Marcus gripped the worn steering wheel of his 2001 F150, his calloused hand shaking as he tried to keep the truck on the road. With each cough, a cloud of smoke escaped from his lungs and filled the cab. This was his daily routine as a construction worker in the south, driving to job sites in his beat-up truck. But at just 28 years old, he had already been working for five years and was determined to become a foreman in the next few years. A relationship or stable home seemed like distant dreams at the moment.

  As he drove down the highway, Stevie Wonder's "Don't You Worry Bout a Thing" blasted through the speakers. Marcus couldn't help but bob his head and hum along, feeling proud of how far he had come. But suddenly, a blur caught his eye - an 18-wheeler swerving into his lane before its tire blew out and it careened into the side of his truck.

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  The impact sent Marcus' truck spinning and flipping several times before it came to a stop against the guardrail. Pain shot through his body, but all too soon everything went black as strange eldritch looking tendrils began to rip through the ground and wrap around his body.