I Need Answers

Ethan sits in his childhood living room looking like he just lost a fight with a particularly aggressive hedge trimmer – half-naked, clothes performing a convincing impression of confetti, skin decorated with the kind of scratches that would make a cat lady's entire collection proud. His adoptive family stares at him with that special mix of concern, confusion, and "what the actual hell" that you only get when your son might be auditioning for a role in Teen Wolf: The Reality Show.

The fact that his dad hasn't reached for his prized shotgun yet is probably a good sign. At least they're not ready to call an exorcist or list him on Craigslist under "slightly used son, may transform into unknown creature, no refunds." Though honestly, at this point, Ethan wouldn't blame them if they did. He's pretty sure "possible supernatural transformation" wasn't covered in the adoption paperwork.

"Dad, I think there's something seriously wrong with me," Ethan manages, shivering despite himself. The understatement feels like saying the Titanic had a slight navigation issue. Hannah, bless her maternal instincts, immediately whisks his younger siblings – Sarah, Jake, and Mia – out of the room faster than you can say "family therapy bills."

"You don't say," Michael replies, gesturing to what used to be their front door, now looking like modern art made by the Incredible Hulk on a bad day. "You knocked down solid oak like it was made of cardboard. And this isn't your first episode of 'Doors: The Enemy.'"

"This is different," Ethan insists, knowing he sounds like every protagonist who ever said 'this is different' right before things got exponentially worse. "I think I might be... changing into something. Something not human." He pauses, running a hand through his disaster of a hairstyle. "And before you ask – no, not in a cute Twilight way. More like 'call the CDC' way."

Michael exchanges one of those loaded parent looks with Hannah, the kind that says they've definitely been Googling "what to do when your son might be supernatural" at 3 AM between scrolling through WebMD and Reddit's paranormal forums. "Listen, son, this may sound crazy, but there's been talk in scientific circles about meta-humans. Creatures of lore living among us, undetected."

Ethan can't help but laugh. The sound comes out slightly hysterical, like someone who's just realized they're the protagonist in a story that definitely isn't going to be a romantic comedy. "Are you seriously suggesting I'm what – some kind of cryptid? Should I start a YouTube channel? 'Day in the Life of a Monster: Don't Forget to Like and Subscribe'?"

"I'm going to call an old friend," Michael says, ignoring the snark with practiced dad-skill honed by years of teenage attitude. "Dr. Roger Krazinsky. He's a specialist in... unusual cases." The way he says 'unusual' makes it sound like code for 'things that should definitely not exist outside of Netflix originals.'

Hannah places a gentle hand on Ethan's shoulder, carefully avoiding the worse scratches. "Why don't you clean up, sweetie? You smell like something died." She pauses, and Ethan watches several worst-case scenarios flash behind her eyes. "Please tell me nothing died."

"Pretty sure my dignity did," he mutters, but manages a weak smile as he stands. His muscles scream like they've just discovered CrossFit and immediately regretted all life choices leading to that moment.

Following his mom upstairs, he feels her worried gaze on him like a physical weight. "You've always been special, Ethan," she says softly, in the tone parents use when they're trying to put a positive spin on potentially catastrophic news. "Remember when you saved uncle Joel from being crushed under his car?"

Right. His childhood as Baby Superman, before everything went full American Horror Story: Family Edition. Back when supernatural strength just meant being careful during gym class, not wondering if he'd accidentally joined a secret society of monsters during his blackouts.

The shower feels like salvation, hot water washing away evidence of whatever nocturnal adventure his body decided to take without consulting his brain. As he scrubs, memories surface like badly timed YouTube ads – a voice in the woods, gentle but urgent, speaking directly into his mind with the kind of casual intimacy usually reserved for old friends or really persistent telemarketers. A name emerges through the mental static: Julian.

"Who the hell is Julian?" he mutters to the shower tiles, which offer about as much insight as a Magic 8-Ball filled with anxiety instead of answers. The name brings another fragment – something about the Moon Shadow pack, which sounds like either a very serious supernatural organization or a really terrible indie band that exclusively plays midnight shows in abandoned warehouses.

He brushes his teeth three times, trying to get rid of the coppery taste that definitely isn't from drinking too much Red Bull (though at this point, energy drink addiction would be a welcomed alternative explanation). Downstairs, he finds his father ending a call, looking like he's just scheduled an appointment with Doctor Strange's less reputable cousin.

"That was Krazinsky. He's expecting us in Raleigh." Michael pockets his phone with the air of someone who's just made a deal they're not entirely sure about. "He's been studying these... phenomena. Privately." The way he says "privately" suggests less "discreet medical practice" and more "definitely has a secret underground lab."

The drive to Raleigh feels like the opening scene of a sci-fi movie where everyone in the audience is yelling "don't go in there!" The GPS leads them through increasingly questionable turns until they pull up to what looks like Dracula's summer home after a modern renovation – all gothic architecture with a side of "definitely conducting questionable experiments inside." The place screams "mad scientist" so loudly it probably counts as noise pollution.

"Looks like something out of a horror movie," Ethan observes as they approach a gate that creaks open with such perfect theatrical timing he half expects to see a fog machine hidden in the bushes.

"Dr. Krazinsky fell out of mainstream science for his unconventional theories," Michael explains, which is probably science-speak for "got kicked out for suggesting monsters are real and trying to prove it with PowerPoint presentations."

The interior pulls a complete 180 from Dracula to Star Trek, all sterile white halls and fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look like they're about to star in their own medical drama. They follow Dr. Krazinsky – who looks exactly like you'd expect a mad scientist to look, complete with Einstein hair and the kind of wild-eyed enthusiasm usually reserved for people who've just discovered conspiracy theories – through corridors that probably violate several safety codes and at least one law of physics.

"Most of our research focuses on genetics," Krazinsky explains as they walk past rooms filled with enough high-tech equipment to make Tony Stark consider a shopping spree. "Human evolution, DNA anomalies – things the mainstream scientific community isn't ready to acknowledge." His tone suggests the mainstream scientific community also isn't ready for his TED Talk about cryptozoology being the next frontier in medical research.

Lab techs in white coats hurry past, carrying tablets and avoiding eye contact like they're extras in a movie who know better than to get involved in the main plot. The air hums with machinery and the kind of tension usually reserved for season finales.

They end up in a room marked 'Restricted Access' because apparently, they're committed to hitting every trope in the Mad Science handbook. The space is packed with machines that look like they could either cure cancer or open a portal to another dimension, possibly both if you press the wrong button.

"This is where we'll get to the bottom of your... situation," Krazinsky says, his eyes gleaming with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for supervillain monologues or really passionate unboxing videos.

"Let me guess," Ethan deadpans, eyeing a particularly ominous-looking machine, "you're going to tell me werewolves are real? Because I've got to say, the whole 'trapped in a lab with questionable equipment' thing isn't really helping with the horror movie vibes."

"Oh, not precisely werewolves," Krazinsky chuckles, like they're discussing different coffee roasts instead of potential supernatural species. "But creatures that share similar characteristics. Myths often hold a seed of truth." He pauses for effect. "Sometimes quite literal seeds."

Before Ethan can point out how this sounds exactly like the setup for a SyFy original movie that got rejected for being too on-the-nose, he's being directed to a medical bed that looks suspiciously like something from Alien. The vinyl squeaks under him in what he chooses to interpret as a warning.

"We'll start with a physical examination," Krazinsky says, prepping an IV with the casual efficiency of someone who definitely didn't learn their medical skills from YouTube tutorials. "Just a mild sedative to help you relax."

"Because nothing says 'trust me' like immediate sedation," Ethan mutters, but doesn't resist as the needle slides home. His dad gives him what's probably supposed to be a reassuring smile but comes across more like "I really hope we're not making a huge mistake."

The medication slides into his veins like liquid calm, and Ethan watches the ceiling tiles blur together into a modernist masterpiece. His last coherent thought before consciousness slips away is that this is either going to solve everything or become the world's worst origin story. Knowing his luck, probably both.

"It'll be alright, son," he hears his father say, voice distant and fuzzy like a badly tuned radio.

As darkness claims him, Ethan wonders if somewhere, in whatever passes for Yelp reviews in the supernatural community, there's a one-star rating that reads: "Went to sleep human, woke up creature of the night. Would not recommend. Also, parking is terrible."