The armored truck rumbled down the forest road, its headlights slicing through the mist. Inside, Tyler Galpin sat in silence, arms chained, eyes closed. Two guards monitored him from a reinforced partition, while another rode in the back with his rifle propped across his chest.

Tyler hadn't spoken since they loaded him in. He didn’t need to.

He could feel it building—the Hyde. Pacing beneath the surface like a caged animal. The suppressants they injected earlier were wearing thin. His heart rate rose. His breathing changed.

The guard in the back leaned forward, uneasy. “You okay, kid?”

Tyler didn’t respond.

A low rumble echoed in the metal chamber—not from the truck, but from him. Bones shifted. Eyes bulged. Muscles tightened. The cuffs around his wrists strained before they popped.

“Hey!” the guard shouted, banging the butt of his rifle against the wall. “He's changing!”

The guard slammed the brakes, but it was too late.

The truck jolted hard to the side. A deafening noise rang out—metal buckling, restraints snapping. The guard's screams muffled sickening crunches and the splatter of blood. The rear door blew open, the hyde launching into the night, barreling for the woods.

Branches whipped at Tyler’s face as he pushed through the dense forest, barefoot and bleeding, the air sharp against his skin. The transformations and the fight with Enid had taken a toll—his body ached, his limbs felt foreign, like they didn’t quite belong to him anymore.

But he was human again.

And free... and naked.

He stumbled over a root, landing hard on the cold earth. For a moment, he just lay there, chest heaving, heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. The moonlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the faint trails of steam rising off his back.

He had no plan. Just instinct. Get away. Regroup. Survive.

Then—through the trees—light.

A faint yellow glow between the pines.

A house.

Tyler pushed himself up, brushing dirt from his arms. He limped toward the glow, keeping his steps quiet despite his injuries. The cabin came into view: small, old, but clearly lived-in. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney. Wind chimes clicked on the porch.

Play weak. Play scared. That part came easy. He had done it before.

He walked to the door covering himself with his hand and knocked with the other,—once, then again, more urgently. Inside, someone moved. Floorboards creaked. A shadow passed the window. "Hello? Please I need help" He uttered, forcing his voice to tremble. How the hell do I explain this? - Yeah, don't worry- Totally reasonable explanation for being ass naked in the woods covered in blood and dirt.