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    Something drips onto the lens. He looks up.

    A creature— smaller than the big one , but still the size of a delivery truck—clings to the ceiling pipes. Its limbs bend wrong. Its face is a cluster of blind, pale eyes.

    HUD (28, shaky handheld) presses his back against the wet tile. His camera catches MARLENE (30, medic) stitching a gash on a stranger’s arm.

    The tunnel groans. Not metal— bone . A deep, wet crunch echoes from the direction of 59th Street.

    It twitches its head toward the sound of a crying child.

    A final whisper from the dark— I’m sorry, Lily.

    Oh God—

    Marlene freezes. Turn that off.