Jay watches, transfixed, as he backs away. It's done. They're burning this place down. He checks the viewfinder screen. Blown out to hell, but at least he's getting the shot.

He should have been prepared for this, he really should, but he still jumps when the clattering below gets louder, closer. There's a scrape and a drag of claws on wood, and Jay backs away farther, farther from the door. The camera shakes, but that's fine for now, really.

A pale face appears in the doorway, yellow eyes shining bright enough to blind.

Furiously, it scratches at the doorframe, wood splintering until it can force its shoulders through. Again, the air buzzes and hisses, and the textures glitch, stripping away the skin for a split second to reveal a bent-wire ribcage, twisted black cellulose convulsing in a horrible imitation of lungs, a heart.

It turns its searchlight gaze on the growing flames. On Tim. On Jay.

It pauses.

Again, it looks around. Takes a slow step forward, gradual, almost delicate. Its bad leg trails a smear of wet tar.

It looks down, gaze lingering on Jay.

Jay lifts one shoulder in a hesitant shrug.

Visibly agitated, it shifts on its feet, focus now fixed on Tim. Expectant.

It isn't watching when a spit of flame shoots out from the growing blaze. It's too late to react. The film catches alight.