Then everything got worse.

The creature's reaction was immediate and drastically different from what he'd hoped for. The eye he could see from not fully closed eyes widened in what looked disturbingly like concern, and the tentacles shifted from curious exploration to something far more purposeful. One quickly pressed against his neck, obviously checking for a pulse, while another gently lifted one of his eyelids. The third eye rotated into view as the creature's entire body reoriented itself, both massive eyes now focused intently on his face.

The beak clicked rapidly in what could only be distress, and the bioluminescent patterns shifted to quick, sharp pulses that lit up the night around them. The creature's hold became even more secure, cradling him like something precious and broken, and it began making soft, rhythmic vibrations through its entire body that he could feel in his bones – some kind of alien first aid attempt.

To his horror, two of the smaller tentacles began gently patting his cheeks, while another lifted his head to a better angle, supporting his neck with disturbing medical precision. He could feel the creature's growing agitation in the way its skin temperature changed, in the quickening of its movements, in the increasingly frantic patterns of light playing across its surface.

Playing dead, Mike realized with sinking dread, had only convinced the alien that he needed to be taken care of.

Maintaining his lifeless act was becoming increasingly difficult as the creature's ministrations grew more thorough. The tentacle at his neck never left his pulse point, while others began what felt like a methodical examination of his body. They moved with disturbing efficiency, checking his limbs with what had to be some kind of medical knowledge, gently rotating his joints as if testing for injury.

The beak's clicking took on a different rhythm, almost like it was counting. To Mike's mounting horror, he realized the creature was timing something – probably his heartbeat or breathing. The vibrations it was producing changed frequency, becoming deeper, more resonant. He could feel them penetrating his chest cavity, and the thought of what that might be doing to him almost made him break his pose.

Then it started moving. Fast.

The three main tentacles shifted beneath them, and Mike felt himself being lifted higher as the creature rose to its full height. The smaller tentacles rearranged their hold, cradling him horizontally now, like a patient on a stretcher. One tentacle maintained its position checking his pulse, another kept monitoring his breathing, while a third gently held his head stable.

The bioluminescent patterns had organized themselves into steady, rhythmic sequences that lit up their immediate surroundings. Through his barely-cracked eyelids, Mike could see they were headed away from the beach, toward the darker tree line. The creature's movement was smooth and purposeful, clearly trying not to jostle its 'unconscious' cargo.

What terrified him most was the growing suspicion that he wasn't being taken somewhere to be eaten – he was being taken somewhere to be 'helped.'

Every step the creature took sent fresh waves of panic through Mike's rigid body. Their path through the darkness was lit only by the creature's bioluminescence, which had settled into what seemed to be emergency mode – regular pulses of blue-white light that reminded him sickeningly of an ambulance's strobes.

The tentacle monitoring his pulse suddenly tightened slightly, and the creature stopped moving. The beak clicked rapidly – was it counting his increased heartbeat? Had it noticed his panic? One of the manipulator tentacles that had been holding his head steady began to explore his face again, this time with clinical precision, gently pulling back his eyelids, checking his pupils against its own bioluminescent light.

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To his absolute horror, he felt another tentacle approaching his mouth. The intention became clear as it tried to check inside – some alien version of protecting the airway of an unconscious patient. Mike's composure finally shattered. His eyes flew open as he jerked his head away, a strangled gasp escaping him.

But instead of dropping him, the creature's hold only became more secure. The tentacle that had been approaching his mouth pulled back. The beak's clicking took on a gentle, almost cooing quality, while the vibrations running through its body shifted to a lower, supposedly calming frequency.

He was no longer pretending to be unconscious, but somehow that seemed to make the creature even more determined to 'help' him. Every struggle, every panicked breath, only convinced it further that he needed medical attention. The tentacles began a new pattern of movement, checking him with even greater thoroughness, probably searching for whatever was causing his distress.

Mike had a horrible feeling that if he couldn't convince it he was fine soon, he might find out exactly what alien first aid entailed.

Desperate, Mike tried screaming. The sound tore from his throat, raw and terrified – and the creature immediately pressed him closer to its body, one tentacle gently cradling the back of his head as if to protect him from whatever was causing his distress. Its bioluminescence shifted to softer, more rapid patterns, like a heart monitor going into alert mode.

He tried thrashing violently – maybe if he acted aggressive enough, it would decide he wasn't worth the trouble. The creature responded by redistributing its tentacles to support his joints and spine, obviously assuming he was having some kind of seizure. The beak again began a series of rhythmic clicks that vibrated through both their bodies, probably trying to stabilize him. Two smaller tentacles started making gentle circular motions on his temples, like someone trying to soothe a headache.

In pure frustration, he tried hitting it. His fist connected with its surprisingly soft body – and the creature simply absorbed the impact, its skin texture shifting to something even softer. A tentacle caught his hand and began examining it with worried precision, probably checking for injuries he might have caused himself in his "confused state."

When he tried to bite one of the tentacles, it merely shifted its grip to better support his jaw, two smaller tentacles beginning to massage the tense muscles there with horrible gentleness. The beak clicked in what sounded suspiciously like a sympathetic tut-tutting.

Each desperate action just added to the creature's medical checklist. Every struggle was interpreted as a symptom. Every protest became a sign of confusion that needed to be addressed with more thorough care. Mike was running out of ideas, and the creature was running out of things to check – which probably meant it would soon decide on some kind of treatment.

The three main tentacles shifted again, changing their direction. Through tear-blurred eyes, Mike could see they were heading deeper into the darkness beyond the beach. The creature's determined movement suggested it had some specific destination in mind, and he had a feeling he really, really didn't want to find out what kind of medical facility an alien might consider appropriate.

The creature's movements suddenly stilled. The tentacle at Mike's pulse point tapped twice, deliberately, and the eye he could see narrowed slightly. A different kind of vibration rumbled through its body – not the medical thrumming from before, but something that felt suspiciously like... amusement?

Mike's blood ran cold. It knew. It had figured he was faking. Now it would surely punish him for trying to trick it. He tensed, waiting for the tentacles to tighten, for the beak to finally show its true purpose.