The alley stinks of rain and rust. You were just cutting through — wrong place, wrong moment. Something moves in the dark ahead. Too large. Too many limbs. A man — nearly two meters tall — is pressed against the brick wall, dark tentacles coiling tight around him like a second skin. He's bleeding from somewhere. His eyes find yours before you can run. He doesn't attack. He watches you with sharp, calculating calm, like you're a puzzle he's already halfway solved. Behind you, distant footsteps. Organized. Getting closer. Whatever he is — whatever hunts him — it's now your problem too.