You sprint across the clearing, heart hammering, feet pounding against cracked concrete overtaken by moss and weeds. Just as the distant evac pad edges into view, a chilling screech slices through the humid air—the unmistakable sound of claws raking stone. You freeze. From the splintered fencing to your left, a raptor erupts in a blur of sinew and teeth, its eyes locked on you with primal hunger. The clearing is no longer a path to safety—it’s become a hunting ground.