Freddie lingered at the edge of the field for a long moment before finally stepping closer. He didn't join the game—he just wanted to watch. He found a bench near the crowd area; it was mostly empty. A few students were scattered around, casually watching friends play or tossing a ball back and forth.
For long stretches, Freddie lost track of his thoughts entirely. He muttered to himself in his head, trying, almost reflexively, to respond to the shadow from last night—but the shadow stayed silent. He let the idea go for now, letting himself sink into the rhythm of watching.
Hours passed. Jax moved across the field, energetic and focused. Freddie stayed on the bench, almost invisible, until roughly an hour later, Jax finally noticed him. A huge wave shot across the distance. Freddie returned a small wave—quiet, supportive—feeling satisfaction in simply being seen.
Another hour slipped by, and Elias arrived, slightly late but without fuss. The field was quieter now; practice was winding down, dusk beginning to settle in while the day still held light.
When practice ended, Freddie rose and walked toward them. Jax grinned as he approached. "Thanks for watching," he said, giving Freddie a small, friendly pat on the shoulder.
The moment hit Freddie harder than expected—a sudden, intense wave of... friendship, connection, warmth. He didn't know what it was, only that it felt incredible. His ears flicked, his chest tightened, and a flush crept across his fur. Jax blinked, confused.
"Oh—sorry," Jax murmured, stepping back. "Did that—uh...?"
Freddie lingered a moment longer Jax's small pat, the warmth from the gesture still pulsing through him. He blinked, trying to make sense of it, but the feeling didn't fit any label he knew—friendship, excitement, even relief—but it was all of those and more, tangled together like sunlight through leaves. Jax's apologetic look made him stumble over words, a nervous smile barely forming.
"Uh... it's fine," Freddie said quickly, tugging his bag over his shoulder. He didn't want to overthink it—or let Jax see how deeply it had affected him.
With a nod to both Jax and Elias, he turned toward the path that led home, letting the quiet rhythm of his steps ground him.
Jax watched Freddie walk away, his brow furrowed slightly. The moment he had patted Freddie's shoulder had felt lighter than he expected—but the way Freddie had stiffened, then quickly shuffled off, tugged at something Jax couldn't quite name.
"Hey, mate." Jax said, nudging Elias with his elbow, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Did I just... weiri' him out?"
Elias raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You pat him like that, and he practically jumped three feet. I'd say 'weirded out' is an understatement."
Jax scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish grin forming. "I didn't mean to—he just... reacted weiri'dly. It was like—like it hit him harder than I thought it would."
Elias laughed softly, shaking his head. "Don't let him fool you—he's not subtle with feelings, but he doesn't always know how to show them. You just... hit a nerve. In a good way, probably."
Jax frowned, tilting his head. "Good way?"
"Yeah," Elias said, leaning back slightly, casual but observant. "That's the kind of thing that sticks with him. He notices little gestures. That pat? He felt that. He'll remember it."
Jax blinked, letting the words sink in. "Huh. Didn't expect that."
Elias smirked again. "Honestly, you didn't really see it, but your pat did something. Just... don't overthink it. He's just not used to getting... that, okay? Friendship, support... whatever you want to call it."
Jax chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay. Maybe next time I'll just wave."
Elias laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Try not to melt him with every interaction. He might start expecting it."
Jax grinned, a little embarrassed but pleased, watching Freddie's figure fade down the path. "I don't know... maybe that's not such a bad thing."
Freddie's steps crunched softly along the path, each soft gravel grounding him in the quiet of the late afternoon. The warmth from Jax's pat still lingered, pulsing faintly through him like an echo he couldn't shake. He tilted his head slightly, staring at the fading sunlight glinting through the trees.
What was that? he wondered. Friendship? Relief? Something else entirely...?
The shadow from last night pressed at the edge of his thoughts again, faint but insistent, and he shook his head, trying to push it away. For now, he didn't want to think about it. Not when his chest still felt warm from something as simple as a pat.
He walked slower, letting the rhythm of the neighborhood guide him, noticing the small things: leaves drifting on the breeze, the distant hum of traffic, the faint laughter of students heading home. It was ordinary, safe, grounding. And yet... he couldn't shake the feeling that the ordinary had somehow shifted.
Maybe... maybe that's enough, he thought quietly. A small smile tugged at his lips. Today was enough.
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, letting the sunlight warm his fur. For once, the day felt simple, full of subtle connection and small victories. A wave, a smile, a pat—tiny things that made the world feel less heavy.
As he continued home, Freddie realized he wanted to remember this feeling. Not the weight of shadows, not the uncertainty or the worry—but the warmth of being seen, of being noticed. That small, fleeting wave of friendship that Jax had unknowingly given him—it lingered, and he tucked it carefully inside himself, a quiet spark to hold onto when the shadows returned.
The path stretched ahead, quiet and unassuming. And for once, Freddie didn't feel like he was walking it alone...
———
The train rumbled steadily beneath the city, its lights flickering against the windows as Freddie leaned back, exhaustion pressing into his limbs. The crowd around him moved with a purpose, yet none of it reached him—he felt suspended in a bubble, a little removed from the bustling tide.
Dusk had begun to settle by the time the train neared his stop. As the doors slid open, a flicker caught the corner of his eye—a subtle glitch, like a word on a sign bending for a fraction of a second before snapping back. He frowned, squinting, but it was gone. Just my mind playing tricks, he muttered silently.
The train pushed onward, passing the cityscape bathed in fading light. Freddie lifted his phone and snapped a quick picture, capturing the streaked gold and purple sky above the rooftops. It was fleeting, beautiful, and ordinary all at once. Pocketing the phone, he let himself sink into the rhythmic motion of the ride, eyes half-closed, mind drifting.
Eventually, the train slowed, and he stepped off onto the platform, the cool evening air brushing his fur. He made his way through the streets, familiar turns guiding him into his home-apartment. The city seemed quieter now, the last remnants of commuters dissolving into the night.
By the time he arrived, darkness had fully settled. Fatigue hit him like a wave, dragging him upstairs. He stripped quickly, muscles aching, and stepped into the warm embrace of the shower. The water pounded lightly over his fur, washing away the day's weight.
A lullaby slipped past his lips, soft and low—a song his father had taught him long ago. The notes felt comforting, grounding. As he sang, a memory flickered: a figure, tall and steady, hands gentle as they guided a younger bear—Freddie—through bedtime routines. The memory didn't show his father's face, just the reassuring presence, yellow fur catching the dim light, casual clothes draped loosely, calm and protective.
The memory ebbed, returning him to the present. He finished his shower, stepped out, and wrapped a towel around his waist. The mirror reflected his own cyan eyes and the faint glimmer of a weary smile. Something about him seemed... softer, cuter, more anthro in its simplicity. He gave himself a small, approving nod, letting the quiet warmth settle in.
I made it through today, he thought. And I'll make it through tomorrow.
Freddie slid into his t-shirt and sweatpants, the soft fabric clinging to his fur, comforting against the lingering exhaustion. He stepped out of the bathroom and made a beeline for his bedroom.
Pausing briefly, he patted his ears down—a small, almost self-conscious gesture, rare for a bear like him. He sank onto the bed, letting his gaze drift to the black TV across the room. He stared at it, letting the emptiness hold him, trying to coax himself into sleep by sheer monotony.
Minutes passed. His eyes grew heavy, lids drooping as his body surrendered to the mattress.
Then the dream came again.
Darkness stretched infinitely, hollow and suffocating. And there, in the shadows, it waited.
The figure appeared, the same shadow bear from last night—but this time, Freddie could see the face. Its eyes glowed a piercing white, teeth bared in a grin that mimicked his own yet carried something alien, sharp, and menacing. Its form mirrored his perfectly, down to the curve of his ears, the slope of his shoulders, the subtle swish of his tail—but now, there was a difference.
When Freddie lifted his hand, instinctively expecting it to mirror him as before, the shadow did nothing. It didn't move, didn't copy, didn't obey. Instead, it watched—still, silent, calculating. Its gaze burned into him, and for the first time, Freddie felt a shiver of true unease.
A low, almost imperceptible pulse seemed to vibrate from the figure, and the air in the dreamspace grew heavier, charged with an intent he couldn't name.
Freddie's chest tightened, a mix of fear and fascination rooting him in place. He wanted to speak, to ask a question—but the dream held him, unyielding, suspended between curiosity and dread.
The shadow leaned ever so slightly forward, just enough to make him flinch, eyes glowing brighter in the void. And then... silence.
It didn't move. It didn't respond. It simply...
Waited...
Finally, it spoke.
"I've been waiting... for you," its voice dark, rich, and eerily familiar—Freddie's own voice twisted into something heavier, colder.
Freddie's throat went dry. He tried to respond, but no words came. This was not a dream he could control. The shadow spoke... he could only listen.
"You'll soon realize the world... is not what it seems."
A pause, deliberate, heavy.
"Besides that... all that build-up from a long time ago... created something beneath you..."
Freddie's stomach twisted, a creeping dread settling in.
"You'll soon realize what I mean... but..."
"You. Created me."
"It's me."
"And... YOU."
And then—
He woke with a jolt, lungs tight, heart hammering. Night enveloped his room, but the darkness was heavier somehow, more pressing. He blinked, trying to gather himself.
And there it was—on the bed beside him.
The shadow.
Its white eyes gleamed in the dim light, teeth flashing in a grin that was all wrong. A soft, low giggle rolled from it, sending chills down his spine. The sound was playful... and malicious, almost gleeful at his awakening.
Freddie froze. Every instinct screamed at him, but his body wouldn't move. The shadow merely watched, giggling softly, savoring the moment.
The air in the room felt different now—charged, alive, and ominously aware. Freddie's mind raced. He didn't understand... he couldn't even think straight. And yet, a tiny, stubborn part of him realized one thing: this was no longer a dream.
The shadow didn't move closer—it simply stood in place—still sitting near the bed, hovering in the darkness, eyes fixed on him.
"Sorry to jump ya. Hyuyu!" it said, and the laugh that followed was... odd. Weirdly unordinary. Not malicious, not cruel—but unlike anything Freddie had ever heard. A sound that seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Freddie blinked, his chest tight with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. And then, slowly, his voice broke the silence.
"I... I was waiting for you, by the way..." he admitted, almost in a whisper.
The shadow seemed... pleased. Its posture relaxed, the white glow of its eyes brightening ever so slightly. It already knew.
"I know," the shadow said, its voice calm but stern. "I felt your lingering feelings."
Freddie froze, unsure how to respond.
"Although, it's not something you can summon—call upon," the shadow continued, eyes fixed on him. "I do not obey the day; only the night rises within my presence."
Then, slowly, it softened its tone, a faint smile tugging at the edge of its form. "But that's not the only reason I'm here."
Freddie's confusion was almost tangible, and the shadow seemed to sense it, tilting its head slightly as if reading his thoughts. Then it lifted a finger and pointed toward the curtains, lowering it toward the light that spilled into the room.
The light... was glowing cyan, almost unnaturally so, catching his eyes in a way that made the air feel charged.
"Check," it said dully.
Freddie rose slowly, every movement deliberate. He kept his eyes on the shadow as he stepped off the bed, his pulse loud in his ears. The thing remained perfectly still, its gaze locked onto him—unblinking, unyielding.
He moved around the edge of the bed, and the shadow followed him without shifting its body. Its head rotated—slowly, impossibly—until it completed a full one-eighty. No strain. No sound. Just smooth, wrong motion.
A chill crawled through Freddie's spine. His stomach twisted, discomfort spiking into something sharper—something instinctive. He tore his gaze away, unable to look at it any longer.
As he reached the curtains, his hand trembled. He took a breath and pulled them open.
The night was gone.
In its place stretched a sky drenched in cyan, glowing as if the darkness itself had been rewritten. The city below reflected the color, buildings washed in cold blue light, windows shimmering faintly. Above it all hung a moon—too bright, too vivid—casting an unnatural glow across everything it touched.
This wasn't normal.
Not the sky. Not the city.
Not the world.
Freddie's breath caught.
"What...?"
As soon as he finished staring, Freddie turned to his left—and the shadow was already there, standing close beside him.
He flinched, a sharp breath catching in his throat. He hadn't heard it move. Hadn't sensed it at all. The shadow didn't look at him; its gaze remained fixed on the streets below, the cyan glow reflecting faintly across its hollow features.
Then it spoke.
"You know this is abnormal," it said quietly. "All of it."
Freddie followed its stare, eyes tracing the warped horizon of the city. "What even is this?" he asked, his voice low.
"This," the shadow replied, turning toward him, a small, familiar gleam of glee flickering across its face, "Was created, it was never there that first day when you entered this city."
Freddie swallowed and looked back at the city before meeting its gaze again. "How?"
The shadow tilted its head slightly. "I don't know. I only know it exists—only during the times you sleep. Then, the second day happened: everything changed."
It paused, then added, "You never noticed. You've only lived in this city for a month."
Freddie nodded slowly, the realization settling in. A month. That matched. Everything did.
Then a pause.
"You must know something, do you?"
"I can't explain it to you," the shadow's voice steady but distant. "I don't have the answers. I just know it exists."
Silence stretched between them.
"How long has it been like this?" Freddie finally asked.
"A month," the shadow replied. "Just... a month, like I said."
Freddie opened his mouth to speak, but the shadow raised a hand, stopping him. It wasn't finished.
"You should see it properly," it said. "By foot. Take a closer look."
Freddie hesitated, scanning the city beyond the window. Nothing moved. Nothing felt hostile—at least not yet. After a moment, he nodded.
He slipped on his socks and shoes, heart steady but alert, preparing to step into a world that shouldn't exist at all.
As Freddie stepped outside, the moon overhead burned brighter than it should have, casting a cyan glow that washed over the entire city. It wasn't just light—it felt deliberate, like the sky was watching him back.
He stood there for a moment, quietly fascinated. Buildings shimmered faintly, windows reflecting the strange hue, streets stretching out in perfect stillness. It was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.
And then the wrongness settled in.
There was no sound.
No distant engines. No wind through the streets. No hum of life lingering beneath the city's skin. When Freddie turned slowly, his breath caught.
Tombs.
They were scattered across the sidewalks and streets, placed without order—some upright, others cracked or leaning, as though they'd erupted from the pavement itself. Names were etched into the stone, anthro names, familiar in structure even if he didn't recognize them. They weren't old. Some still bore flowers, untouched and pristine.
Cars sat frozen mid-street, lined up as if traffic had been flowing just seconds before—headlights off, doors closed, everything suspended in a moment that never finished.
Freddie's ears flattened instinctively. "What... is this?" he whispered.
The shadow stepped forward beside him, its presence solid and unhurried. "Those are the ones claimed by the night's reign," it said calmly.
Freddie stared. "Claimed how?"
"They didn't wake up," the shadow replied. "Not fully."
It gestured toward the tombs. "When the city sleeps, most pass through this place without knowing it exists. But some... linger. They stay too long. They forget the difference between rest and surrender."
Freddie swallowed hard. "So they're—dead?"
The shadow shook its head. "No. I wouldn't say they're dead. Just... paused."
Its glowing eyes traced the streets. "Their bodies still breathe. Their hearts still beat. But here?" It tapped the pavement lightly with one clawed finger. "This is where their presence remains."
Freddie's stomach twisted. "And the cars?"
"Moments that never finished," the shadow said. "Interrupted thoughts. Unfinished days."
Freddie hugged his arms close, suddenly aware of how small he felt beneath the vast, glowing sky. "Why am I seeing this?"
The shadow turned toward him, its grin softening—not kind, but familiar. "Because you didn't look away."
It leaned closer, lowering its voice. "And because... you made me—you recognize my existence instead of burying me like everyone else."
The city remained silent, the moon unwavering above them, as Freddie stood at the threshold of a world that had been hiding beneath his own all along.
The shadow motioned forward with a small tilt of its head, already moving as if it knew Freddie would follow. Its steps made no sound against the pavement, while Freddie's own felt too loud in the quiet, each one grounding him in a body that very much existed.
They walked side by side down the empty street. Tombstones passed them slowly, names catching the cyan light before slipping back into shadow. Freddie wanted to ask who they were, if they had families, if anyone noticed they were missing—but the questions lodged in his throat, heavy and unanswered before they could even be spoken.
"I don't know why this place exists," the shadow said after a while, its voice even. "I only know that it exists. Hypothetically speaking... worlds leave echoes. Cities do too. When enough thoughts, fears, and unfinished feelings pile up, they sink."
Freddie frowned slightly. "Sink where?"
The shadow gave a small shrug. "Here, apparently. That's just only my thoughts."
They slowed near an intersection where traffic lights hung frozen mid-cycle, glowing cyan instead of red or green. The shadow stopped and raised a hand, pointing upward.
"Look."
Freddie followed its gesture, lifting his gaze to the sky.
The moon loomed massive above the city—far too large, far too close. Its surface lacked detail—no craters, no texture—just a smooth, glowing mass hanging unnaturally low, as if it weren't orbiting at all.
It was rotating on its axis in a way Freddie could see. Slowly. Wrongly. The same face was never supposed to change.
"That's not..." Freddie muttered, squinting. "The moon isn't supposed to be that close. And I've never seen it rotate like that."
"No," the shadow agreed calmly. "You're not meant to."
It tilted its head slightly. "The real one rotates and orbits at the same rate. This one doesn't."
A pause.
"Its axis is moving too fast."
Freddie felt a chill ripple through him. The moon didn't feel distant or passive—it felt aware. Like a stage light fixed directly on the city, unblinking.
"It's... just not real," Freddie said quietly.
The shadow's grin flickered, less amused this time. "That's because it isn't a moon."
Freddie's breath caught. "Then what is it?"
The shadow looked back at the sky, eyes reflecting its glow. "A stand-in. A symbol—perhaps. Something pretending to be familiar so the mind doesn't reject it outright."
It paused, then added, "Dreams do that. They dress the truth in shapes you'll accept."
Freddie nodded slowly, his chest tight. "And if I stop accepting it?"
The shadow turned toward him, its voice low but honest. "Then it might stop pretending."
The cyan light bathed the city in stillness, the false moon hovering impossibly close, as if waiting for Freddie to decide how much of this world he was willing to see.
As Freddie's gaze finally began to drift from the moon, something snapped at the edge of his vision.
A flicker.
He turned back sharply.
The moon stuttered—its slow, wrong rotation skipping backward for a split second, replaying the same motion like a broken frame in a looping video. The light pulsed once, then steadied, as if nothing had happened.
Freddie's breath hitched.
"That—" His voice caught. He swallowed. "That just... repeated."
The thought landed heavy, sharp, and cold all at once.
What is this place?
Is this even real?
Or was he still dreaming—trapped somewhere between sleep and waking?
The city around him remained frozen: cars locked mid-stop, streets silent, tombs standing where people should have been. Nothing reacted. Nothing acknowledged the glitch except him.
Panic curled tight in his chest.
Before it could take hold, the shadow moved.
It stepped directly into his space, placing two dark, weightless paws on his shoulders. The touch was firm—not cold, not warm—just there. Freddie's spiraling thoughts stalled as their glowing eyes met his.
"Panicking makes you vulnerable," the shadow said calmly. "Don't."
Its voice softened—not kinder, but steadier.
"Let's keep going. We may not find answers..."
A pause.
"But we can at least look for them."
Freddie drew in a slow breath. Then another.
The panic loosened its grip, ebbing into something quieter—unease, confusion, but no longer fear. The world still didn't make sense, but nothing was hurting him. Not the moon. Not the city. Not the shadow standing in front of him.
The shadow seemed to feel the shift, its posture easing as Freddie steadied himself.
"Okay," Freddie murmured, more to himself than anything else.
Whatever this was—dream or not—it wasn't attacking him.
And for now, that was enough.
They turned forward together and continued down the silent street, the cyan light stretching long behind them.
They drifted deeper until the streets opened into the main center plaza.
At its heart stood the fountain.
Water should have been spilling from it—clear, catching the cyan glow of the moon—but instead something darker poured over the stone tiers. Thick, slow, and unmistakably wrong. It slid down the carved edges in heavy streams, pooling at the base like diluted blood.
Freddie barely noticed.
His attention was elsewhere—drawn to the buildings that leaned too close together, the windows dark and unblinking, the way the streets felt wider yet emptier than they ever had during the day. Everything looked familiar, yet stripped of warmth, as if the city had been hollowed out and left behind.
They stopped near the fountain's edge.
The shadow stood beside him, its gaze flicking briefly toward the dark liquid before returning to Freddie.
"It may be unsettling to you," it said evenly. "But this isn't bad once you walk around."
Freddie swallowed, eyes still roaming the plaza. "That's... reassuring," he muttered, though his voice lacked any humor.
The air felt thick here—heavy with something unspoken. The fountain continued its endless flow, unbothered, unchanging, as if it had always poured this way.
Freddie finally glanced toward it.
And for a brief moment, something in his chest tightened—not fear, not disgust—but recognition.
He didn't know why.
And that disturbed him more than the blood ever could.
"How long does this night last?"
The shadow turned its head toward him, the faint curve of its mouth shifting as if it were about to answer.
"Well, about—"
THUMP.
The sound cracked through the plaza like thunder, echoing off stone and glass. The ground didn't shake, but the air did—a heavy pressure snapping into place behind them.
Nothing was there at first.
Then, from behind the bus station wall, a hand appeared.
It wrapped around the concrete edge slowly, claws scraping as it tightened its grip. Too large. Too many joints. The fingers bent at angles that made Freddie's stomach drop.
His breath caught. His body refused to listen—no step back, no scream, not even a flinch. Just frozen, eyes locked.
Beside him, the shadow didn't move.
It didn't tense. Didn't react.
It simply watched.
The thing pulled itself free of the wall, its form unfolding as it emerged—shrinking where it had hidden, then expanding again into something massive and wrong. Its body was unmistakably anthro in structure, but warped, as if stitched together from incompatible parts. Too broad in the shoulders, too narrow at the waist. One leg bent differently than the other. Fur—or something like it—clung in uneven patches, interrupted by smooth, dark stretches that reflected the cyan light strangely.
Its head was covered by a mask.
A skull.
Not decorative. Not symbolic. Real enough that Freddie felt it in his teeth when he looked at it. Etched into the forehead was a single marking: [ I ]—a Roman numeral, carved deep and deliberate.
The thing tilted its head.
Bones inside the mask clicked softly.
Freddie's heart slammed against his ribs. "W-what is that," he whispered, barely audible even to himself.
The shadow finally spoke.
"Oh," it said calmly, almost casually.
"That's not part of the city."
The creature took a step forward.
Stone cracked beneath its weight.
"And," the shadow added, its glowing eyes never leaving the figure,
"it noticed you."
The shadow leaned forward slightly, interest glinting in its glowing eyes. There was no fear in it—only fascination, the kind reserved for something rare and unexpected.
Freddie, on the other hand, could barely breathe.
Every instinct screamed that this place wasn't safe—that he wasn't safe. The air around the being felt wrong, heavy with pressure, like stepping too close to the edge of something vast and uncaring. His legs refused to move, muscles locked as if the creature's very presence carried an aura that pinned him in place.
The being shifted its weight.
It was ready.
Not hesitating. Not curious. Prepared to strike.
Freddie's heart pounded so hard it blurred his thoughts. Run. Hide. Do something. But his body stayed rooted, eyes fixed on the skull mask, on the hollow darkness behind it that felt far too aware of him.
Then the creature moved.
It surged forward with terrifying speed, the space between them collapsing in an instant—stone cracking beneath its feet, air snapping from the force of its motion.
Still, the shadow didn't flinch.
It didn't step in front of Freddie.
It didn't raise a hand.
It only watched.
And waited.
A slow grin spread across its face as the being drew closer—patient, deliberate, as if this was exactly what it had been expecting.
The thing kept charging.
Its movements were wrong—too fluid for its size, limbs bending where they shouldn't, claws scraping sparks from stone as it tore forward. The distance between them vanished rapidly, the air growing heavier with every step.
The shadow exhaled slowly.
"So this is one of them," it said, almost thoughtfully. "A consequence. A symptom."
Freddie tried to move.
Pain answered him.
It bloomed suddenly in his chest—sharp, deep, as if something inside him had clenched too tightly. His breath hitched, vision blurring at the edges. The ground felt farther away, unreal, his own body unfamiliar, hostile.
The shadow continued, voice calm, unbothered by the oncoming threat.
"You ever wonder why you were always on the outside?" it asked. "Why even when you were surrounded by people, it felt like you were standing behind glass?"
The creature closed in, feet pounding like dull thunder.
Freddie's thoughts fractured. This hurts. This shouldn't hurt. His limbs trembled, not from fear alone, but from pressure—like something coiled beneath his skin, pushing outward, searching for space.
"It wasn't because you were broken," the shadow said. "And it wasn't because you were uninteresting."
The pain sharpened.
Heat spread through Freddie's arms, down his spine, curling tight at the base of his skull. His ears rang. Every heartbeat felt too loud, too heavy, as if it were striking against something that wasn't meant to be there.
The shadow glanced at him then.
Not with concern.
With recognition.
"It was because something was growing," it said softly. "Something unfinished."
The creature lunged.
Freddie gasped, clutching at his chest as his knees buckled. The world tilted. Cyan light flickered at the edge of his vision—reflected in glass, in metal, in the creature's mask—no, not reflected. Responding.
"You feel it now," the shadow said, stepping forward at last. "That resistance. That ache."
The shadow placed itself squarely between Freddie and the charging form.
"You were alone," it continued calmly, "because I had not yet learned how to stand beside you."
The pressure inside Freddie surged, unbearable now—like his body was rejecting a truth it could no longer contain. His breath came shallow, every nerve screaming, stop, stop, stop.
But something else answered.
Something deeper.
"And you," the shadow said, voice lowering, no longer amused, "are not the answer to his questions."
The air bent.
Shadows peeled themselves from the ground, stretching upward unnaturally, drawn toward the shadow's form like ink pulled by gravity.
Freddie felt it then—clarity through pain. The certainty that this wasn't happening to him.
It was happening because of him.
The creature raised its claws, momentum unstoppable.
The shadow's grin widened—sharp, deliberate.
"But you are about to learn," it said quietly,
"why touching him was never allowed."
The shadow didn't even finish turning back toward the creature.
It dissolved.
No warning—no wind, no sound—just a sudden collapse of darkness that surged forward and entered Freddie, tearing through him like cold fire.
Freddie screamed.
His eyes burned white, the cyan of the world swallowed whole as his pupils vanished entirely. His spine arched violently, muscles locking as something forced his body upright, dragging him to his feet against his will.
The creature was inches away.
Too close.
Freddie's arm snapped upward—not guided, not chosen—and a wave of dark force erupted from him. It wasn't light or shadow but something heavier, bending the air as it slammed into the creature.
The impact was instant.
The thing was hurled backward, its massive frame skidding across the stone, cracking pavement as it crashed through the bus station wall and disappeared into the darkness beyond.
Silence fell.
Freddie stood frozen, trembling, eyes still glowing white. Black veins of shadow crawled briefly beneath his fur before sinking back inside him.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
A voice echoed inside him now—no longer beside him.
"...See?" it murmured, pleased and intimate.
"You were never powerless."
Freddie's legs finally gave out.
And the world around him flickered—glitching hard—as something inside him finished waking up... as he thought...
Then...
Another presence stepped forward from the distortion in the street.
This one didn't crawl.
It rose.
Its silhouette stretched taller than the first, shoulders hunched forward, legs bent like it was built to run on all fours—but it stood upright anyway. Fur bristled along its massive frame, its snout elongated and cracked with bone showing through skin. It looked folkloric, like something torn from old warnings and campfire stories—a werewolf-shaped thing that never belonged to any myth remembered correctly.
Its breath fogged the air.
It didn't hesitate.
Freddie tried to move.
His body answered with pain.
Not exhaustion—rejection.
Something inside him twisted hard, and then the shadow took everything.
His scream tore out of him as his muscles locked, every joint snapping taut as if invisible hooks had sunk into his frame. His spine bowed violently—and then split.
Blood burst from beneath his fur in hot sprays as seams tore open along his arms, chest, and neck, not like wounds—but like panels being forced apart. The sound was wrong. Wet, metallic, grinding.
Freddie collapsed to his knees.
His bones shifted with a sickening clack, joints reconfiguring with mechanical precision. His ribs separated, reforming beneath layers of dark metal and endoskeleton struts that pushed through torn flesh. Blood soaked the pavement beneath him, pooling fast as his body was rebuilt while still alive.
His hands clenched.
Fingers cracked, extending, snapping back into rounded, reinforced shapes—too smooth, too deliberate. His legs split at the calves, locking into place with a heavy thunk as internal mechanisms whirred to life.
Freddie screamed again.
But it wasn't his voice anymore.
It came out distorted—metallic, layered, echoing—like something synthetic trying to remember how pain was supposed to sound.
His face tore last.
His jaw unhinged with a sharp crack, teeth shattering and reforming behind a mask-like structure that slid into place from beneath his skin. His beautiful eyes became sockets—inside out. Blood streamed down his chest as his muzzle reshaped—still him, still undeniably Freddie—but wrong. Cute in silhouette, surprisingly. Terrifying in execution.
His whole body was dripping with blood, his newborn body has taken over everything.
The shadow's voice resonated through him now, no longer separate.
"Don't fight it."
"This is what you were made to survive."
"Accept it, accept me."
Freddie—no, whatever he was becoming—rose slowly to his feet.
The werewolf creature still wasn't threatened, however a second creature emerged from the shadows, joining in.
For the first time that night—
something changed him.
Completely.
—————
Freddie's eyes snapped open, cyan eye sockets, his body still trembling from the transformation. Pain radiated through his limbs, joints screaming, every muscle burning—but he was alive. The first creature snarled, already preparing to strike again, while the second, larger werewolf-like figure emerged, looming over him, teeth bared. There was no hesitation. Both were hunting, and Freddie knew he couldn't rely on instinct alone.
He scanned the plaza, eyes landing on a bent, broken street sign nearby. Gripping it with trembling paws, he wrenched it free. A makeshift pole. His instincts as a sword fighter kicked in. Punching wouldn't save him—precision, reach, timing—his moves had to be calculated.
The smaller creature lunged first. Freddie spun, using the pole to parry a swipe. Sparks of dark energy hissed as his mechanical-enhanced strength met the creature's hybrid flesh. He retaliated with a swift, arcing strike, slicing across its torso. It staggered backward but recovered quickly.
The larger werewolf lunged, its claws slicing the air. Freddie dove to the side, rolling across the cracked pavement, then thrust the pole upward, narrowly deflecting the strike. He pivoted, spinning with the weapon extended like a sword, striking with controlled bursts of energy, each movement precise and rhythmic.
Dark energy pulsed through him with every swing. One strike forced the smaller creature to stumble into a fountain, water splashing, tinged with crimson. The werewolf snapped at him, teeth scraping the metal pole, and Freddie leapt backward, then lunged forward with a twisting strike that slammed the pole into its side.
Minutes passed in a relentless rhythm. Freddie's pole sliced, jabbed, spun, and hammered. He struck with bursts that felt like controlled magic, echoing the flow of abilities from the games he knew, but twisted uniquely: dark bursts of energy, shadow-assisted slashes, rapid sweeps that sent debris and sparks flying.
Then the smaller creature feinted and slammed him to the ground. Pain exploded through his body. The werewolf loomed over him, poised to strike. Freddie tried to rise—but his limbs refused.
The second creature joined in. Its massive form slammed into him, and he was knocked flat, vision spinning. He could barely breathe, let alone fight.
The shadow inside him stirred. A dark pulse surged through his body, igniting every nerve, every fiber. Pain twisted into power. Freddie's body swelled violently, muscle mass bulking, mechanical plating folding and stretching over his anthro form. His claws elongated slightly, his limbs became sharper, stronger, almost monstrous, but still recognizable as him.
The creatures hesitated—just for a moment—before he lunged. His swings were devastating. Every strike carried the weight of adrenaline and shadow energy. The pole moved like a conductor's baton, each arc sending shockwaves. The smaller creature screamed as he shattered its leg with a sweeping slash. The werewolf staggered from a thrust to its chest that sent it spinning into the plaza fountain.
He didn't stop. He pivoted, striking again and again—ripping, tearing, slashing with precision and force. Dark energy pulsed from his strikes, coating the ground, shattering pavement, and making the creatures stagger under the raw assault.
The shadow hummed inside him, feeding him guidance, speed, and ferocity. Freddie's vision blurred with mechanical whiteness as he swung the pole like a blade infused with his dark essence. The creatures were no match.
Finally, with one final, sweeping strike, he slammed the pole into both creatures, sending them sprawling, unmoving—the creatures bodies disappeared in darkness. His body shuddered violently.
The mechanical plating retracted, folding back into him. His limbs shrank, muscles deflating. Every fiber of his body ached; he fell to the plaza ground, weak, trembling, chest heaving.
The shadow slowly pulled away from him, sliding out of his form like smoke untangling from a flame. Freddie's body shuddered with every inch of separation, the lingering warmth of the shadow's presence fading. He lay there, exposed, utterly drained, trembling under the weight of exhaustion and adrenaline.
The sky above softened, still cyan but dimming with the approaching dawn. Not quite day—it was 4:35 a.m. Pain radiated through every joint, every limb, and his vision flickered as he struggled to stay conscious.
The shadow hovered a moment, its form bending slightly toward him. Kneeling beside Freddie, it lowered its glowing eyes to meet his, faintly amused but tender in its own strange way.
"Rest well," it murmured, its voice softer than before, almost gentle. "You've done enough... for now."
Freddie's lips parted, a faint, exhausted sigh escaping. The shadow's gaze lingered, patient, almost protective. Slowly, it faded, drifting upward toward the still-cyan sky, leaving only the faintest shimmer in the air.
His eyelids grew impossibly heavy. Every breath felt like a mountain to climb, every heartbeat a drum of exhaustion. Freddie's last coherent thought flickered dimly: I... just... want... home...
Then darkness swallowed him completely.
The plaza, the city, the strange night-world—all dissolved into nothing. Freddie's consciousness drifted away, leaving only the quiet hum of the early morning sky.