Hawk crouched low, his breath shallow, ears straining in the silence. The concrete beneath his boots felt cold, sticky in spots where blood had dried into black smears. He took one careful step forward.
CRASH!
The wall behind him exploded inward with a deafening boom—concrete, metal, and rebar flying like shrapnel. Dust filled the air as a monstrous shape knuckle-walked into view, its grotesque bulk framed by broken brick and twisted pipe.
Hawk spun around, his eyes going wide. "Oh… oh shit."
It was massive—nine feet tall, hunched, with mutated ape-like arms dragging the ground, their hands ending in jagged, rust-colored claws like rusted sickles. Its flesh was a patchwork of boiled tumors, stitched scars, and metal plating fused into its skin. Pipes jutted from its back, hissing steam as it moved. Its chest, wide and unnatural, pulsed with every breath, and the exposed muscle fibers glistened wet and raw.
Its head was small for its body, but twisted—half-human, half-something else, with one milky eye bulging out of a socket while the other was a glowing red lens embedded into the bone. Its mouth gaped open, revealing a ring of teeth like shattered glass and barbed wire.
It slammed both fists into its chest and unleashed a guttural, blood-curdling scream that rattled the walls and pierced into Hawk's skull.
"NOPE. NOPE. NOPE." Hawk bolted.
Boots hammering against the floor, he sprinted down the hallway, heart pounding like a war drum. The monster roared and charged after him, each footstep like a falling wrecking ball.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Debris rained from the ceiling as it tore through the space behind him like a freight train of muscle and hate.
Hawk dove into the first door he saw, crashing into a large office room. Blood stained the carpet in thick, black-red smears. The glass windows were shattered, and overturned desks and chairs created a maze of chaos.
He dove under a long conference table just as the monster smashed through the wall behind him like it was paper. Chunks of brick and dust showered the room.
The beast entered, breathing in harsh, wet wheezes. Its claws scraped the walls, gouging deep lines as it sniffed the air—searching.
Hawk didn't breathe. His hand clutched the Iron Lung, but his fingers trembled. A droplet of sweat slid down his forehead and onto the dusty floor.
The monster stood still for a moment, steam hissing from its back, then growled low and backed out of the room, disappearing into the hallway with a slow, pounding rhythm.
Hawk exhaled shakily.
"Jesus Christ…" he whispered, barely audible. "What the hell was that…?"
He wiped his face and peeked out from under the table, the glow of the beast's red eye fading into the distance.
"…That wasn't a Titan Born. That was… something worse."
Hawk peered through the jagged hole in the wall, eyes locked on the hulking nightmare as it slowly paced the hall, its knuckles dragging along the floor, claws screeching faintly across broken tiles. Steam hissed from its back like a kettle from hell. The thing was sniffing—searching—its glowing red eye pulsing like a predator locking on.
Hawk was breathing too hard. His chest rose and fell like a drum. Too loud, his brain screamed. He clamped both hands over his nose and mouth, trying to quiet himself, heart thundering in his ears.
A rusted can sat by his foot.
He grabbed it, barely daring to breathe, and with a whisper:
"Don't screw this up…"
Clink—clang—clang!
The can hit the far end of the hall. The monster snapped its head toward the sound, shoulders twitching with agitation. It snarled low and began lumbering toward it.
Hawk didn't wait. He crouch-walked fast and silent across the hallway, the tension so thick it stuck to his skin. Every step felt like thunder. The air around the beast felt wrong, like gravity bent differently when it was near.
He reached a thick metal door with faded yellow paint: "ARMORY - AUTHORIZED ONLY."
He grabbed the handle. Twisted.
Clunk.
Locked.
Hawk muttered through clenched teeth, "For fuck's sake… still need to find that damn key—"
He froze.
The creature had turned.
Its red eye was flickering, scanning the hall again.
BOOM. BOOM.
It was coming.
Panic surged up his spine like cold lightning. He backed away quickly and ducked into the next open doorway, nearly slamming the door behind him—then stopped.
Inside the dim, stale room… three mole rats hissed in unison.
Their eyes caught the sliver of light from the hall—red and hungry.
One bared yellowed teeth and snapped forward.
Hawk's eyes widened, and he whispered:
"…Fuck."
One of the mole rats lunged at Hawk with a shriek. He rolled hard to the left, narrowly avoiding its teeth, and grabbed the rusted pipe leaning against a broken chair. As he spun up, he slammed it down on the creature's back with a sickening crunch. The rat squealed, twitching violently.
But no time to breathe.
Another mole rat scurried behind him with unnatural speed. Hawk leapt up onto a blood-streaked metal table, panting.
"I can't use the gun—if that freak out there hears it, I'm dead…"
Suddenly, the table shuddered. One of the mole rats had tunneled up through the rotten floor beneath it, its claws bursting through the surface with a shrill hiss. Hawk yelped, stumbling backward just in time as the thing burst up, jaws snapping.
From the other side, the first mole rat reared back and—whack!—spat a jagged pebble that nailed Hawk in the cheek.
"Agh—!" he stumbled, tasting blood, wiping his face.
Backed into a corner, the trio of rats surrounded him, eyes gleaming, fangs slick with drool.
He gripped the pipe like a sword, swinging wildly.
CLANG—WHACK—THUD!
"Back! Back, you little bastards!"
Then—
He froze.
Something was in the room.
It hadn't come through the door. It hadn't made a sound. But the temperature dropped like ice water on the spine.
To his right… in the far shadows near the busted shelves… it stood.
Not a regular Crowl.
It was tall. Too tall. Its limbs were long, but not frail—they were sinewy, wrapped in muscle cords beneath slick, translucent skin that throbbed with faint pulses of blackened veins. It didn't jerk like the others—it flowed, each motion like smoke under water.
Where a mouth should've been, there was nothing—just smooth, skin-stretched bone. Its face split open upward, revealing two massive, funnel-shaped ears like warped bat horns—covered in tight, leathery flesh that quivered.
Then it screamed.
Not from its mouth—from its ears.
The sound wasn't a scream. It was a pressure wave. A bone-rattling shock that sent the pipes shivering and Hawk's eardrums buckling.
He dropped to one knee, eyes clenched, blood dribbling from his nostrils.
The mole rats scattered in terror, fleeing under furniture, shrieking as if they were being burned alive.
Hawk couldn't even scream.
He could only think—
"That's not a Crowl… that's something else."
He looked up, and the creature tilted its head, those fleshy sonar horns twitching, scanning.
Listening.
Hawk didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Just clutched the pipe as the thing inched closer.