September 13th, 2023 — 7:15 AM
"Good morning. I'm Amanda Reeds, reporting live from just outside the town formerly known as Fairhollow... or what's left of it."
The camera shakes slightly as the scene shows scorched buildings, collapsed streets, and emergency personnel scrambling behind the reporter.
"Two days ago, at approximately 8:06 AM, the town of Fairhollow in New Jersey was brutally attacked by an unknown species of analog-horror-like monsters. In just 20 minutes, the entire town was evacuated, thanks to the heroic efforts of SWAT and emergency teams. Tragically, all members of the Special Response Unit were killed in action, fighting off the creatures long enough for residents to escape."
"But the nightmare isn't over."
She glances off-screen with weary eyes before continuing.
"In the span of just 48 hours, the monsters have spread to three neighboring towns across the state border into Pennsylvania and Delaware. Authorities have labeled this a National Emergency, and military involvement is expected within the next 12 hours."
The feed cuts briefly to grainy, shaky cam footage of one of the monsters screeching into the night sky.
"What caused this? Who can stop it? And most chilling of all… where are they going next?"
The monsters aren't just attacking towns anymore. They're migrating.
---
---
September 13th, 2023 — 11:29 AM
Tijuana, Mexico
The sun was blazing over the dusty farmland, and an old farmer, Martín Alvarez, was out tilling the dry soil behind his modest house. Sweat dripped from his wrinkled brow as his rake scraped the earth. The nearby woods rustled with a sudden flurry of motion. Birds shot out of the trees, shrieking in panic.
He froze.
"¿Qué carajos…?" he muttered, wiping his brow.
Then came the sounds — garbled hissing, wet squelching like flesh dragging across bark. Clutching his rusted rake and lantern, Martín edged toward the forest line, lantern light flickering wildly in the afternoon shadow.
But there was nothing.
He let out a sharp sigh and turned back, muttering curses.
Then came the breathing.
Heavy. Ragged. Inhuman.
He spun around, and standing a few feet behind him, half in the shadow, was something.
It resembled a malformed hedgehog — but not like any animal alive. It stood over 7 feet tall, hunched over, skin stretched tight over contorted muscles and bones. Patches of burnt and sickly gray skin sagged around twitching, oversized limbs. Its mouth was split, unhinged, filled with needle-like teeth stained black.
Martín didn't even scream.
The thing lunged.
His rake snapped as it was swatted aside like a twig. The monster clutched Martín by the skull and rammed him into the soil with monstrous force. His head burst like an overripe melon. Bone fragments embedded in the ground. It clawed into his chest and ripped his ribcage open like paper, scooping out his innards and chomping on them with loud, wet squelches. Blood soaked the soil, and Martín's limbs twitched for a few seconds before going limp.
All that remained were the gurgles, the sounds of flesh being devoured, and the drip-drip-drip of blood pooling into the dirt.
---
September 13th, 2023 — 3:43 PM
Edinburgh, Scotland — Lakeside Forest
Five boys were laughing near the edge of a murky lake, the trees bending in the breeze around them.
"Charlie! Oi, Charlie! Say that again!" one of them barked, trying to catch his breath.
Charles — or "Charlie" as they called him — was chest-deep in the lake water, grinning like a maniac as he shouted:
"I swear, your mum's breath could clear a riot, bro!"
They all erupted in more laughter, some falling over.
But Charlie went silent.
He turned — and was yanked under violently, water splashing high into the air.
"Nah nah— Charlie! Stop messin', man!" Walter called, grinning. "He does this every damn time. Watch, he'll pop up and scream—"
He didn't.
Instead, the water near where Charlie had been turned red. A severed arm — mangled, with strips of muscle hanging from the bone — floated up.
Everyone froze.
Alfred stumbled back. "Jesus Christ!"
Then something wet and meaty slapped the ground behind him. Before anyone could react, a thick, barbed tongue burst through Alfred's chest, splattering blood across Walter's face. Alfred was dragged screaming into the shallows, where it emerged.
It was something from the blackest nightmare.
Slender and reptilian, its body glistened like rotting amphibian skin. Multiple eyes blinked sideways in different directions, its mouth wide open like a frog's — but filled with saw-like teeth. It shoved Alfred into its maw like a rag doll, bones crunching and guts slapping the water.
The boys ran.
But the monster leapt from the water like a serpent.
Walter was the next to fall — tripped, turned, screamed — only for the creature to slam its claws into his neck and pull his head free from his spine in one brutal twist. His body spasmed as it was devoured.
Two others didn't make it far. One had his leg ripped off, fell, and was dragged back into the lake by the monster's tongue, screaming until his voice gurgled into silence.
Nick, the one who always had his phone rolling, had already been recording the whole lake visit before the chaos. As he turned to flee, he too was snatched — a blur of motion — and his phone slipped from his grip, skidding across the muddy bank. The camera kept rolling for three seconds.
Then it cracked.
But the footage auto-uploaded.
---
September 13th, 2023 — 7:15 PM
Edinburgh, Scotland — The Nichols Household
Nick's mother paced in the living room, clutching her phone. "Where are they? They said they'd be back by four..."
Another mom was crying on the couch.
"Check his cloud," she whispered.
"What?"
"Nick always records his stupid trips. Check his cloud."
She nodded and opened it.
There it was.
A video, timestamped just hours ago.
She played it.
At first, just laughter.
Then splashing.
Then blood.
She dropped the phone.
Gasps. Screams. Silence.
All the color drained from their faces.
---
---
September 14th, 2023 — 12:02 AM
Nagarkot, Nepal — Mid-Elevation Trail
The wind howled through the forested slopes of Nagarkot, rattling the prayer flags tied along the trails. A lone flashlight beam bobbed along the path, casting dancing shadows through the fog.
Anisha Thapalya tugged her scarf tighter as she stepped onto the final ascent of the mountain.
Her boots crunched snow underfoot.
"Alright, Anisha, you're a badass," she muttered to herself.
"People disappear and you still came. You're not scared. You've got this."
But her voice trembled. Just a little.
Earlier that week, reports of missing hikers in this exact region had flooded social media. Local news aired grim warnings. Locals whispered about cursed grounds, and guides had refused to go further than halfway up the peak.
But Anisha wanted to prove she wasn't weak.
That she wasn't a coward like everyone else.
At the summit, she stopped, pulled out her phone, and recorded a short selfie video.
"Top of the world, baby. Told you I could do it!" she said, trying to smile. But it was shaky — forced.
As the camera panned around, the wind picked up, and a strange sound echoed from behind her.
A deep, wet gurgle.
Then a hiss.
Then breathing. Ragged. Low. Like something trying to stay quiet — but couldn't help its own hunger.
Her head turned.
Farther down the ridge, nestled between two jagged rocks, was a dark hole in the mountain. A cave.
She should've left.
She should've turned around.
But curiosity pushed her forward.
She entered the icy maw of the mountain, boots crunching across frozen gravel. Her flashlight flickered briefly — and that's when she saw it.
First a boot. Then a severed leg. Then a whole ribcage embedded in the ice. Skulls, shattered helmets, frostbitten hands. One still clutching a broken walkie-talkie.
She froze.
Suddenly, the cave went quiet.
Then: Snrrrgghhhhh… gurrgggggkkh…
Her flashlight shook violently in her hand. She turned it forward and saw it.
It stood nearly 9 feet tall — but hunched like a gorilla. Its fur was matted with blood and ice, patches missing to reveal pale, rotting flesh underneath. Its face… was wrong — off-center, asymmetrical, like a wax sculpture halfway melted. Its jaw hung open, eyes twitching in opposite directions, a sickly purple tongue slithering between jagged, uneven teeth.
It shrieked.
She ran.
The creature charged, crashing through the cave like a beast unleashed. Its claws slashed the air, swiping close — then one connected.
A scream tore from Anisha's throat as the claw ripped across her back — blood spraying onto the cave wall. She stumbled, crying in pain, adrenaline flooding her system.
She ran, half-limping, slipping through the snow, the monster crashing behind her.
Then — lights.
Voices.
A search party's beams cut through the mist.
The creature stopped.
It stood at the cave mouth, growling. Breathing hard.
Anisha collapsed into the rescuers' arms, screaming, crying, bleeding. "It's in there! It's real! It tried to kill me! It killed them all!"
They tried to calm her. One wrapped her in a blanket. Another inspected her gash.
"Probably fell on something sharp," one whispered to another. "Might've hit her head. She's in shock."
"No! I'm not crazy!" she screamed. "It's real!"
But they were already guiding her away, back toward camp.
The yeti watched from afar, hidden in the snow-covered rocks. Its malformed head tilted slightly, twitching. Then it turned, growling softly, and crawled back into the cave as the search party disappeared into the night.
---
---
September 14th, 2023 — 2:21 AM
Outskirts of Paris, France — "Lune d'Amour" Love Inn
The soft red neon glow of the Lune d'Amour sign flickered in the misty Parisian night, bathing the crumbling alley in a romantic, sleazy hue. An old jazz track played faintly from a speaker inside, but out here, the music was drowned by sloppy kissing and breathless giggles.
A couple was pressed up against the wall — the woman laughing breathlessly as her boyfriend kissed down her neck.
"T'es vraiment un cochon," she teased in French.
"You're such a pig," she added in English.
"Naughty enough to want to screw outside the building?"
The man snorted. "They didn't let me in, remember? Said we were 'too drunk.' So we make do out here. Concrete's cold, but I'm warm enough for both of us."
She giggled, flicking his nose.
But then — footsteps.
Heavy. Rhythmic. Too slow.
From the shadows, a man emerged. A security guard — or at least, someone wearing the outfit.
He stood still at the alley entrance. His hands hung loose. His chest didn't rise or fall.
His mouth stretched into an eerie, unnatural grin — stretched wider than humanly possible, lips cracked and trembling. His eyes… empty. Not blank like white. Blank like nothing.
The couple froze.
"Hey man," the boyfriend muttered, frowning. "We ain't doing anything wrong, alright?"
The guard didn't speak.
He just kept smiling.
The girl squinted. "Okay, seriously, creepy guy. Buzz off. Go guard something."
No response. The smile widened.
"Fuckin' perv," the guy hissed.
She rolled her eyes and stepped up to him. "You're not even real security, are you? You look like a stripper in that fake-ass costume." She flicked his forehead.
That's when his body convulsed.
With a sickening crunch, his jaw unhinged down to his chest — splitting into four jagged segments like a fleshy bear trap. His stomach peeled open sideways, revealing a second vertical mouth full of pulsating, yellowed teeth, and a lashing, barbed tongue.
Before she could even scream, the tongue lashed around her throat and yanked her into the vertical stomach-mouth. It bit down.
There was a wet CRACK as her ribcage shattered — her body folded in half like a crumpled toy. Blood sprayed against the brick wall as she screamed, shrill and choking, limbs flailing helplessly until her arms were bitten clean off, falling with a wet slap to the concrete.
The boyfriend screamed. "Holy FUCK!"
He turned to run, slipping in her blood — eyes wild with panic.
But the creature's back-mouth tongue snapped forward like a whip and skewered through his spine, exiting through his stomach in a spray of gore. It dragged him backwards as he screamed — his legs kicking frantically as his intestines started to spill from the wound.
He was slammed into the ground, face-first, his jaw shattering against the pavement. Blood gushed from his mouth. The creature loomed over him and began chewing through his back — ripping flesh from bone, crunching vertebrae like candy.
His screams turned to gurgles.
Then silence.
A moment later, the alley was nothing but twitching limbs, shredded skin, and a red mist in the air.
The creature stood amidst the carnage, breathing heavily.
Then its form twitched. Bones cracked. Flesh writhed like worms beneath skin.
Within seconds, it had reshaped itself into the boyfriend's form — clothes and all. But its face still wore that too-wide grin and those hollow, soulless eyes.
It calmly adjusted its jacket and walked out of the alley, disappearing into the misty streets of Paris as the blood-streaked alley faded behind it — a quiet red slaughterhouse of guts and whispers.
---
---
September 14th, 2023 — 3:44 AM EST
The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia — Subterranean Briefing Room Gamma-7
The air inside Briefing Room Gamma-7 was freezing cold, humming with soft static from ceiling-mounted projectors and displays. At the central oval table sat high-ranking officials — military brass, intelligence operatives, disease experts, and cabinet members — all gathered under red emergency lighting.
A wall-sized screen displayed gruesome footage: aerial drone feeds of Fairhollow, New Jersey — or what was left of it. Burning cars. Screaming civilians. Black, pulsating creatures scaling buildings like cockroaches. National Guard convoys getting ripped apart like toys.
A General turned pale as he watched one monstrous entity hurl a tank like a soda can into a crowd of running civilians.
Someone whispered, "Sweet mother of Christ…"
Another official — older, Catholic — muttered shakily, "Lord God, have mercy…"
CLICK.
A projector switched feeds — now showing footage from surveillance cams in Reading, Pennsylvania and Wilmington, Delaware. Similar chaos. Bodies. Blood. Carnage. Screams.
The room fell deathly silent.
President James R. Millstone sat at the head of the table — eyes sunken, face gaunt. His knuckles were white as he gripped the armrest of his chair. Beside him stood Vice President Clay Harrington, his jaw locked in grim contemplation. They were both in black suits — collars loosened. Neither had slept in over 48 hours.
From the side, Rebecca Hale, the President's Secretary and National Security Liaison, cleared her throat and stepped forward.
Rebecca Hale (40s, calm, composed, terrified inside):
"Mr. President. Gentlemen. Ma'am. Here is the summary as of zero-three-hundred hours."
She tapped a tablet, and the screens adjusted to a digital map of the U.S. East Coast.
Rebecca:
"As of now, confirmed monster sightings — repeating: monsters — have been documented in twenty-two locations across New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, New York, and Connecticut. Casualty estimates are currently conservative at 42,000."
Gasps ripple across the room.
Rebecca (continuing):
"Fairhollow was ground zero. We believe the infection—or infestation—originated there approximately sixty-two hours ago. Homeland Security officially lost control of the perimeter within 15 hours. The CDC cannot confirm if this is biological, metaphysical, or extraterrestrial. The creatures do not behave in predictable patterns. Some stalk. Some devour. Some… mimic."
She pulls up grainy footage of the Paris creature mimicking the boyfriend — walking down the street with blood dripping from its sleeves.
Rebecca:
"We've also received disturbing reports from allied intelligence. Tijuana. Edinburgh. Nepal. Paris. These incidents are not isolated. They're global. Simultaneous."
A General (Colonel Tilden):
"Jesus Christ… this isn't a breach. It's an invasion."
Another official (NSA Director):
"Invasion implies intent. What if there's no logic here? No negotiation, no diplomacy. This isn't war. It's a mass extinction event in real-time."
Vice President Harrington (firmly):
"That's why we're here. Before we go full apocalyptic — let's ask the big question: what do they want? Do they want anything?"
President Millstone (quietly):
"They don't negotiate. They don't speak. They just consume."
Secretary of Defense (woman in her 60s, steel-nerved):
"They're not monsters. They're weapons. Living, breathing bioweapons. Designed to imitate, eliminate, and infiltrate. There's intelligence behind this, even if it's not human."
General Tilden (snapping):
"We need containment protocols. Martial law in the northeast. Full military lockdown. Mobilize every National Guard unit from Virginia to Maine."
Rebecca (shaking her head):
"Already in progress. But we're outnumbered. These things aren't like anything we've seen. We shoot them down, they get up again. One was reported surviving a missile hit. It stood up and kept walking. Smiling."
FBI Director (coldly):
"Civilians are uploading footage all over TikTok and Instagram. Some of them think it's viral marketing. Others think it's the Rapture. It's only a matter of time before mass hysteria spreads farther than the creatures themselves."
CIA Analyst:
"China's satellites picked up a similar heat signature in Siberia. Russia just went radio silent."
Vice President Harrington:
"We've been blindsided. We weren't attacked. We were punished."
President Millstone (his voice low):
"I want answers. I want origin. I want theories. My citizens are dying — I need to know what the hell we're up against."
Rebecca (clicks remote):
"Hypothesis from Deep Analysis Division suggests interdimensional bleed-through. Possibly an unstable rift. We've ruled out man-made. These things weren't made in a lab. They act on instinct, but not random instinct. They hunt emotionally. They strike at fear, lust, pride…"
Secretary of State:
"They target our sins?"
CIA Analyst (dryly):
"Oh good. Demons. That'll look great on a press release."
Vice President (stands):
"I think we all know the time for press conferences is over. Our world is changing. And we can't stop it."
General Tilden (growling):
"Then we hit them harder. Carpet bomb the East. Drop the MOABs. Hell, drop the nukes if we have to."
Rebecca:
"With all due respect, sir — you start nuking the East Coast, and you're killing millions of innocent people who haven't been touched yet."
Tilden:
"There won't be any people left to save if this spreads farther."
Rebecca (cold):
"Then let's make a decision. Are we defending humanity — or preserving what's left of our egos?"
A hush falls.
President Millstone (quietly):
"…How long do we have?"
Rebecca (flat):
"We don't know."
CIA Analyst:
"Could be days. Could be hours. But I'll tell you this, Mr. President… they're not done yet."
The President looks around.
Fear. Doubt. Rage. Hopelessness.
He closes his eyes for a long moment… then speaks:
President Millstone:
"Begin Project Scorched Halo. Quarantine the entire northeastern seaboard. All airspace closed. Tell the Air Force they're cleared for urban defense. No mercy. No hesitation. I want those things burned out of my country."
A pause.
President (turns to Rebecca):
"Get me eyes on every place that went dark tonight. Paris. Nepal. Mexico. I want to know if this is the same plague wearing different skin."
Rebecca nods.
"Yes, sir."
President (to the room):
"And God help us… if this thing learns to speak."
---
INT. CNN GLOBAL HEADQUARTERS – LIVE BROADCAST
TIME: 4:17 AM EST
LOCATION: Atlanta, Georgia
The CNN studio is dimly lit, emergency backup generators humming in the background. Power flickers every few seconds, but the feed holds. The world is watching.
Seated alone at the news desk is Dana Caldwell, veteran anchor — 50s, sharp, usually the calm voice of the nation. Tonight, her hands are shaking. Her mascara is slightly smudged. Her usual composure is gone.
DANA CALDWELL (on-air):
"This is Dana Caldwell… reporting to you live… though I don't know for how much longer."
The chyron below reads:
"BREAKING: UNEXPLAINED GLOBAL ATTACKS — CREATURES CONFIRMED"
She breathes in slowly.
DANA:
"What you are about to see has not been approved by Homeland Security, the Pentagon, or any world government. But the world deserves to know what's happening. And the world deserves to see it."
She presses a button.
A collage of security cam footage begins to play across the screen behind her, one after another:
---
[CLIP 1: FARMER MARTIN]
Grainy footage from a bodycam.
Martin's field. Rain. Something wet breathing.
Martin screaming — his voice cuts off.
Static.
Then a final, still frame of Martin's mangled corpse. Bent backwards. Eviscerated. Jaw hanging open.
---
[CLIP 2: CHARLIE AND THE BOYS]
Dashcam from a parked Jeep in the Colorado forest.
Laughter. Flashlights swinging.
Then sudden silence.
A tree cracks in half.
A claw the size of a small car swipes.
Blood splashes the windshield.
Camera drops.
Muffled gurgles. Bones breaking. A wet, heavy thud.
Frame freezes on one boy's torso crawling, his legs gone.
---
[CLIP 3: THE COUPLE IN PARIS]
Alley cam. Two lovers.
Flirting.
Then the creature. Wide smile. Dead eyes.
The girl flicks its head.
Snap — her body folds inward. Her head vanishes into a wet, spiraling maw.
Blood sprays in every direction.
Boy screams.
Tentacles grab him. Pull. Rip.
A chunk of his chest hits the wall.
Then silence.
Creature morphs into him. Walks away smiling.
---
BACK TO STUDIO.
Dana is trembling now. She sips water but her hand is shaking too hard. She sets the glass down.
DANA:
"We reached out to survivors. One woman agreed to speak."
She switches the feed.
---
INT. INTERROGATION ROOM – CIA BLACKSITE
TIME: 3:28 AM EST
A small, concrete room. One metal chair. Fluorescent light flickering.
ANISHA, early 30s, sits hunched over. Dirty. Bloodstained. Hair in wild tangles. Eyes hollow and broken. Her leg bounces uncontrollably. Her arms shake.
An off-screen voice interrogates her.
INTERROGATOR (calm):
"Tell us what happened in the mountains. Just speak freely."
Anisha doesn't look at him. She stares into nothing. Then she begins.
ANISHA (whispering):
"I thought it was just a hike… Just a hike…"
She starts to rock back and forth. Her voice gets louder — erratic.
ANISHA:
"I saw its shadow before I heard it. A massive shape. The snow moved. The wind screamed. But it wasn't the wind — it was it. It breathed in my thoughts, my fears, my flesh…"
Tears stream down her face. She claws at her skin as she talks.
ANISHA:
"It had eyes where there shouldn't be eyes. Hands made of teeth. It laughed — but not from its mouth, from the trees. It knew m. It wanted us. It waited until I felt safe. And then…"
She grabs the table and slams her head into it once.
INTERROGATOR:
"Anisha, please—"
ANISHA (screaming):
"IT ATE THEM! ALL THE MISSING HIKERS. Tore them open like meatbags! Like—like pinatas full of screaming organs!"
She gasps, hyperventilating, then curls up.
ANISHA (softer now):
"It didn't chase me. It… let me go. Like it wanted me to tell you. To warn you."
She looks directly into the one-way mirror.
ANISHA (calm now, terrifyingly calm):
"It's the end of the world… the end of the human race."
She leans forward. Voice hollow. Broken. Utterly convinced.
ANISHA:
"It's…"
Pause.
ANISHA:
"Armageddon."
---
BACK TO STUDIO.
Dana is crying now. Her hands are folded in prayer.
DANA:
"…God forgive us. God… help us."
The feed cuts to static.