Christmas Day, 2009, 6:45 PM, Central Time Zone, GMT
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On the outskirts of Anaheim, Saskatchewan
The man in black gaped in disbelief as the monster appeared before him out of thin air. It advanced, hissing menacingly, something long and fiery trailing from each of its four arms.
'Sonofa- Jesus Christ! Open fire! Open fi- Ngaa-!'
The air was suddenly sizzling and frying with energy, as with a roar the beast began flailing its whipcord arms and the flaming whips it wielded.
From inside a black van, a man in black heard his mens' screams, keyed his radio in alarm.
'Unit Four, report! What the hell is going on? Unit Four, talk to me!'
'We're . . . attack . . . -der attack! Get us . . . hell out of here-'
'Unit Four, talk to me! What's going on?'
'-sters! They're everywhere! They're . . . oh my God! It's . . . air . . . they're . . . out of the air-!'
'Unit Four, I can't understand what you're saying! Say again! What's going on?'
' . . . out of here! They're coming out of the air, goddamnit! They're coming out of the air! We can't stop them-!'
'Jeeze-!' Something heavy suddenly slammed into the van, sending the man in black sprawling from his seat. A sound got his attention, then . . . something low and ominous. He pulled out his revolver, his heart pounding-
The man in black gasped in fear as a glimpse of something terrifying passed the window. He could hear it outside as it moved slowly around to the rear doors. His hands shaking, uttering little fear-noises that escaped unbidden from his lips, he scuttled to the rear of the van on his knees, locked the doors-
He backed away as something impossibly heavy thudded into the back of the van, began trying the door. And then- nothing.
He listened. Still nothing. He held his breath, afraid to breathe or make any noise.
Letting his pent-up breath out in a sigh, he let himself relax. And then-
He stared in disbelief as something grabbed on to the door handles, began pulling . . . metal groaned, the doors began bending outwards-
His screams and the sound of gunfire was drowned out by the roar from the nightmare thing that tore the doors off the van and came for him.
'Okay, now that's really messed up,' Matthew Thunderchild muttered as he watched the impossible scene play itself out.
'You guys seeing this?' Hank muttered over the radio.
'I quit drinkin' eight years ago,' Tom's voice said over the radio in a strange tone. 'You don't think you can get the DT's after all this time . . .?'
'It looks like a video game,' Matthew observed with a frown.
'Yeah, it does, kinda,' Hank agreed.
'Well, at least the bad guys are running,' Tom said.
Matthew stared, open-mouthed, as one of the hideous forms appeared, right before him. It said some words . . . and then he smiled.