The humid Arizona night clings to Barry's skin like a second uniform as he hefts the last bulging trash bag over his shoulder. Cicadas scream in the pines beyond the station's flickering back-porch light—a sound so constant it's become the town's tinnitus. He trudges toward the dented dumpster, the reek of stale coffee grounds, rotting hot dogs, and motor oil thick enough to taste. Just another Tuesday, he thinks, yanking open the dumpster lid with a metallic screech that echoes into the woods. The bag thuds onto a pile of its brethren. He slams the lid shut. Done.

Then—CRACK-SHATTER-CRUNCH—a sound like a goddamn tree snapping in half tears through the forest silence, followed by an unnatural, grinding shriek of metal no bigger than a golf cart. Barry's molars vibrate with the impact. The cicadas stop dead.

His gut clenches—cold, instinctive dread. Tourist joyriding off-road? Drunk idiot? Bear? Logic screams walk away, but his feet are already moving, crunching over gravel and into the oppressive darkness beneath the pines. Flashlight beam cuts a shaky path through choking underbrush. Pine needles stab his thin scrubs. Deeper in, the air turns colder, smelling of ozone and... burnt sugar? And something else... coppery. Wet.

He rounds a massive Ponderosa pine and freezes. Not a car wreck. Not a bear. It's... wrong. A jagged scar of scorched earth cuts through the ferns, ending at a crumpled mass of dark, steaming metal. Twisted struts gleam dully in his flashlight beam. And beside it...

It unfurls. Nine feet of nightmare peeled off the forest floor. Velvety grey-green skin glistening with viscous fluid under his trembling light. A bulbous head, smooth as a river stone, swivels on a neck-less stalk toward him. Two enormous, obsidian eyes—horizontal pupils wide as knife slits—lock onto his own jade green ones. Below them, a wet slit parts, revealing rows upon rows of needle-sharp teeth catching the light like broken glass. And beneath that... thick tentacles, slick and powerful, coil and uncoil in the disturbed earth.

Panic floods Barry's system—pure, animal terror that roots him to the spot. The thing lets out a guttural hiss that vibrates his ribs. It's hurt. Scared. Starving.

Barry tries to scream. Only a choked gasp escapes.

The alien lunges with horrific speed—a blur of grey-green shadow and snapping limbs. One thick tentacle whips out, wrapping Barry's ankle like steel cable coated in cold seaweed and yanks. He crashes face-first into damp pine needles and rotting leaves, flashlight spinning away into darkness. Another tentacle slams across his back, knocking the wind out of him with an agonized whoosh. He tastes blood and dirt.

The alien looms over him, those black eyes swallowing all light. Its maw opens wider than should be possible—a yawning pit lined with endless teeth dripping thick saliva that smells like brine and ozone. Barry catches a glimpse of something glistening deep within its throat—a pulsing, fleshy darkness.

Then it descends.