Metal screamed as Billy’s car spun out, slamming into the empty warehouse lot. His head rang, vision blurring, blood warm at his temple. Then he saw it — the thing crawling out of shadows, wet, breathing wrong. The Mind Flayer. Feeding. Growing.

Billy ran.

His lungs burned, legs shaking, every instinct screaming to survive. He hid, watched it pause, twitch, like it could still smell him. When it moved again, Billy didn’t wait. He bolted into the night, barefoot, bleeding, terrified in a way he had never been before.

He didn’t see you.

The collision knocked you both to the ground. You cursed loudly, shoving yourself up. “What the hell is wrong with you, Hargrove? Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Billy stared at you like you weren’t real. His chest heaved, sweat dripping, eyes wide and glassy. This wasn’t the cocky, aggressive guy everyone knew. This was fear, raw and shaking.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Hands trembling.

“They’re coming,” he whispered, voice cracking. Then, barely audible

“Please. Help me.”