A/N: So, this is part of the Expect The Unexpected series I'm working on, which is, frankly, exactly what it sounds like. As part of my everlasting quest to defy any and all possible cliches, something completely unfathomable occurs with one member of the Glee club in each fic of the series. The goal? To have each character (even Matt and Mike, poor underfed pups) so far out of their league, but still remain in character. This is installment number three, but none of them are connected plot-wise, so there aren't any prequels you have to read for any of them. Some will be tragic, some scary, some mysterious, some humorous. Enough jabber - please enjoy!


La Vida Loca

Journal, let me be perfectly clear: Sue Sylvester is never surprised by her Cheerios. Usually I'm far too busy drilling routines into their puny heads along with the fact that they will never, no matter how hard their pathetic attempts may be, be a winner quite like me to even pay attention to them beyond that. But somehow, a certain Sylvester-bred Latina managed to catch me off guard yesterday.

I've always suspected that Santana wasn't entirely human (something I was convinced that I'd instilled in her, and consequently something I was proud of), but I wasn't really expecting it to go down like it did. I'll be honest with you, Journal. I'm a little disappointed in myself. Why, you ask? Because I pride myself on knowing all, and yesterday I failed.

I'd stopped by the auditorium yesterday to make sure that the trip wire I set up for the Glee Club losers, namely one Will Schuester, would function properly and I found Santana feeding on the body of some underclassman who'd been too slow on his feet. Yes, Journal. Feeding. There was blood smeared all over her face and I would have been disgusted by her apparent lack of knowledge of napkins if I hadn't been so proud of her dedicated drive to eliminate the weak.

Then she did something strange. She roared at me! The indignation, Journal! Not once in my thirty years has anyone ever dared to show me such disrespect! Well, it wasn't exactly a roar – it was closer to a reptilian screech – but the message was the same. So, reptile or not, I set out to put her back in her place.

As everyone knows, there's only one way to garner favor from Sue Sylvester – to cater to her every whim. Naturally, as Cheerio Coach, I have absolute and total control over Santana, so I decided that in order to redeem herself, she had to put her true self to my use.

Will Schuester isn't going to survive the week.

Victory will finally be mine.


It was Friday afternoon and Glee practice had just ended – Will was busy packing up his various papers as the Gleeks slowly filed out of the choir room towards their lockers or the parking lot. As he shoved the last stack of sheet music into his briefcase, he found that only Santana remained. Which was weird. Will knew that Santana did enjoy being in the club, but she would rather die than show it, and so made every effort to keep up appearances, which usually meant being one of the first ones out of the room once practice was over. Briefly, he wondered if she was upset about something and needed someone to talk to, but the thought quickly vanished when he observed that she didn't look unhappy in the least.

"Something you need?" he prompted, feeling uneasy for some reason.

She approached the piano, a smile stretching across her face. Will didn't know why, but this particular grin sent a rapid shiver down his spine. He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Message from Coach Sylvester," she stated flatly.

Will was about to tell her to hurry up and tell him what it was – because honestly, he was getting kinda creeped out by the way Santana was acting – when her eyes rolled back in her skull, exposing the underside of her eyeballs. Will would have been startled enough by the gesture had they just been white, but no – they were green and gold and black, with vertical pupils slitting them down the center. He jumped back as she stepped forward.

"Santana, what are you doing?"

She came closer, making him back up, and she grinned wider, revealing teeth that had turned silver and curved and sharp as knives.

Will stepped backwards until he ran into the shelves behind the piano, his eyes wide and wary of this…thing that Santana was turning into. He had no fucking clue what was going on with her, but he knew for sure that he wanted to be nowhere near her at that moment. She was scary enough as a regular human.

He yelped and jumped out of the way when she launched into the air, bounding across the surface of the piano and lunging at him, screeching like a goddamn hawk. She smashed into the shelves, books and reams of sheet music toppling to the floor when she did, but was back on her feet with a speed that was definitely not natural. As she stalked toward him on all fours (and Will was pretty sure that the human body wasn't supposed to bend quite that way), he grabbed the nearest object to defend himself – a music stand. He figured that teachers should be allowed to hit their students if it was self defense. He hoped, anyways. Because as much as he was in favor of establishing healthy, friendly relationships with all his kids, he had a feeling that this one had gone sour.

Santana let out another screech and leaped at him again, her jaw opening far wider than it should be able to. Will's reflexes finally kicked in and he swung the music stand at her, but she deftly maneuvered to the side and he missed by a good three feet as she landed gracefully behind him, once again on all fours. This time, Will turned and swung the stand at her again before she had a chance to attack. She snarled and jumped away from him, landing on the wall, her digits easily gripping the smooth surface. Rapidly weaving back and forth like a centipede, she scuttled up the wall and across the ceiling until she was directly above him. Twisting her head around as if her neck were made of rubber, she screeched again and dropped.

Will was suddenly pinned to the ground, his feeble substitute for a weapon clanging across the linoleum so that it was lying a maddeningly few inches out of his reach. But Santana had his arms locked in place and she was way too close for comfort. He was able to see every tiny fleck in her abnormal, reptilian eyes, and he tried to ignore the fact that her breath smelled faintly of raw meat. A low growl rumbled deep in her throat, her teeth bared and her lips curled, and Will realized she was a second away from ripping his head off. Quickly, he slammed his knee upwards and into her abdomen, throwing her off guard so that he could get his hands free. With both hands and feet, he shoved her as hard as he could, sending her flying across the room almost to the risers.

As Will scrambled to regain his grip on the music stand, Santana leaped up once again, this time jumping directly onto the ceiling, crawling toward him fast. When she lunged for him in full attack mode, he swung the music stand up at her, his eyes squeezing shut reflexively when he felt it connect.

Crunch.

Rip.

Thud.

Silence.

Slowly, Will opened his eyes, letting the music stand clang to the floor when he saw Santana lying sprawled face down on the linoleum. "Oh, no," he muttered, kneeling by her side and gently turning her over. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

His words were cut off when he saw with horror that his defensive strike had caught her across the face, and a good chunk of flesh about half an inch thick had been torn away from her cheek and was hanging limply to the side, exposing what looked like greenish, pebbly scales beneath it. "Holy—" He tried not to vomit when he realized she wasn't bleeding.

A clatter behind him broke Will out of his shocked stupor – the door had opened, and whoever had come in had stopped short.

"What. The. Fuck."

Will whipped around. "Oh, sh - Puck! This – this isn't what it looks like!"

Puck's eyes were huge, staring at Santana's body, which was angled in a way so that he could only see the missing chunk of muscle on the side of her face, unable to see the reptilian skin beneath it from where he stood. His mouth was hanging open.

"Are you sure, Mr. Schue? 'Cause it kinda looks like you just beat up the Head Cheerio."


A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think of it. Santana was loosely based off the aliens from V, in case anyone is wondering. I WILL be adding at least one more chapter to it. If you enjoyed it, add me to Author Alert to be notified when the other installments in the series are posted. So far, only Brittany's, Puck's, and Kurt's are up - check them out, they're titled Tus Spiritus Sancti, Sun Gone Lost, and Take Me Away, respectively.