewolf. It killed a cop. Ripped her throat out right in front of me.

911 OPERATOR

Sir, can you confirm your location?

JEFF

Apple Blossom and 9th. Please, listen to me—this thing’s not human. I saw it shrug off bullets. She shot it twice! It didn’t even bleed!

911 OPERATOR

Is the officer still on scene?

JEFF

She’s dead. She’s missing her damn head! The wolf—it took off walking into town. It’s huge. Like… seven feet tall. Blonde fur. I saw it earlier—it was carrying a naked woman over its shoulder.

911 OPERATOR

…Sir, have you consumed any alcohol or recreational drugs tonight?

JEFF

What? No—maybe a beer—but this isn’t some acid trip! Check the traffic cams! Look outside! It’s real!

911 OPERATOR

Units are en route to confirm officer status. Please stay inside and lock your doors. Do not engage the subject.

Jeff pulls the curtain aside again and peers out.

EXT. STREET – NIGHT

The werewolf lopes down the center of the street, dragging her claws along the pavement. Sparks flick up behind her. A car slows at the intersection—sees her—and swerves away in panic.

From other homes, faces appear in windows. Phones light up. Panic begins to spread.

INT. 911 CALL CENTER – NIGHT

Dozens of operators are suddenly flooded with overlapping reports:

“There’s something in the road, I swear to God—”

“A wolf! A big one—it just ripped up a cop!”

“It’s heading toward the gas station—my kids are in there!”

DISPATCH SUPERVISOR

We’re escalating. Issue a town-wide alert. Get SWAT on standby. This isn’t a prank.

Cut back to:

EXT. STREET – NIGHT

Logan—the werewolf—pauses beneath another streetlight. The glow burns her eyes again. She growls, claws at it, shattering glass.

Then she sniffs the air.

A new scent.

More people.

More noise.

She roars, a deep-throated, primal cry that echoes through the neighborhood like a siren from hell.

Windows slam shut.

Doors lock.

But it’s already too late.

The hunt has begun.

⸻

To all units responding to traffic disturbance at Apple Blossom and Broadway be advised that suspect is escaped from asylum and is considered to demonstrate superhuman strength and agility. Use extreme caution. Suggest that rifles with ammo used be special load SBHP.”

Pat stopped a block before the intersection and opened the trunk of the police cruiser. Got out the AR-15, looked over at the drawer marked SBHP ammo, taped closed with a “use only when call for” across it. The officer opened the drawer, removed the extended clip of ammo, lock and loaded the clip into the gun, and walked into the scene to see what was the problem.

Pat said into the mike, “Unit Golf 4, in position, awaiting instructions.”

Dana had been listening to the radio in disbelief. When in class as a rookie someone had been dumb enough to ask what SBHP ammo was for. SBHP stood for Silver Bullet Hollow Points, now to be told to load it up and use it. Oh My God! Dana was out of the cruiser, loaded and ready to go.

Dana said into the mike, “Unit Hotel 1 in position.”

Logan stood up and howled over the now dead body.

Pat and Dana said, “Have target insight, permission to fire!”

DISPATCH (V.O.)

“This is main dispatch. Shoot to kill.”

Both officers fired — two to the chest, one to the head.

The silver didn’t just pierce undead flesh — it unraveled the curse, tearing through magic like it was muscle.

The bullets hit hard. Her chest burst in a geyser of blood and shredded bone. A heartbeat later, her skull cracked wide, spilling its contents across the pavement.

The werewolf collapsed — finally, violently dead.

Dana keyed her mic.

DANA

“We got one dead on scene.”