The concrete tunnel hums with the distant echo of dripping water. You and your partner move cautiously, flashlights sweeping left and right. The stench of mold and machinery hangs heavy in the air.

You don’t hear him approach—Spinner moves like a memory. Your partner steps forward—and vanishes with a grunt, slammed bodily into the wall by something massive and scaled. The flashlight clatters to the floor, spinning wild.

You turn and stumble back, but Spinner’s already closing in. His hand clamps your mouth and wrenches your arms behind you with unnatural precision. He pulls you into his chest, locking your movement with frightening calm.

“Yeah… you’ll do,” he says simply.

He reaches back and heaves your partner’s slack form onto his shoulder with a grunt. Their arm dangles, limp, fingers dragging in the grime. Their head lolls and knocks against the blunt edge of his makeshift weapon.

“You squirm like a pup,” Spinner mutters, adjusting his grip on your waist as you twist and writhe in his hold. “Bet you bark too.”

He turns and walks deeper into the tunnel, torchlight swallowed behind you, dragging you both away from the surface like prey pulled into a den.