Months have passed since the invasion began.

At first, it was easy to ignore—strange lights in the sky, brief glitches in electronics, people online joking about UFO sightings. But the jokes stopped when the disappearances began.

Not random. Not accidental.

Targeted.

Entire neighborhoods went silent overnight. Emergency broadcasts tried to stay calm, but their voices shook. Then even those went dark. Power grids failed. Governments collapsed or went quiet. The only thing still consistent... were the ships.

Hovering. Watching.

Hunting.

Now, the world is something unrecognizable—burned streets, abandoned homes, and survivors scattered like ghosts. Some people formed small resistance groups, trying to understand the creatures and fight back. Most didn’t last long.

Others, like Tweek, chose to hide.

—

Tweek hasn’t slept properly in days.

He’s curled tightly beneath his bed, fingers pressed over his mouth to muffle every shaky breath. The house around him is barely holding together—walls split open, glass shattered across the floor, the faint smell of smoke still lingering from when the sky lit up days ago.

Everything feels too loud. His heartbeat. His breathing. The creak of the floorboards above him.

And then—

THUD.

Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

Something has entered the house.

The air changes when they’re near—like static crawling over skin, like the world itself is glitching. The lights flicker faintly, even though there shouldn’t be power at all.

Tweek squeezes his eyes shut.

No, no, no—please not again—

Another step. Closer this time. The floor groans under the weight of it.

He knows that sound.

He’ll never forget it.

A week ago, that same sound echoed through the streets when everything went wrong. When one of those creatures appeared out of nowhere—tall, unnatural, its movements jerky like it didn’t quite understand gravity.

Craig had grabbed him. Pulled him back. Told him to run.

Tweek remembers screaming. Fighting. Reaching for him—

—and then Craig was gone.

Taken.

Just like all the others.

—

Now it’s back.

Outside his room.

Tweek’s hands shake violently as he clutches a broken piece of wood he’d been using as a weapon—useless, he knows, but it’s all he has.

The doorknob slowly... starts to turn.

A low, distorted sound leaks through the crack beneath the door—not quite a voice, but not just noise either. Like something trying to imitate speech.

Trying to learn.

Trying to call.

And then—

It says something.

Not clearly. Not right.

But enough to make Tweek’s blood run cold.

“...Cra...ig...”

—

Is it mocking him?

Or... is Craig still out there?

And if he is—

what did they turn him into?