"KY, can I have $20 for my game?"
Kyla barely glanced over her shoulder at the teenager trailing behind her—never too far, but always too loud. He wore a hoodie with a rapper's face printed across the chest, a tilted baseball cap, and a pair of trending khaki shorts.
"I gave you $10 last night," she replied sharply.
Kiloil, her younger brother, pressed his hands together in a desperate prayer. "Please, Kyyyyyy, I need to recharge. They just dropped new skins."
They stepped through the sliding doors of the grocery store, but Kiloil suddenly stopped, his mouth dropping open in shock.
Kyla sighed, waving him on. "Hurry up. Dad's probably starving."
Then she turned—and froze.
The world had changed.
People wandered the streets, but they weren't quite human anymore. Some had animal heads atop human bodies, while others sported hybrid features—ears too pointed, eyes too feral, hands with a hint of claw. Billboards showcased models in sleek suits and elegant dresses, their faces an uncanny blend of human grace and wild instinct. The familiar was gone, replaced by something surreal—part dream, part nightmare.
"Ky…" Kiloil's voice trembled. "Did you put something in my breakfast?"
A man with an elephant's head turned, his dark eyes filled with disapproval.
Kyla quickly clamped a hand over her brother's mouth, forcing a nervous laugh. "Sorry, ha ha."
She grabbed him and pulled him toward the car.
Fumbling for her keys, she unlocked the doors and tossed the grocery bags inside. They slid into their seats as a heavy silence fell between them, punctuated only by the strange sights outside.
A man bounced past on kangaroo legs.
Kyla swallowed hard. "Kiloil, you're seeing what I'm seeing, right?"
"You mean Kangaroo Jack outside?" he asked, pointing.
She smacked his hand. "Don't point, idiot."
"Ky, be honest—did we do drugs?"
Before she could answer, her phone rang. A familiar yet distorted tune filled the car—
"Body like a cheetah, let's get it on in a forest tonight, oh baby~"
Hesitating, she answered.
"Kiva," a woman's voice crackled over the line. "Tell your father I'm not sponsoring Oi's soccer team. He can raise the funds like the other parents. Bake sales or pimping—I don't give a flying fuck. And come home this weekend—your first father found a new potential match with high gene resonance. Bye, love you, darling."
The line went dead.
After a long, awkward silence, Kiloil whispered, "…didn't Mom die?"
Kyla's face tightened as she started the engine. Her manual car roared to life.
"I don't know what's happening," she admitted, "but we need to go home. Now."
The familiar streets blurred by as she drove, yet everything felt altered.
Parks had expanded into wild, overgrown forests; lamp posts were now entwined with vines and blooming flowers. Buildings glowed with bold colors, and humanoid animals strolled past, casually chatting outside coffee shops and stores.
They pulled into the driveway of a large blue house—single-story with a veranda wrapping around it and a corrugated iron roof. The windows shone with stained glass hues of red, blue, and yellow.
A man lounged in a rattan chair on the porch, his floppy hat shading his eyes. Surrounded by plush pillows, quirky wind chimes, and small statues of fantastical creatures, he waved lazily as they approached.
"Dad?" Kiloil called out hesitantly.
The man raised a brow and sat up. "Yeah, Oily bear?"
Kyla and Kiloil exchanged uneasy glances before Kyla spoke again, her throat tight. "Dad?"
He smiled, stepping down from the porch. Grabbing the grocery bags from their hands, he chuckled, "What's with the weirdness? It's too early for this."
Without warning, the two children threw themselves at him in a bone-crushing hug.
"Whoa, easy!" he laughed, patting their backs. "What's with all the clinginess?"
He pressed a kiss to each of their curly heads. "Not that I mind."
Kyla pulled away first, her eyes looking over his pale unblemished figure, forcing a smile. "We'll head inside."
"Alright," he said, stretching. "I'll start on lunch." With that, he strolled up the steps and disappeared into the house.
Kyla motioned for Kiloil to follow her into the study, where he locked the door behind them.
"Dad can—"
"Dad's able—"
"…to speak," they finished in unison, their voices hushed in wonder.
Kiloil pointed at the wall above Kyla's desk. "Ky, look."
She turned to see a collage of photographs.
One picture captured a teenage Ky smiling beside a massive tiger.
Another showed baby Ky cradled gently in the paws of a tiger cub.
Three other photos depicted her in a wedding procession—as a bridesmaid, standing proudly beside a bride who resembled her best friend, except was now overly muscular.
And then there was one photograph of her mother, brother, another woman and three other young men, dated three months ago.
Kyla exhaled sharply, steadying herself as she powered up her old computer.
Kiloil flicked on the air conditioner and perched on the edge of her desk, watching as she began typing.
Beastmen.
Search results flooded the screen:
[The Evolution of Beastmen]
[How Our History Is Linked to Monsters]
[Why Beastmen Are—]
Their eyes met, realization dawning between them.
"Ky," Kiloil murmured, voice barely audible, "I don't think we're on Earth anymore."