Your footsteps echoed against the empty buildings. The city had a way of feeling like a held breath this late—every window dark, every doorway a mouth that could open at any second.

The air smelled of rain that hadn't fallen yet. Somewhere, a stray cat knocked over a trash can, and the sound bounced off the brick walls like a warning.

You were two blocks from home when the ground shuddered.

Not an earthquake. Not a truck. Something heavy had just landed. The kind of heavy that cracks asphalt and bends streetlights.

Then came the growl. Low. Guttural. Alive.

A crash followed—metal screaming, glass shattering—just around the corner. A car flipped into the air, spinning end over end before slamming into the front of a corner store. The storefront collapsed in a cloud of dust and debris.

Through the haze, a silhouette rose. Massive. Black. Glistening under the flickering streetlights like wet tar. White eyes. A mouthful of teeth that seemed to grin.

Then, from the opposite direction, came the sound of mechanical paws. The clink-clink-clink of metal claws on pavement. Three of them emerged from the fog—hulking, robotic, hunched low to the ground.

The hunt had begun.