All my training, every cop instinct Iâd honed over six years of sorting the world into neat little boxes labeled âthreatâ and âno threat,â just evaporated. My internal processor didn't just blue-screen; it melted. My eyes locked on the splintered ruin of the coop, but the data wouldn't parse. Coop. Dust. Bull. And a shape that didn't belong. I hoped it was a trick of the light, but it wasnât. I couldnât have been more wrong because what I saw was impossible.
A twelve-foot, lizard-like creature clawed its way out of the wreckage. Its scales were the color of moss and malice, shimmering under the sunlight. A long, forked tongue, black as tar, flicked from its mouth, tasting the air. Beady yellow eyes, holding all the warmth and compassion of a tax audit, protruded from its head, darting around hypnotically.
What the actual fuck is that? The question wasn't a thought so much as a system-wide error message flashing in my skull.
Monster.
The word detonated in my mind, echoing Michaelâs frantic screams. It was real. It wasn't bath salts. It wasn't a psychotic break. It was standing right there, in the middle of a Tuesday, in a field that was supposed to be filled with goddamn chickens.
My body moved on its own, training taking over where conscious thought failed. My feet pounded the gravel, carrying me back toward the cruiser. âGet in the ambulance and go!â I yelled at the paramedics. Michael had thankfully gone quiet again.
I reached the cruiser, yanked the door open, and had the AR-15 in my hands in seconds. The satisfying click-clack of a round chambering was the only sound that made sense in this new, insane situation. I brought the rifle up just as the creatureâs eyes locked onto our position.
I flicked the safety off and squeezed the trigger, sending five rounds at its head. Dirt kicked up twice, wide of the mark, but I adjusted and the last three rounds struck home with flat, loud thunks against its skull. The creature barely flinched, shaking its head as if annoyed by a fly. The impacts left no marks. No blood. Nothing. A cold spike of disbelief, of pure wrongness, shot up my spine.
It roared, a challenge and a promise, before charging.
Shit shit shit. Plan A, put bullets in the bad thing, was failing spectacularly. I switched my aim to its chest, firing another ten rounds as it closed the distance. Green ooze, thick like antifreeze, seeped from the new holes. Good. It could bleed. It could die. The Arnold Schwarzenegger quote grounding my resolve. But the creature didn't act like it could die, it didnât even slow, didnât falter, not a single step. It bounded towards us, its gore speckled face baring razor sharp teeth.
Fuck. I need a softer target. My eyes appraised the beast but saw armored skin from head to toe and its head was now bent low covering its chest. My mind raced for solution but all I saw was tendrils of flesh hanging from its mouth. I swallowed nervously as the creature filled my sight.
At thirty meters, it roared again. Big mistake ugly. I fired my last ten rounds in one continuous burst, aiming for its open mouth. Five shots went down its throat, and five impacted the soft flesh of its upper palate. Green fluid erupted from its jaws as it let out a high-pitched cry. Its momentum was unstoppable, an avalanche of scale and muscle that was going to flatten the spot where I was standing.
I dove, hitting the gravel hard. A sharp pain lanced through my forearm as I rolled, a jagged piece of stone tearing a deep gash from wrist to elbow. I ignored it, adrenaline my only medicine, and rolled back to my feet. My hand went to my vest, instinct pulling a fresh magazine free. As I hit the release, my other hand caught the partially spent magazine, swapping it with the fresh one in a fluid motion our instructors called a tactical reload. The used magazine went into an empty pouch on my belt; you never knew when you might need those last few rounds.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I raised the sight to the now motionless creature. Was it playing dead? Was it even possible for something like this to die from bullet wounds? The silence from the thing was more unnerving than its roars. Not taking any chances, I fired half the magazine into its chest and the soft underside of its neck. The body vibrated with the impacts, but it didn't move.
I took a shaky breath trying to let the tunnel vision naturally dissipate from the adrenaline rush as my heart thumped loudly in my ears.
A partially transparent blue screen materialized out of thin air. My finger instinctively went to the trigger as I almost jumped out of my skin at the sudden appearance. It hung in my vision like a bugged-out texture in a cheap video game, words glowing with a soft, ethereal light.
Congratulations on killing an invading monster.
Registering as a New Player. You have earned the title âFirst Killâ in your area.
All stats increased by 10, and a reward box will be placed in your inventory.
To open the Menu, please say âMenu.â Lesser Lizard â 25 XP.
I blinked. The words didn't vanish. They just floated there, clean and clinical, completely detached from the reek of blood and the mangled corpse a few feet away. Concussion, my brain supplied. Hallucination. Has to be.
A tingling sensation swept over my body, followed by a searing heat that burrowed into my bones. The bone-deep weariness from the shift, the ache in my lower back, the adrenaline crash that should have been hitting me like a truckâthey weren't just gone, it was like they'd never existed. In their place was a clean, humming energy. My muscles felt coiled and ready, not tired. My mind was sharp, not foggy. The world hadn't just stopped being exhausting; I had stopped being exhaustible.
"Elias, your arm!" Kira's voice cut through my thoughts. She was running toward me from the cruiser, her eyes wide, but her focus wasn't on the dead monster. It was on the blood now dripping freely from my forearm.
Before I could tell her I was fine, she was already next to me with the cruiser med-kit in hand. Her hands were a blur of purpose, ripping open an antiseptic wipe with her teeth, cleaning the wound with firm, no-nonsense strokes. She brought me back, leading my by my hand before forcing me to sit on the cruiserâs bumper, the sting of the antiseptic a grounding, real sensation in the middle of all this madness.
She wrapped the gash tightly with gauze, her movements quick and sure. The optimist. Always patching things up.
But my eyes were locked on the floating screen in front of me, reading and rereading the words in front of me trying to understand their meaning.
Invading monster? My eyes shifted to the dead Lizard. It was clearly the monster it mentioned but where did it come from and what is this thing. I tried to touch the screen with a finger but I felt nothing in front of me.
Kira finished her work and looked up, her green eyes searching mine. "What the hell was that thing? And what are you doing with your hand? Did you hit your head?â her brows furrowed as she ran her hands through my hair looking for injuries. It felt nice-. I shook the thought our before it could finish and pushed her hand away.
My eyes tracked from her focused expression, past the hulking, dead lizard, to the impossible blue screen that still hung in the air.
My name is Elias Stormson. I'm a police officer. And I think I'm losing my goddamn mind.