Hybrid

Prologue: What Makes A Monster?

In a high rise, deep within the shining city of New York, there's a corpse. 

If you're a pessimist, like me, you'll know that in all cities there are hundreds if not thousands of corpses, not one more important than another.

But, and I don't say this lightly, there are very few corpses in the history of human existence that are as important as this one.

In an empty room, barren aside from a table and the corpse of interest, a door slams open.

"Another one?" A man rubs the bridge of his nose before laying his eyes on the body on display. "Who? Who is this one?" He asked, looking back at a person just beyond the door. 

"I-It's... Hawkins-- Peter Hawkins. He has a son who works in the building." The voice behind the door frame answered timidly.

"God damn it." The older man who had entered walked over and examined the body; lacerations and burns from head to toe, as if he'd been whipped on every inch of his skin with glowing hot steel. "What was the point of this? Did he know anything that could've warranted something like this?" 

"Not that I know of... He was just a mail carrier." The voice replied. They looked over the clipboard in their hand, tucking their loose hair behind their ear before whispering, "Wait... I think I know why they did this."

"Why?" The man turned, looking the other over, seeing the realization dawn on them behind the clipboard.

"Look..." The other turned the clipboard to the man, showing the deadly information on the paper. 

The older man's eyes went wide, "Oh, no... I need you on twenty-four-hour surveillance on Jason--" The man sped passed the clipboard-baring messenger, freezing as the name left his lips, "Jason, and his friend too. If they get to either one of them when Jason awakens, it could get messy fast." 

"Do you want me to pick up whatever Peter was delivering?" The voice asked, finally letting their eyes wander over to the mutilated cadaver. 

"No." The older man said. "The longer we try to stop Jason, the harder he'll fight and the more danger he'll put himself and others in to find out what he is. This man died delivering that package... and I'll be damned if it didn't reach its recipient." The man sighed, covering the body. "You have your orders. Protect Jason Timus."

"Hey! Is that you, Jason, and Jole?!" My mom's voice echoed into the living room from the kitchen; it smelled like coffee in the house; coffee and cinnamon. My mother only ever used cinnamon for one thing... Cinna-muffins. Delicious, warm, soft, slowly make you question how many muffins are too many muffins for one sitting, Cinna-muffins. "Bring those butts in here, I bought some new coffee and I need some guinea pigs to test on!" 

"I missed you too, Mom!" I called back sarcastically. 

"No, you didn't! Jole, am I right?!" She laughed. 

"She's right," Jole elbowed me gently in the ribs, "I didn't hear ya say a thing about your mom since we left the park-- just complaints about my playlist; which, FYI, I still contest is miles ahead of your new stuff."

"T-The songs in Jason's are a bunch of years old, how is it even remotely n-new, Jole?!" A severely exasperated voice piped from behind us. "I get you're like two years older than us, but there's n-no way that qualifies as 'n-new'." Without warning, the voice's accompanying body leaped onto my back, groaning quietly in my ear, "Carry me to the k-kitchen, I won't make it a-alone!" 

"Of course, my queen, to the very end!" I laughed, hopping in place to hike her higher up on my back as I transported her to the kitchen; I always forget how unimaginably light this girl is.