Chapter 2: The First Change
The moon hung in the sky like a swollen, luminous pearl, its silver light spilling down through the open window and pooling on the wooden floor. The air in Adam's bedroom felt thick, charged with an unspoken tension, the kind of static that precedes a storm. He sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed and unable to rest, his phone screen a small, frantic window into a world teetering on the edge of chaos. A frantic text from Stiles, riddled with typos and panicked emojis, had been the initial siren call, a garbled message about Scott, about the woods, and about something being wrong. Adam's internal, clinical voice told him what was happening. This was the first full moon. The first transformation. The first time Scott would lose control.
He had debated staying home. The smart, self-preserving thing to do was to let it play out. He had no official role in this, no reason to risk his neck for a character he only knew from a TV show. But the moment he saw Stiles's message, saw the raw fear in the words, the logic of self-preservation had crumbled into dust. He had to go.
The drive was a blur, the night air cool against his face as he sped through the empty streets. He found them in the Beacon Hills Preserve, in a crumbling, forgotten-looking house, the one Peter Hale had been living in. The sight of the place sent a fresh wave of dread through him.
Stiles was a wreck, pacing in front of the front door, his hands wringing together. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, were a mirror of the pure terror he was feeling.
"You came," Stiles breathed, a mix of relief and disbelief in his voice. "I didn't think anyone would answer. I didn't think anyone would believe me."
"I did," Adam said simply, a truth more complex than Stiles could ever know. "What's happening?"
"I don't know!" Stiles hissed, his voice cracking with emotion. "He's… he's in there. I don't know what to do, man. He's going crazy."
A guttural, pained howl echoed from inside the house. It wasn't the sound of an animal, but something broken, something in agony. The sound clawed at Adam's nerves, a raw, primal cry that twisted his stomach. He knew what it was. Scott was a werewolf. He had lost control.
"We have to get him under control," Adam said, his voice calmer than he felt. He had to think fast, to act on instinct and foreknowledge simultaneously. He needed to mimic Scott's newfound strength to help. It was the only way.
He pushed past Stiles and stepped into the house. The interior was a cavern of shadows and dust. In the center of the room, chained to a support beam with a rusted chain, was Scott. He was writhing, his body contorting in a grotesque parody of human form. His teeth were bared, his eyes a feral, glowing gold. He was a monster, a creature of pure instinct and pain, and he was fighting the chains with a strength that should have been impossible for a teenage boy.
"Scott!" Stiles screamed, but Scott didn't respond. He just snarled, his eyes fixed on Adam, a predator's gaze.
Adam felt the familiar, cold presence of his System in his mind. He didn't have to consciously activate it. The moment he was within the three-meter range, within striking distance of the nascent werewolf, the System reacted to the imminent threat.
[SYSTEM: HOST IN DANGER. LETHAL FORCE IMMINENT. AUTOMATIC MIMICRY ENGAGED. TARGET: WEREWOLF (JUVENILE). MIMICRY COMPLETE. ABILITY: ENHANCED STRENGTH, ACCELERATED HEALING. DURATION: 24 HOURS.]
Adam felt the power surge through him, a jolt of raw, untamed energy that thrummed beneath his skin. He was no longer a normal human. He was a mimic, a pale reflection of the beast in front of him. The power was volatile, difficult to control, and it felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside out. He stumbled, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. The power was a fire, but it was consuming him just as much as it was helping.
"Adam? What... what are you doing?" Stiles's voice was a terrified whisper behind him.
"Hold on!" Adam grunted, gritting his teeth as he pushed through the pain. He lunged forward, grabbing Scott's arms. The raw, animal strength was incredible, but Adam's mimicked power met it, a clash of primal forces. He was a human-shaped anchor, holding Scott in place, his body trembling with the strain. He could feel the pain radiating from Scott, the agony of a body being reshaped against its will.
"It's okay, Scott," Adam muttered, his voice strained. "Fight it. You're stronger than this."
He was a liar, but it was a lie of necessity. He was trying to give Scott something to hold on to, a tether to his humanity.
Stiles, his face a mask of utter bewilderment, grabbed an extra chain from a nearby trunk and wrapped it around Scott's torso, adding another layer of restraint. Together, the two of them held the thrashing, snarling boy until the worst of the transformation passed.
When it was over, Scott collapsed, unconscious, his body still and quiet. He was just a boy again, lying on the floor, his muscles twitching with the last echoes of the monstrous strength that had consumed him. Adam, however, wasn't so lucky.
The energy that had fueled him suddenly receded, leaving him empty and weak. He felt a wave of dizziness so intense he nearly collapsed. His body felt heavy, his muscles screaming in protest, a deep, bone-weary fatigue that was far beyond simple exhaustion. He was a battery, and he had just used up all his charge.
[SYSTEM: MIMICRY PROTOCOL: DISENGAGED. HOST ENERGY DEPLETED. FATIGUE COST: EXTREME. RECUPERATION REQUIRED. WARNING: FURTHER MIMICRY ATTEMPT WILL CAUSE PERMANENT DAMAGE.]
The words were a stark, cold warning in his head. The fatigue wasn't a side effect; it was a cost.
He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. Stiles knelt beside Scott, his hand on his friend's chest, checking for a heartbeat. His eyes, however, were on Adam. They were filled with a mixture of fear and awe, and a burning, unasked question.
The silent question hung in the air, a new secret between them. Stiles had seen it. He had seen Adam, a scrawny kid he barely knew, go toe-to-toe with a monster and win. He had no frame of reference for what he had just witnessed, and the questions in his eyes were a new, terrifying reality.
"What was that?" Stiles asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What did you just do?"
The narrative had officially diverged, and Adam had a new, much more immediate problem than an angry Alpha. He had an inquisitive Stiles, and he had a secret that he had no idea how to explain.