"God damn raccoons. Get outta here! Get!"

The hiss of several nocturnal creatures and the crash of trash cans being upended break the otherwise peaceful night air. With the ambiance now disturbed, the animals run away in fear from the front porch of the mobile home they had taken up residence in.

The tired whir of a small motor can be heard as a large man seated in an electric wheelchair makes it over to what's left of the trailer's battered doorway threshold. He holds open the door, his wispy brown hair shifts as he does, moving into his eyes, forcing him to pause to push it out of his face. In the man's lap are a few bags from a local convenient store, full of unhealthy snacks and drinks. The door, set on a spring, clatters noisily behind him as he enters fully.

An energy drink comes tumbling out of his bag as he pushes forward again, but he tuts in annoyance, deciding it's of no consequence. He wheels his way through what little of the home there is, right into a room in the back that looks straight out of a modern 'hacker' film.

Several large monitors line the walls, almost like the mission control center of a space agency. Three computers run simultaneously nearby, venting heated air out, though only one is connected to the 27-inch display at the center of the table. Wheeling up to the keyboard, the man sets his bag on the couch next to him and fishes out a can. Yet another energy drink. He pops the tab on it, takes a deep swig of it, and gets settled in.

A few rapid taps on the keyboard and several government camera feeds from around the world appear on his screen. Many of them are mostly inactive, with no-one on them. After scanning each one carefully, he moves his cursor to shut down the computer, but stops himself when one of the live feeds blinks and catches his attention. The pixelized video feed shows an active military base set somewhere in the Australian outback. With it being day, he can see a flood of troops moving into the base in a hurry. He rubs his hands together, shifting the program's window to a more centralized monitor in front of him so he can get a better view.

He leans back comfortably and reaches over to dig around his plastic bag for a candy bar, a non-descript (but delicious looking) crunchy chocolate bar. He takes a bite out of it, chewing it idly. "Mmm. Why are y'all in such a fuss?" He mumbles, licking the melted chocolate off his fingers. "Are the emus attacking again?" He chuckles to himself, before spotting something being transported into the base in a tarp. He frowns, trying to zoom into the image. Before he can get close enough to see anything in detail, the camera begins to shake and shudder, as if reacting to the ground shaking. He leans forward, watching as, not far from the base, the ground begins to collapse and give way to an enormous sinkhole. A straggling Humvee is swallowed by the rush of collapsing ground.

From the hole, a bulky grey object begins to rise out of the ground. Asphalt grey, though it's tough to tell if it's just because of its metal form, or if it might have been painted or tinted that color. As it lifts silently out of the ground, it gives way to more of its design, looking not unlike a pistol, with a long barrel and a jagged grip. Compared to everything else around it, it's enormous, almost the size of an aircraft carrier. Without warning, the monitors aligned inside the mobile home begin to make noise and flash red, detecting abnormal seismic activity happening around the world, with most signals centered within the United States. Not expecting the sudden rush of alerts, the man nearly chokes on his candy bar, clearing his throat.

"Wh—What in the—"

The information stops almost as suddenly as it begins, the unidentified object on-screen hovering for a moment before ascending into the sky and rapidly off camera. He leans forward to try to control the camera, but to no avail: by the time he gains access and pans the webcam, the object is long gone. Fumbling through his pockets, the man pulls out a simple clamshell cellphone, flipping it open and making a rush dial to an important contact. "C'mon, c'mon..." He mumbles, hearing the ringing, until with a click, the line connects.

"It's Don. You're not going to believe what I just saw."