Chapter Text
The year was 1945, and the sky burned.
A streak of fire tore through the atmosphere, a blazing comet trailing smoke and embers as it hurtled toward the earth. It struck the ground with a thunderous crash, sending shockwaves rippling through the dense forest. Trees splintered, their trunks snapping like twigs, and the earth itself seemed to recoil from the impact. The pod, a grotesque, organic mass of fused bodies and hardened sinew, sank into the soil, its surface crackling with flames and oozing a thick, black fluid that hissed as it met the air.
From the smoldering wreckage, they emerged.
Pale, translucent, and writhing like larvae with tendril-like legs, the young doppelgangers spilled out of the pod, their forms barely coherent. At the moment, they were roughly the size of a large dog. Some were consumed by the flames before they could crawl more than a few feet, too young to have built a resistance to the flames, their high-pitched screeches echoing through the forest as they perished. Others dragged themselves away, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated, driven by a single, overwhelming instinct: Feed. Survive. Shift.
Among them was him .
He crawled on the ground on all fours, his body trembling with the effort. His limbs were too long, his fingers too sharp, and his face was a blank, featureless mask with nothing but a gaping hole filled with razor sharp teeth. He could feel the hunger gnawing at him, a relentless ache that demanded to be sated.
The young doppelgangers scattered about on the land, spreading out to find nourishment. Without their senses fully formed and misguided, some made mistakes, going further into the forest where no food could be found and perishing. Others roamed in various directions hoping to come across something to satiate their need for food.
He was slightly more aware. The intelligence among them truly not shared equally. The scent of human flesh carried on the wind, faint but unmistakable, and it drew him like a moth to a flame. He moved toward it, his movements jerky and unsteady, his mind a haze of primal impulses.
The town was quiet, its streets bathed in the pale light of a waning moon. He reached the outskirts, his body trembling with exhaustion and hunger. His instincts drove him as he made his way through an alley that met outside the forest’s edge. The scent was stronger here, almost overwhelming, and it made his mouth water with anticipation.
He found his first victim in a narrow alleyway, curled up beneath a tattered blanket. The man was homeless, his body covered in grime and matted hair, his stench so potent that even the doppelganger’s underdeveloped senses recoiled. But the hunger was too strong to ignore. The smell of fresh flesh under that filth far too tempting; the need to survive too strong.
He shifted, imitating the man’s appearance though grotesque and horribly misshapen. But the transformation was imperfect. His eyes remained too black like voids in a face that was almost human. His posture too hunched, his movements too fluid and unnatural. His limbs not symmetrical.
The man woke with a start, his eyes wide with terror, but it was too late. The doppelganger’s razor-like teeth sank into the flesh of his neck, tearing through skin and muscle with brutal efficiency. The man’s screams were cut short as the doppelganger fed, his body shifting and contorting as he absorbed the man’s essence.
When it was over, he collapsed in the puddle of blood and filth, his body trembling as it digested the meal. He looked down at his hands, now human-like but still wrong, and felt a flicker of something new: pride. He had survived. He had fed. He had shifted.
The screams began shortly after.
He heard them as he sat in the alleyway, his body leaned against the wall and still trembling from the transformation. They were distant at first, faint and muffled, but they grew louder as the night wore on. He could hear the guttural growls of his kind as they attacked the town, their movements frenzied and uncoordinated. The humans fought back, their voices sharp with panic and desperation, but the doppelgangers were relentless.
Over the next few days, he roamed the city, observing the things that had happened. Watching as many seemed to jump from one human to another, not taking a moment to think. He didn’t understand or know what he was feeling or thinking, but he was disgusted by their actions as it frayed the food into panic.
For the most part he was ignored by the other humans. With monsters attacking, a disgusting bum covered in filth and hair walking around didn’t gain their suspicions. His choice to not attack again proved useful as no one dared to get close or look upon his body enough to see the flaws. It seems the humans were repulsed by the sight of whatever his first victim was, and he used it to his advantage.
He watched from the shadows as one of his kind, a grotesque, misshapen thing with too many limbs, tore into a group of humans. Its movements were clumsy and erratic, driven by pure instinct, and it shifted indiscriminately to the shape of any human it saw in its passing, its body contorting into a nightmarish clump of its victims. The humans had started to rally as more joined the city, and they shot it, their bullets tearing through its flesh, but it didn’t die. It writhed in pain, its screeches echoing through the night, but it kept coming. As did these humans that didn’t seem to understand that they were food.
He stayed hidden, his instincts urging him to rest and observe. He watched as the humans rallied, their fear giving way to determination. They fought back with guns and knives, their movements precise and coordinated, and the doppelgangers began to fall after a human noticed a flaw. One of his kind had attempted to eat a woman, then recoiled in pain, parts of its tongue and mouth burning and falling from its body as it attempted to bite through a thin shiny line wrapped around her neck. The humans seized the opportunity. They started bringing out small weapons of this shiny material. Some sharp and pointed, some round, but all of it toxic to their kind. Not all of them died—their bodies were too resilient for that—but they were incapacitated, their forms twitching and writhing as the humans dragged them away, piercing them with the small weapons and torturing them.
As he watched, the alarms went off in this mind, stretching through the entirety of his body. He knew this place was no longer safe. The humans were too organized, too determined, and his kind was too reckless and now they had found a weakness. He needed to leave.
He left the town, keeping to the trees and darkness, yet following a path like he had seen humans do, his instincts telling him it would lead somewhere. His hunger was beginning to return, gnawing at him like a constant ache, but he forced himself to focus. He practiced using his new form as he walked, his movements gradually becoming more fluid and human-like. He observed the world around him as he travelled. His intelligence began to emerge, setting him apart from the others of his kind.
Hours passed turning into a little more than a day, and the path led him to a new town. The scent of human flesh was stronger here, and his hunger grew unbearable. He knew he needed a new victim, but unlike his mindless counterparts, he would be more careful. He would observe, learn, and adapt. He would survive.
He stood at the edge of the new town, his black eyes scanning the streets. The hunger was a constant ache now, a reminder of what he was and what he needed to do.
He needed to feed. He needed to shift. But most importantly, he needed to learn whatever he needed to do in order to secure his survival.
While he roamed the edge of the town to look at his new hunting ground, he found a house entirely alone and separated from society. The small home on the outskirts of town was unassuming, its paint peeling and its garden overgrown. It was the perfect target. He had learned from his first victim, the homeless man, that the outcasts and the isolated were easier prey. But he needed more information. He needed to improve, to refine his mimicry so he could move among humans undetected. This time, he would take his time.
For two days, he watched the house from the shadows, ignoring the gnawing hunger in his gut. The old woman who lived there was frail, her movements slow and deliberate. She spent her days tending to her garden, knitting by the window, or sitting in a rocking chair on the porch. Her life was quiet, predictable. Perfect.
He observed her visitors too. A caretaker came every morning, a young woman with a kind smile and a brisk efficiency. In the afternoons, her grandchild would visit, a strong young man with a nervous energy. He studied them all, memorizing their faces, their voices, their mannerisms. He thought carefully on who would be best to take, and the old woman seemed his best option. She was alone at night and only had company during the day so he could observe the details of her in her home. He had opportunity to be alone with her.
When the time came, it was almost too easy. The old woman was alone, as she often was in the evenings. He slipped into the house through an unlocked window, his movements silent and fluid. Looking over her as she slept in her chair, his body shifted to her form before opening his mouth and consuming his next meal. She didn’t even have time to scream before he was on her, his razor-sharp teeth sinking into her throat. When it was over, he stood over her lifeless body, his form now a grotesque imitation of hers. His face still bore gaping holes, his eyes too black, his limbs too long. He tried to shift more, but found himself unable to, and he could not understand why. Even more so, this form was hard to control; his body rejecting its shape and his skin felt uncomfortable.
The next morning, the caretaker arrived as usual. She knocked on the door, calling out a cheerful greeting as she entered the room. He kept his back to her as she opened the door to the living room. The caretaker stepped inside, her smile faltering as she caught sight of the blood dried and pooled around the chair.
“Oh my God—” she began, her voice rising in panic, rushing to his side to check for injuries.
He moved quickly, using the old woman’s frail hands to grab her, but with a strength that surpassed that of a human man. His body shifting to that of the caretaker’s and out of the old woman’s. She struggled, but he was far stronger than he looked. He dragged her into the hall after she stopped breathing, his movements calm and deliberate. Not needing the food at the moment, he tried to change his form to a more perfect appearance after seeing the flaws reflected between his face in the mirror and hers. But his frustration grew as he tried to adjust his form, to smooth out the imperfections in his mimicry. It was no use. He realized, with a flicker of frustration, that he could only refine his mimicry while the original was still alive. It was a lesson he would not forget.
His frustration grew as his body was still uncomfortable and difficult to control. He had not had issues like this with the homeless man. Even with that man’s shape contorted and wrong in so many ways, he had controlled it with ease once he got the hang of it. But these bodies did not work properly for him. He observed his body and noticed that something was different.
In his first transformation, his flesh had been flat on top, and there was flesh hanging between his legs. However, this form was not like that. This form had soft and fleshy tops, and nothing between its legs. It seemed that there were different types of humans, and his body did not like being in the form of this kind.
Hours later, the old woman’s grandson arrived, his footsteps heavy on the porch. The doppelganger didn’t open the door. The young man hesitated, his eyes narrowing in confusion; however, concern for his grandmother and her caretaker took precedence as he entered the house.
“Grandma? Are you okay?” he asked, stepping inside and walking through the room. As his feet led him into the hall, he froze, his body paralyzed from the sight of the caretaker’s corpse. He quickly turned around and ran face to face with another person. A person who shared his face... though his eyes were empty voids and his ears much too long.
The man couldn’t even get a scream out before the doppelganger's hands wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the floor with ease. He thought his life would be ended; however, that would be left for another day. The doppelganger dragged him to the basement, ignoring his cries and pleas as he tied him to a chair. For days, the young man begged to be set free, his voice growing hoarse from screaming. But the doppelganger didn’t care. He had a new purpose now.
In the dim light of the basement, the doppelganger began his work. He stood over the young man, his body shifting and contorting as he tried to perfect the way he mimicked his form. His first attempts kept being failures; it was all wrong: his eyes still too black, his face contorted, his teeth too sharp. Extra limbs sprouted from his torso, only to retract moments later. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
Over and over, he transformed, each iteration bringing him closer to perfection. He studied the young man’s face, his posture, his movements. Even forced the man to read some of these books that were found in the home as he felt these strange symbols were important. While he had come to understand some of the words the humans said, he saw no need to learn how to train his vocal cords to speak it. His race’s language would be the dominant one when he took over anyways. However, he noticed in both towns that these symbols were read and used among the humans for some reason. He had determined these symbols were important. The young man watched in horror, his cries growing weaker as the days passed, as he prayed for his freedom.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doppelganger got it right. His form was perfect, indistinguishable from the young man’s. He stood in front of a cracked mirror, admiring his work. His eyes were no longer black voids, his ears no longer drooped, his teeth no longer too sharp. He was perfect. Not only that, but he was entirely in control. This human had the body shape that his seemed to accept, the flesh of his body back to where it needed to be instead of the way those other two had been. He must be careful in the future and only transform into humans that had this anatomy.
The young man’s cries had long since stopped. He slumped in the chair on the basement floor, his body weak and broken from starvation. The doppelganger looked down at him, his expression blank. Then, without a word, he killed him.
He ate quickly; his hunger finally sated as the corpse of the caretaker had been devoured days ago. When it was over, he stood in the basement, his new form flawless. He had learned so much from this experience. He had grown. He had evolved.
And he was ready for more.