Click = Roar __________________________________ The Baltic Sea groaned beneath thick banks of fog, silent save for the lapping of waves against steel. A refugee ship—rusted, overpacked, and crawling with life—crept toward the coast of a seaside city in northern Poland. It had left Riga three nights ago, skimming past other shattered ports, collecting the desperate like driftwood. Children whimpered in makeshift beds. Men stood at the rails, clutching rifles that wouldn’t matter if the worst happened. A boy pointed at something far ahead. "Lights. I see lights." The city was there. Tired but standing. Floodlights dotted its edge like fireflies. Barricades rimmed the shoreline. Anti-air turrets, old Cold War relics, tracked the clouds with twitching patience. Hope swelled across the deck. Then the sea moved. Not a wave. Not a ripple. A wall. It rose behind the ship like a nightmare surfacing. Sodium and shadow clung to its massive form. At first, only the shape broke through—a ridged back, long as a skyscraper is tall, cutting the water in a dead crawl. Then came the limbs: small, muscular, clawed. Then a head. Elongated. Twisted. Gray skin glistened under the searchlights. Patches of irritated red marked where flesh met scale. Two strange, fin-like horns jutted from the tip of its snout. And then came the eyes—six of them, burning like lanterns, watching. By the time the crew screamed, it was already too late. The creature surged up from the deep, jaws wide. The ship cracked in half inside its maw, steel folding like foil. The screams were swallowed by the crunch. Lifeboats toppled into chaos. Fire licked the air. Then silence. The monster stared at the city. Then it moved. It trudged from the surf with a hiss of evaporating seawater. The fog lit up orange as the beast’s feet met concrete. Gunfire echoed from the shoreline—machine guns, old tanks, handheld rockets. They rattled off the creature’s skin like gravel. Then, on the edge of the plaza, it stopped. It roared. The lower jaw split in two with a wet, crunching sound. Not a clean line—like jaws unzipping. Its scream rippled through the buildings, cracking windows, rattling the bones of every living thing within earshot. Sirens wailed. Civilians bolted. But there was nowhere to run. The destruction began. It crushed a highway under one forelimb. Bit into a bunker and pulled its contents out like meat from a shell. Flames spread from ruptured gas lines. Towers toppled like dominoes. The creature was methodical—intelligent. It ignored empty buildings, zeroing in on shelter hubs. It seemed to understand. For nearly twenty minutes, the city became hell. Then came the Baltic Destroyer. The battleship appeared on the horizon, engines churning. Gun turrets pivoted. Missiles rose from bays like angry needles. Civilians cheered, some watching from shattered rooftops. The missile launched. A blue streak against the burning sky. The creature turned. All six eyes locked on the sound. As the missile neared, the beast opened its mouth. Then—impossibly—it caught the missile between its jaws. There was a pause. Then it twisted its neck and hurled the warhead into the sea, toward the incoming destroyer. The ocean lit up as the missile struck the ship’s starboard side. The explosion rocked the waves. The destroyer buckled. As alarms blared aboard the ship, the monster plunged into the water. Moments later, it re-emerged, coiling its massive body around the damaged vessel. Metal shrieked. Bulkheads burst. Then— SNAP. The ship broke in two. It sank fast. The beast watched until the last deck light vanished beneath the waves. Then it turned away. The sea swallowed it again. And from the war rooms across Europe, to the shattered resistance cells scattered beneath the Earth, one name was broadcast. Tide. Length: 900 feet. And far to the west, Alaska screamed beneath a storm unlike any before.
Three Days Grace Me Kerry Who ever made the Gargantuan Leviathan sounds.
