ICRA Files: Berlin

Ever had a fucked up wolf prowling beneath your skin? I don't know what peace is anymore. The quiet that comes after a brutal, bloody fight, though… I'll take that. The pain helps drown out the loss, even if it doesn't last long enough. Or gives me what I need most. When a Leshy ambushes me one night with an offer to come work for the Interspecies Crimes and Relations Agency, I want to laugh in his face. What good could a packless, beaten-down werewolf be? I'm good in a ring with next to zero rules, but, fuck, I'm not agent material. I'm not even functional. Just my godsdamned luck that it looks like I'm about to be out of options. With his magic infestation acting up, tapping into Agency's resources might be the only way to save my brother. And I want to. More than fucking anything. I'm just not sure if I can save myself.