You had to do it. Once you saw that the werewolf’s bite had broken your skin, you knew that transformation was inevitable, and you didn’t want to be around for it. Maybe it was impulsive, but you’ve always been that way. Make a decision and live—or in this case, die—with the consequences. Of course, there was a moment of regret as you fell toward the ground, and it sure hurt like hell when you landed, but a strange peace comes over you in your final seconds. Do not go gently into that good night, better to burn out then fade away, etc. From your first day at the Academy, you knew that your life might be cut short too soon, and now that death is here, you’re ready for it.
As you lie broken on the pavement, Earl rushes to you and cradles your head. “Tell my parents...,” you say, and then your voice trails off as Earl nods solemnly.
Meanwhile, the werewolf is taken away to be studied. It grows morose and stops eating, like all werewolves in captivity, and dies within a few weeks.
In honor of your sacrifice, city officials name a park in Bozeman after you. The inscription reads: “To a man who gave his life to protect others.” There is no mention of werewolves.