two Months passed.
Somehow, that surprised me more than it should have.
Time moved differently here—measured less by calendars and more by scraped knees, half-forgotten meals, and the way the other kids cried less often… or more. I still didn't fully understand my quirk. Not really. I tried finding more animals, watching for pigeons on the fence or stray cats slipping between buildings, but they always stayed away. A wide berth. Like the yard itself was loud in a way humans couldn't hear.
A yard full of crying, screaming, laughing, loud kids probably wasn't very welcoming.
Still, I didn't stop experimenting.
I spent a lot of time alone, sitting on my bed or crouched on the bathroom floor, staring at my reflection and gently—carefully—pulling at my face. My jaw especially. At first, I thought all I could do was turn my mouth into a dog's snout. It felt natural now, almost comforting, the way my bones shifted and my teeth pressed forward in a way that was a bit painful when i do it too fast but it was more than managable.
But after a while, I started asking myself a question I should have asked sooner.
Why only the snout?
The change is not "becoming an animal."
It is altering specific biological traits.
Once I focused on skin rather than shape, further changes became possible:
slin shifting into a dense, pelt-like layer
Skeletal and keratin alteration of distal phalanges into claw-like structures
The claws are proportionally larger than expected for a canine analogue and lack significant sharpness or hardness. Likely due to scaling relative to my own body mass rather than the source animal.
Conclusion: Transformations are upscaled to my base physiology.
and on my road to discovery there were more pieces that came into light.
The glow—that soft, warm light that came when I healed—it wasn't the same thing. That wasn't a physical mutation at all. My quirk wasn't just one thing. It was layered. I could change my body temporarily, like a transformation quirk… but I also had something else. An emitter aspect.
I could take out the mutation entirely and focus only on the aspect. My only example so far is the lizard's healing. That soft green glow was the aspect itself—focused purely on ability rather than physical change. It drains my stamina, but the downside is manageable.
mutation plus transformation plus emitter.
That wasn't unheard of.
But it was very rare.
though the quirk was almost unheard of.
It felt like having two quirks that spoke the same language. Or maybe one quirk with two voices?
I didn't know yet.
I figured time would tell me.
Another thing I discovered—almost by accident—was that I could mix animal traits. More than one at once. When I thought back to the lizard I'd copied before, I realized I'd focused on its healing without meaning to. This time, I concentrated harder. Not on what it did, but on what it was.
Scales bloomed across my skin in overlapping patches, dull and cool and real.
I stared at myself, heart pounding.
Then I added the dog's snout again.
The result was… unsettling. A strange little chimera. Familiar and wrong all at once. I didn't feel scared exactly, but I didn't feel brave either. Mostly, I felt aware—of how different I was becoming, piece by piece.
There were limits, though.
I couldn't take everything.
No tail. I tried—really tried. I felt the pressure at the base of my spine, a tug like something wanted to exist, but nothing ever formed. It was like reaching for something just out of sight.
Bugs didn't work either.
That one felt worse.
When I tried copying an insect, it was the same sensation as the tail—but emptier. Like something essential was missing. Like my body didn't know how to finish the thought. It left me quiet afterward, sitting very still, afraid to poke at that absence too much.
I also learned that I can't do full transformations. Guess I'm not like the Wild Kratts after all.
Lastly, I noticed that when I try to stack aspects from multiple animals, it becomes harder to think. It feels like a fog settling in my head, and it puts strain on my restraints. The strangest part is that the heavier the physical mutations I take on, the stronger the instincts become. Those instincts interfere with my judgment and affect my decision-making skills.
I stopped experimenting for a few days after that for a break.
Then came the news.
We were going to a petting zoo.
Everyone else was excited. I could hear it in the way their voices rose, in the clatter of chairs and the questions shouted at the caretakers. Goats. Sheep. Rabbits. Animals close enough to touch.
Animals close enough to feel.
My stomach twisted.
Because the bad part wasn't the animals.
The bad part was that it was public.
A place with people. With eyes. With parents who pulled their children closer when they saw me. With strangers who stared just a little too long, or flinched before they could stop themselves.
Somewhere along the way, I'd started caring how I looked.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
I didn't used to think about it. Not like this. But ever since that woman... her face
didn't twisted with fear and disgust, but the eyes that couldn't even look at us like we were humans hit a lot harder then slain ever could.
Monster.
I stood in front of the mirror that night, my reflection warped by things that no longer felt temporary, and hugged myself as tightly as I could.
I was growing stronger.
I was learning.
But I was also shrinking in places I didn't know how to protect yet. It felt shamfull
i should have the mentality of a young adult yet these emotions and my thoughts and fears of how others thought of me affected me so much.
Being a kid is so much work.
3rd POV
The dorm was louder than usual.
Not chaotic, just busy in that restless way that came before something exciting. Shoes scraped against the floor. A zipper screamed halfway closed and then gave up. Someone down the hall laughed too hard, like they were trying to convince themselves they wanted to go.
Tod sat on the edge of his bed with his hands folded in his lap.
He was already dressed. He'd been dressed for a while.
Hope noticed first.
She didn't say anything. Just leaned against the doorframe, backpack hanging off one shoulder, watching him. Her eyes lingered a little too long—eyes, plural, some blinking out of sync along her neck and jaw, one near her collarbone slowly opening and closing. A small mouth along her cheek flexed faintly, like it was tasting the air.
It was still unsettling but at this point it was more than managable.
"You're gonna wrinkle your shirt if you keep sitting like that," Lily said instead, glancing over while carefully reattaching one of her fingers. It had popped off when she'd tried to stuff too much into her bag. A bit weird cause it will only be for a few hours but you do you I guess.
Tod glanced down at the fabric. Smoothed it anyway.
"I'm fine," he said, even though his shoulders were a little too tight.
Lily hummed. "You've been 'fine' for like ten minutes. That's weird."
Luke snorted from across the room, where he was wrestling his jacket on backward. "Yeah. You look like you're about to be escorted to the Mr Jhones office, not a petting zoo."
That word made something twist in Tod's chest.
Petting zoo.
Animals. People. Hands pointing. Eyes lingering.
He flexed his fingers without meaning to, then forced them still when he realized what he was doing.
Hope shifted her weight. A mouth along her throat parted slightly, silent. When Tod finally glanced at her, she tilted her head—slow, curious. Several eyes tracked the movement independently. She didn't smile. She never really did.
After a moment, she lifted one hand and gently tapped her own wrist, a silent I'll stay with you.
It was unsettling.
Too many eyes seeing him at once. Too many mouths that could speak but didn't.
But underneath the discomfort, there was something else. Something steady. She wasn't judging him. She never did. She just… observed. Stayed. Like she'd decided he was something worth guarding.
Hope finally spoke, her voice coming from a few of her mouths, alternating which one was in control. "People stare, and that's okay, Tod."
lily looked over after hope spoke an looked at him then. Her head tilted slightly, glassy eyes catching the light. "Hey," she said, gentle now. "If anyone says something dumb, I'll just… you know." She mimed her arm popping off and dangling uselessly. "Instant trauma."
Luke blinked. "That's not comforting."
"It works," Lily replied.
luke: nuh uh
lily: yuh huh
Tod let out a small breath. Almost a laugh. while they bickerd
The caretakers' voices echoed faintly from down the hall—roll call, reminders, the usual warnings about staying together and not wandering off. The sound made everything feel more real. Closer.
Tod stood.
For a second, the room went quiet in that subtle way only friends noticed. Hope watched his face. Lily tracked his posture. Luke stopped fighting his jacket.
Tod stood.
Hope straightened immediately, stepping closer without asking. Close enough that their sleeves brushed. One of the eyes on her arm blinked, focusing on him. Tod resisted the urge to step away.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly. Just… a lot.
"I might… stay close to you guys," Tod said, eyes fixed on the floor. "If that's okay."
Lily grinned. "Obviously."
Luke gave a thumbs-up. "Safety in numbers. Especially if the goats try something."
Hope didn't say anything.
She just stayed—too many eyes open, too many mouths quiet—solid and unmoving at his side.
As they filed into the hallway with the rest of the kids, Tod ended up between them. The noise pressed in from all sides, excitement buzzing sharp and bright. Somewhere deep inside him, something stirred—alert, curious, reaching.
He pushed it down.
Not today.
For now, it was enough to walk forward with them—especially with Hope there. Creepy. Quiet. Unwavering.
And somehow, comforting. He needed more samples anyways and what other way to work at this then to go to a petting zoo.