Pom Pomers

Nobody remembers the name of the town. Nobody survived the final game night.

It was just another greasy Thursday at Big Al’s Sports Bar — wings, beer, the college game on every screen. But when a freak cosmic event ruptures the sky above, the TVs flicker, the air goes still… and they roll in.

They’re not from here. They’re not cute. And they’re really hungry.

Spawned from synthetic fibers and pure malice, the Pom Pomers are fuzzy, fanged, and fast. They bounce through the neon-lit bar like possessed toys from hell — ripping, tearing, and cheering their victims to shreds. One moment you’re laughing over a pitcher, the next you’re being dragged beneath the pool table by a snarling blur of rainbow fur and teeth.