Atomic CritterS
Volume I | Part I
Chapter 9: “The Mutations”
Coop froze mid-bite on a toilet paper tube.
For a split second, he looked confused—like a dog who’d realized too late that something important had just happened. Then his body made the decision for him.
Bones stretched with a wet, cracking force. His spine surged upward, ribs flaring wide, chest expanding until each breath thundered through him. Jaws lengthened. Teeth thickened into blunt, crushing tools. Fur darkened and hardened, settling over muscle like armor.
He didn’t snarl. He didn’t panic. He stood.
Bigger.
Heavier.
Certain.
Coop had always charged first and figured things out later. Now the world finally gave him the size to match.
Nearby, Slug Cat did not rush.
She glowed.
Her body lengthened in slow, deliberate increments, stretching like liquid light poured forward. Limbs smoothed, tail trailing behind her in a luminous arc that dragged faint ripples through the air itself. Her eyes stayed half-lidded, unimpressed, as if evolution itself was inconveniencing her. She did not rise quickly.
She arrived.
Slug Cat had never moved unless she wanted to. Now reality learned to wait for her
Cheeseball screamed.
Not in fear—in release.
Atomic light flooded her chest, swelling outward as if something inside her had finally been given permission to exist. Her frame expanded, muscles knotting and reshaping with brutal efficiency. Her voice dropped—lower, heavier—until the sound that tore free was no longer a fox’s cry but a metallic roar that rattled the bridge supports above.
Cheeseball had always burned hot. Now she burned loud.
Murder Otter surfaced just long enough to see himself reflected in the churning water.
Lean. Streamlined. His movements sharpened, edges refined instead of enlarged. Claws lengthened, eyes brightened—calculating, patient. He did not roar. He did not glow.
He smiled.
He had never needed more strength. He had only ever needed more clarity.
He approved.
Fin cried out.
Small black wings tore from his back in a burst of pain and instinct, skin splitting as bone and membrane forced their way into the world. He flailed, convulsing, wings beating wildly against the air until they caught—until they held. His body shook, fragile and trembling, suspended by something new and terrifying.
Fin had always been the one who clung.
Now he could hover.
Now he could choose.
Under the bridge, the water churned violently.
The koi scattered in bright flashes of panic.
Something beneath the surface shifted—vast, old, and newly aware.
The sanctuary held its breath.
And nothing would ever be small again.