EXT. BACK ROAD – NIGHT
Mist curls as SMOKE approaches the shack, hand near his coat.
SMOKE: Stack… that you?
The door creaks open. STACK stands, pale, eyes glowing faintly red.
STACK: (smiling) Been waitin’ on you, brother.
Guns click behind Smoke. Torches flare. STACK steps into the light—fangs gleam.
SMOKE: Lord help us…
Silence falls before you open the door behind them with a shotgun
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