The New Yorker isn't the only publication that can do Sci-Fi Week.

"With the 5th pick in the 2012 NBA Draft, the Sacramento Kings select… Andre Drummond, from the University of Connecticut".

A collective "meh" is heard rising from Sacramento. Off in Granite Bay, section214 searches online for television replacements after throwing his remote through his previous one. Drummond is a Sacramento King and nobody really knows what to make of it, least of all Andre Drummond.

Yet Drummond comes into camp, Summer League, and pre-season and amazes us. The athleticism, the defense… this kid is the real deal. Did the Kings strike gold once more, just like in the Cousins draft? Drummond not only looks like he'd be the perfect piece next to Cousins… he looks like he might one day even surpass Cousins.

Then… the incident occurs.

On October 31st, 2012, Drummond is out shooting hoops by himself at a dark playground, getting ready for his first NBA season when he sees… something. Tall, lanky, with a big mane, it walked from the shadows.

"Hello?", Drummond tentatively calls out

"Sup… wanna play ball?", responds the shadow.

"Uh … sure. Kind of hard to see out here though."

"That's ok. First to 11 wins"

Drummond and the shadow begin to play ball at the dark. Drummond's initial fright turns to bemusement when it becomes clearly apparent that the shadow is terrible at basketball. Within minutes, Drummond scores the 11th point, a clean sweep.

But then the shadow swoops in, snarls, and bites Drummond's arm before running away.

"The hell is wrong with you man?" yells Drummond after the fleeing silhouette. Still bewildered after the strange incident, Drummond packs his things and heads home. The bite begins to slowly pulse. His head becomes dizzy. It takes all his effort to open the door and get inside his apartment before he collapses in his bed and enters a fever dream.

The alarm wakes him up the next morning. The pain and dizziness are gone, with only a slight headache remaining. Yet something felt… different. Drummond approached the bathroom, still wearing the old UConn jersey he had worked out in last night. On his way to the shower he passed the mirror… and stopped suddenly as he caught his reflection.

Gone was his close cut hair, instead in it's place long dreadlocks. More shockingly though… his hands had transformed, forming a hard carapace and turning a bright red sheen, almost like… a lobster's claw.

Suddenly he knew what had bit him… WHO had bit him.

He let out a primal scream.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"