Young Monsters

The hum of Dr. Sydney Burke’s house was rarely peaceful. Usually, it was a cacophony of Tilda’s heavy metal music, Abbi’s frantic scientific muttering, and the low-level anxiety that came with being a failed genetic experiment. Tonight, however, the silence was what felt wrong.

Juan sat at the small kitchen table, his sketchbook open. The charcoal in his hand moved with a hesitant grace, tracing the jagged silhouette of a creature that haunted his dreams. He was trying to make the Chupacabra look less like a nightmare and more like a hero—the way he hoped people might one day see his comics. But it was hard to find the heroism in a monster that survived on blood.

Suddenly, Tilda froze. She was leaning against the counter, a half-eaten apple in her hand, but her eyes went wide and her head tilted at an unnatural angle.

"Tilda?" Juan asked, his voice soft. "You okay?"

"Something's in the yard," she whispered, her voice tight. "Something big. It’s not a person, Juan. The heartbeat… it’s too fast. Too heavy."

Abbi looked up from her laptop, her brow furrowed. "One of Flux’s people? Or another side effect of the synthetic stem cells?"

Tilda winced, covering her ears for a second. "It’s tearing up the grass. It sounds… angry. Really angry."

Juan felt that familiar, cold prickle at the base of his neck. He didn't want to change. He hated the way his bones snapped and rearranged themselves, the way his mind clouded with a predatory haze. But he was the one who could hold his own if things got physical. Tilda’s sonic scream was a last resort, and Abbi’s pheromones didn't exactly work on mindless beasts.

"I'll go," Juan said, standing up. He grabbed a heavy flashlight from the drawer, though he knew if it came down to a fight, the light wouldn't do much.

"Be careful," Abbi warned, her hand hovering over her phone, likely ready to call Sydney.

Juan stepped out onto the back porch. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. The yard was shrouded in deep shadows, the moonlight barely filtering through the thick canopy of trees surrounding the property.

He heard it then. A low, guttural growl that vibrated in his own chest. It wasn't the high-pitched chirp of his own monster form; this was deeper, a rumbling bass that spoke of sheer muscle and rage.

"Hey?" Juan called out, his voice trembling slightly. "Is someone there?"

A bush to his left exploded. A massive, fur-covered shape lunged into the moonlight, snapping its jaws. Juan scrambled back, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was a wolf—but not a wolf. It was too large, its limbs too long, its shoulders humped with powerful muscle. Its fur was a matted, dark charcoal, and its eyes glowed with a terrifying, piercing yellow light.

The creature snarled, crouching low to the ground, ready to spring. Juan could feel his own inner beast stirring, the Chupacabra wanting to rise up and meet the challenge. His skin began to itch, the tell-tale sign that his DNA was reaching its breaking point.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait," Juan held up his hands, palms out. He forced himself to stay human. "I’m not an enemy. Please. I know what you’re going through."

The werewolf tilted its head, a flicker of something that wasn't quite animal intelligence crossing its face. It took a heavy, lumbering step forward, sniffing the air. It caught Juan’s scent—not the scent of a normal human, but the scent of another anomaly. Another victim of Alex Sarkov.

"We’re the same," Juan whispered, his brown eyes locking onto the glowing yellow ones. "You’re hurting. I get it. It feels like you’re being ripped apart from the inside, right?"

The creature let out a long, whining breath. The tension in its haunches didn't disappear, but it stopped growling. It slumped down onto its belly, its massive claws digging furrows into Sydney’s well-manicured lawn.

Juan took a cautious step closer. "It’s okay. Just breathe. You have to try and find the center. Don't let the beast take everything."

For several tense minutes, they stayed like that. Juan spoke in a low, rhythmic hum, the way he would talk himself down during his own transformations. Slowly, the creature’s breathing slowed. The yellow glow in its eyes began to dim, replaced by a dark, human brown.

Then came the sound Juan knew all too well—the wet, sickening crunch of bones resetting. The creature let out a pained moan as its fur receded into skin, its snout shrinking back into a human face.

Juan rushed forward as the transformation completed, leaving a young man shivering on the grass. He was built like an athlete, with broad shoulders and dark skin that looked bruised in the moonlight. Long, tangled black hair fell over his face.

"I've got you," Juan said, reaching down to help him.

The stranger looked up, and Juan felt his breath catch in his throat. Even covered in dirt and sweat, the man was strikingly handsome. He had a sharp, defined jawline and eyes that looked weary beyond his years.

"Sarkov?" the man rasped, his voice cracking.

"No," Juan said quickly. "Sarkov is… a long story. But we’re not with him. We’re the ones he messed up, too."

The stranger let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle that turned into a cough. "Join the club. I'm Caleb."

"Juan," he replied, offering a hand.

Caleb took it, his grip surprisingly strong despite his exhaustion. As Juan pulled him to his feet, he realized how much taller Caleb was. There was a presence to him—a serious, calm energy that seemed at odds with the monster he had just been.

***

Inside the house, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Tilda and Abbi stood by the kitchen island, watching as Juan led the newcomer into the light.

"Another one?" Tilda asked, crossing her arms. "Sarkov really was busy, wasn't he?"

Caleb glanced at her, his expression guarded. "He promised a cure for a degenerative blood disorder. Instead, I get a monthly subscription to losing my mind and eating neighborhood cats."

"We prefer the term 'genetically enhanced,'" Abbi said, though there was no humor in her tone. She grabbed a blanket from the sofa and handed it to Caleb. "I’m Abbi. That’s Tilda. You already met Juan."

Caleb wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, sitting heavily in one of the kitchen chairs. He looked at Juan, who was still standing nearby, hovering as if he wasn't sure whether to stay or go.

"You're the lizard guy?" Caleb asked, his eyes tracking the sketchbook on the table.

Juan blushed, his hand instinctively going to the back of his neck. "Chupacabra, actually. And I try not to let the 'lizard' part define me. I’m an artist. Or I want to be."

Caleb leaned back, his dark eyes softening just a fraction. "Art, huh? Better than my hobby. I mostly just try to stay conscious long enough to remember where I left my clothes."

"I know the feeling," Juan said, sitting across from him. "It’s… it’s lonely. Even with friends. Having something inside you that you can't control."

"It’s not a superpower," Caleb said firmly, looking at each of them in turn. "I don't care what the comic books say. It’s a parasite. It takes your life and turns it into a freak show."

Juan nodded slowly. He had spent so many nights feeling like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the moment he would finally lose his humanity for good. Seeing Caleb—someone who seemed so grounded and serious—struggling with the same darkness made Juan feel a strange sense of relief. He wasn't the only monster in the room.

"So, what now?" Caleb asked. "You guys have a plan to fix this? Or are we just waiting for the moon to go down?"

"We're working on it," Abbi said, leaning over her laptop. "Dr. Burke is a scientist who worked with Sarkov. She’s trying to reverse the gene therapy. But it’s not easy. We need more data, more samples."

Caleb sighed, rubbing his temples. "Great. More needles. Just what I wanted."

"It beats being hunted by Flux," Tilda pointed out.

Caleb looked at her, his brow furrowing. "Who?"

"The people trying to clean up Sarkov’s mess by killing us," Juan explained quietly. "That’s why you’re safer here. With us."

Caleb was silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting back to Juan. There was an intensity in his look that made Juan’s heart skip a beat—not out of fear this time, but out of a sudden, sharp curiosity. Caleb wasn't just another victim; he was someone who seemed to see right through the polite mask Juan usually wore.

"You really think we’re safer?" Caleb asked.

"I think we're the only ones who actually understand what this feels like," Juan replied. "And that has to count for something."

Caleb held his gaze for a second longer than necessary before nodding slowly. "Alright, Juan. I'll stay. But if I start looking at the cat like it’s a snack, someone needs to hit me with a chair."

"I'll take care of it," Tilda volunteered with a smirk.

***

Later that night, after Abbi and Tilda had retreated to their rooms, Juan found Caleb out on the back porch again. The moon was high now, casting a silver glow over the yard. Caleb was dressed in a pair of oversized sweats Abbi had found, his long hair pulled back into a messy tie.

"Can't sleep?" Juan asked, stepping out beside him.

Caleb didn't turn around. He was staring at the spot where he had transformed earlier. "The adrenaline takes a while to fade. My heart rate is still double what it should be."

"It gets easier," Juan lied.

Caleb turned then, a sarcastic glint in his eyes. "Does it? Or do you just get better at pretending it doesn't hurt?"

Juan leaned against the railing, looking down at his hands. "A bit of both, I guess. I draw to keep my mind off it. When I’m working on my comic, I’m the one in control of the monsters. Not the other way around."

"I saw your sketches," Caleb said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate register. "They’re good. You have a way of making the creature look… sad. Like it doesn't want to be there."

"It doesn't," Juan said softly.

Caleb stepped closer, the scent of the woods still clinging to him. "I like that. Most people just see the teeth. You see the guy underneath."

Juan looked up at him, feeling a sudden warmth spread through his chest. "I see you, Caleb. Not the wolf."

Caleb reached out, his hand hovering near Juan’s arm before he settled for gripping the railing next to him. "Thanks, Juan. I haven't… I haven't felt like a person in a long time."

"You're a person here," Juan promised.

They stood in silence for a while, two monsters in the moonlight, finding a strange, quiet peace in the wreckage of their lives. For the first time since his world had turned upside down, Juan felt like he wasn't just surviving. He was connecting.

"So," Caleb said, breaking the silence with a small, crooked smile. "Tell me about this comic. Does the hero ever get the guy, or is it all just tragic brooding?"

Juan laughed, the sound bright in the still night air. "I haven't decided yet. I guess it depends on how the next chapter goes."

"Well," Caleb said, his yellow-brown eyes locking onto Juan’s. "I’m looking forward to reading it."

As they went back inside, Juan realized that while Sarkov had taken so much from them, he had inadvertently given them something, too. He had given them each other. And in a world that wanted to hunt them down, that might be the most powerful thing they had.