Teen Hybrid

"Alright, new guy, let's give you the grand tour," Stiles said, slinging an arm around Vale's shoulders like they were old friends. "First stop: the cafeteria. Home of the most questionable meatloaf you'll ever taste. Seriously, I think it's made of ground-up textbooks."

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't scare him off, Stiles. The meatloaf's not *that* bad. It's just... creatively seasoned."

Vale grinned, falling into step with them as they walked down the hallway. "Creative seasoning, huh? Sounds like my kind of adventure."

The three of them made their way through the bustling school, Stiles pointing out random landmarks like they were on a guided tour. "And over here, we have the infamous locker 237. Legend has it, if you knock three times at midnight, you'll hear the ghost of a janitor who—"

"Stiles, stop," Scott interrupted, laughing. "You're making stuff up again."

"Am I? Or am I just revealing the *hidden truths* of Beacon Hills High?" Stiles shot back, wiggling his eyebrows dramatically.

Vale couldn't help but laugh. These two were a riot. For a moment, he almost forgot about the weird gray screen, the glowing red eyes, and the fact that he was apparently 15 times stronger than the average human. Almost.

As they passed the lacrosse field, Vale's sharpened senses picked up something strange. A faint, metallic smell lingered in the air, mixed with something... unnatural. He slowed down, his eyes scanning the area.

"You guys smell that?" he asked, his voice low.

Stiles sniffed the air dramatically. "Smell what? The sweet aroma of teenage sweat and despair?"

"No, seriously," Vale said, his tone serious now. "It's like... blood. And something else. Something weird."

Scott frowned, his expression shifting from playful to concerned. "I don't smell anything, but... maybe we should check it out."

The three of them walked toward the edge of the field, where the trees thickened into a small wooded area. The smell grew stronger, and Vale's stomach churned. His heightened senses were dialed up to eleven, and it was overwhelming.

"Uh, guys?" Stiles whispered, pointing to the ground. "Is that... a dead rabbit?"

Sure enough, lying in the grass was a small, lifeless rabbit. But it wasn't just dead—it was *wrong*. Its eyes glowed faintly red, and strange, black veins spiderwebbed across its fur.

"What the hell..." Scott muttered, crouching down to get a closer look. "This isn't normal. Like, at all."

Vale's heart raced. This had to be connected to the glowing red eyes he'd seen the other night. Before he could say anything, a low growl echoed from the trees. The three of them froze.

"Did you hear that?" Stiles whispered, his voice trembling.

"Yeah," Scott said, standing up slowly. "And I don't think it's a friendly neighborhood dog."

The growl came again, closer this time. Vale's instincts kicked in, and he stepped in front of Stiles and Scott, his body tense and ready. His muscles felt like coiled springs, and his senses were on high alert.

"Stay behind me," he said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through him.

The bushes rustled, and then it emerged—a creature unlike anything Vale had ever seen. It was wolf-like, but its eyes glowed the same eerie red as the rabbit's. Its fur was matted and patchy, and its movements were jerky, almost unnatural.

"Okay, that's not a wolf," Stiles said, his voice an octave higher than usual. "That's a *nope*."

The creature lunged, and Vale reacted without thinking. He grabbed a nearby fallen branch and swung it like a bat, hitting the creature mid-air. The impact sent it sprawling, but it was back on its feet in seconds, snarling.

"Run!" Vale shouted, pushing Stiles and Scott toward the school.

They didn't need to be told twice. The three of them bolted, the creature hot on their heels. Vale's enhanced speed kept him ahead, but Stiles and Scott were struggling to keep up.

"Scott, move your ass!" Stiles yelled, panting.

"I'm trying!" Scott shot back, his voice strained.

The creature was gaining on them, its growls growing louder. Vale skidded to a stop, turning to face it. He couldn't let it hurt his new friends. He clenched his fists, feeling the strength coursing through him.

"Come on, you ugly mutt," he muttered, bracing himself.

The creature lunged again, but this time Vale was ready. He sidestepped and grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, slamming it into the ground with a force that surprised even him. The creature yelped, scrambling to its feet and retreating into the trees.

Vale stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding. Stiles and Scott stared at him, their eyes wide.

"Did you just... manhandle a werewolf?" Stiles asked, his voice incredulous.

"I... I think so," Vale said, looking down at his hands. They were trembling, but not from fear—from adrenaline.

Scott stepped forward, his expression a mix of awe and concern. "Vale, what are you?"

Before Vale could answer, a voice cut through the tension. "That's a good question."

They turned to see a tall, brooding figure stepping out of the shadows. It was a man in his early twenties, with piercing eyes and a leather jacket that screamed "don't mess with me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Stiles said, holding up his hands. "Who are you, and why do you look like you're auditioning for a vampire movie?"

The man ignored Stiles, his gaze fixed on Vale. "You're not like the others. What are you?"

Vale swallowed hard, his mind racing. He didn't have an answer—not one that made sense, anyway. But one thing was clear: his life in Beacon Hills was about to get a whole lot more complicated.