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Fiends created by man achieve man's detestable covert scheme under the auspices of two megacorporations. Meanwhile, terrorized residents on Picasso Lane witness three of their girls kidnapped by escaped, grotesque, blood thirsty beasts. Brave, loving fathers on Picasso Lane band together to war with them that interact inside the five ominous storm drain tunnels underneath the city of Brownsville, Texas.
EXCERPT: In the still of the evening, Garcia hears buzzing from inside the tunnel which begins low and creeps to tenfold. He stands, slaps the handle on his concealed 9 millimeter and yanks it from the waist of his pants, “Do y’all hear that? What’s that noise?”
In a split second, the rest of the burly men hear the sound and rise to their feet. The dark clouds briskly move into the dusk skyline and drizzle begins, cooling sweaty faces that focus on the tunnel opening. Ortiz stuffs the newspaper under his arm, shuts his truck door, and turns to walk back toward his friends when he sees a horde of familiar beasts charging toward the men. "Get back to the trucks!” yells Ortiz. But it’s too late. The friends immediately act out a planned strategy in groups of three, standing back to back. Ortiz drops the newspaper that blows so strewn about by high wind, pages dance amongst men and menacing beasts, all the way to the tunnel opening. Suddenly they slow down, maintaining their distance while forming a circle around the friends. Having heard of the odd savage attacks, the men freeze and frown at hideousness. Silent, they aim .44 Magnums and stand strong, waiting… waiting for the right moment.
Created from dogs and insects, instinctively the intelligent beings sense the fortitude of the men and realize this confrontation may not compare to others when defenseless, shocked animals and humans do not defend themselves. As if these creatures are not frightening enough, the larger, antagonized Master flies his beefy body out of the eerie tunnel, immediately stops to an upright stance, dropping spike-like wings at his sides. He inflates a massive torso and holds a large insect head high while lashing out a long forked tongue that squirms in every direction. With bulging –half–shut–bloodshot –eyes that swiftly shift from one man’s eyes to the next, he disappointedly reads their low level of fear. When Ortiz reaches the men, his trailing wind falls upon the Master that instantly demonstrates disgust, spewing saliva in all directions then turns toward his small battalion and lifts his head like a howling dog to scream a shriek that can rattle glass, for he realizes not only that Ortiz is their leader but possesses the strongest urge for battle, a big fighting heart searching for its young. Like a disturbed mound of army ants, the attack commences toward Ortiz. Marksmen pick them off like hogs at a hunt, without wasting a shot. At such close range, the bodies explode into pieces that scatter as far away as the trucks, alarming the remaining beasts to retreat into the tunnel. They leave a sulfurous stench behind as they swoop over the men who duck their heads to dodge prehistoric-looking claws that dangle beneath the archenemies. Buzzing strategy with their wickedly clever Master, the hideous abscond in a flock toward the tunnel loop while realizing the extent of these demoniac men’s power shatters their own ― yet surely only on the outside of their abodes, their abodes where they reign.

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