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Owen hasn't the slightest idea what he's just stumbled upon.

He's taken the night off and is headed home— it'll be the first night in nearly a week he's spent there— when he sees a strange trail on the sidewalk. Or rather, he steps in it, his trainer sticking for a moment, almost like he's stepped in translucent gum. By all accounts, he should just shrug it off and head home, but something about it makes him turn to follow the trail, headed toward an alley not far from Dimera apartments.

Nothing's ever as simple as it seems in Darrow, and something tells Owen that he's not about to find the exception tonight. At least he's got his gun on him for this one.

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Newt's coming back from another few hours spent in the woods--empty-handed and not any more knowledgable about Darrow, as he'd expected--when he sees a guy lurking around an alley by his apartment building. He squints, briefly wondering if his prescription has gone bad in the last five seconds because that looks like--Oh. God. It is. It's Big O.

There's a big part of Newt telling him that he should really just keep walking because Owen looks like he's busy doing creeper things, but there's the other part of him that's really curious about why the hell guy is messing around over on this side at night. Also, bar fight buddies, that counts for something, right? He sighs to himself and heads toward Owen, making sure that his foodsteps are loud enough to be heard. "Dude, you stalking me? If you want to take me out to dinner, all you gotta do is ask."

Christ. Of all people to run into...

Owen ignores the bit about stalking and turns his attention back to the trail on the sidewalk instead. It's probably pointless asking, but he doesn't live in this part of town. Unfortunately, Newt might know more about this than he does.

"Have you ever seen this before?" he asks, gesturing toward the sidewalk and the residue, whatever the hell it is, "Has it always been here?"

Newt has to try really hard--like, exceptionally hard--not to roll his eyes or heave a sigh or whatever, just to show Big O that he's so not interested in what's going on here. The only problem is that he's already seen the slimy-looking stuff on the ground and he's super interested.

He takes a few steps toward Owen and kneels down next to him, reaching down to poke at the trail. "Like a slug," he says, more to himself as he rubs the sticky stuff between his fingers. "A parasite. You know, the mucus? I mean, it's a pretty huge trail for a typical slug, obviously, and that's just a little worrisome. The mucus can be for, I don't know, it can be like a 'hey, do you need a mate 'cause it could be me' kinda deal or, uh... well, it could be for hunting or protection." He gestures at the residue. "Whatever this thing is, it's considerably big. Which means we should probably find it before it does some damage."

Owen pauses, a bit surprised. Newt has said exactly what he's been thinking, and it's not really what Owen expected from the man. There'd been a lot of rambling about replication or something the first time he'd met him, and a bar fight the second, and his expectations are pretty low. At least, they were.

"So it's new?" Owen asks, repeating his previous question, even though Newt's guesses lead him to believe that it's the first time he's seeing all this as well. His gun is tucked into the waistband of his trousers, at the small of his back, and he reaches for it, turning off the safety. Whatever it is, is likely large, and it's safer to treat it as hostile until they know better.

"I mean, the last time I saw this much mucus coming off something so big was when they were plucking skinmites off a kaiju. They harvest 'em, see, sell them on the black market. Most things kaiju-related go for a pretty high price." Newt eyes the gun but doesn't say anything about it. It's been his experience that when it comes to mystery creatures, guns don't usually seem to do very much damage but to be honest, he feels better about the fact that Big O has anything to use as a defensive weapon at all. Newt's just got... well, a whole lot of nothing.

"Point is, yeah, unless there's a twenty five hundred ton kaiju running around the city and we just have noticed, I'm going to say yeah, it's new. I'd definitely say we're dealing with something in the gastropod family, though. Could mean widespread parasitic infection, it could be some crazy whole new evolved thing we can't even think of right now." He pauses, smirks a little. "Maybe if we throw some salt on it, it'll go away."

Newt starts in on some nonsensical ramble again, and Owen starts to tune out, following the trail that whatever it is has left behind. It's definitely some sort of creature, likely not humanoid— he can't see any sign of tracks, other than this trail, that's for sure— and the longer they stand around talking, the further away it gets. Truthfully, Owen wishes he had something on him to take a sample of the mucus trail. Even after he's located whatever's made it, it'd be helpful to be able to refer back to whatever information he could get from that particular sample.

Either way, he tunes back into whatever Newt's saying just in time to hear him actually say something useful. Gastropod, perhaps, large, possibly parasitic. The parasitic part is what worries him.

"Right," Owen says, as he starts to walk, following the mucus, "Don't suppose you've got about a few dozen grams of salt on you?"

Newt trails after him, glancing around the alley with a slight sense of paranoia now because who the hell knows what could be lurking in the shadows? "I swear, if this mucus stuff leads to like, a vent to my apartment building, I'm going to be pissed." He'd also have to make a quick run up to the top floor to make sure Kate gets the hell out of there before getting attacked by some giant slug, that wouldn't make him sound crazy at all.

"And no, I left my salt supply back in Hong Kong, I should have known better. Let's hope that gun of yours actually manages to do any kind of damage to thing. Assuming we need to defend ourselves, I mean. And assuming there's just the one thing." A thought strikes him then, and he's glad Owen can't see his face because he's got a pretty horrified expression plastered on him right now. He lets out a nervous laugh. "Y'know, the only thing worse than the whole maybe parasitic thing would be if it laid some eggs." Christ, Newt really hopes this thing isn't laying eggs.

Something clatters to the ground behind him and Newt nearly jumps out of his skin. He's usually not this jumpy but it's a combination of anxiety over a creature he isn't familiar with and excitement for the very same thing. He scans the empty alley behind him, hands held out in front of him like he's trying to keep himself balanced, until his eyes adjust enough to the darker shadows to see a soda can on the ground near a dumpster. "Okay, uh. We should maybe speed this thing up."

He spins when something clatters and when Newt jumps, but groans in frustration when there's nothing there. He very nearly tells the other man to piss off because of it, but the truth is, he could use a bit of back up on this and he doesn't think Tosh'll be able to make it to this side of town quickly enough.

"Because rushing into it when we don't have any idea what we're dealing with is the best course of action," Owen replies, and he rolls his eyes as they walk, trying to both follow the trail and look out to make sure that nothing's going to burst out and ambush them. Though, he doesn't get the feeling that whatever this is moves terribly fast. And strictly speaking, heading after whatever this is without being more cautious is rushing in, but he's not about to admit that.

Big O looks irriated, which... nothing new, but Newt makes sure to match his stride so if their slug friend decides to make a snack out of one of them, he'll at least have a fighting chance of being the one to run ahead first.

"Hey, man, I did not have chasing down a giant terrestrial mollusk on my list of things to do this evening, okay?" He shoves his hands in his pockets, and he knows he looks awfully petulant, but Big O just brings out the big baby in him, it's not even Newt's fault. "And I hope you're not planning on getting trigger happy with it, what if it like, secretes toxins when it bleeds out or something? What if the mucus is toxic? We could already be infected, dude."

"If you can be infected just by being near it, then we're all screwed," Owen replies, seemingly unconcerned by Newt's guess. Somehow, he really doubts that's the case. Or at least, he hopes that's not the case. It'd be worse that Cardiff A&E being infected by the Plague. He really doubts there are procedures in place in Darrow for when an alien whatever the hell they're following turns up bringing an unknown pathogen.

"And calm down, I'm not going to shoot it. Whatever it is," he adds, even though there's a chance he will. If it attacks or does anything hostile, he might not have a choice in the matter. Because Owen's already died once and he's not keen on going through it again if he can help it.

Though when he turns a corner to follow the trail, he almost shoots right then and there when he sees what's there. Whatever the creature is, it's distracted trying to rummage through garbage, but it's still enough that Owen's momentarily startled.

He doesn't think he's seen one of those before. Whatever the hell it is.

"Well, yeah, mass hysteria and what not. But if that were actually the case, something as alien as this, if it's using that mucus as a defense mechanism? My guess is that it would have had a worse effect than it did, which was none at all. At best, stepping in it would just slow you down." Newt's starting to lose himself in theories now, like what the hell a giant slug would be randomly doing in a place like this. It's not like Darrow isn't already full of oddities and supernatural creatures but if this thing had arrived on its own, what could possibly be its purpose? And if it hadn't, why would someone want it here?

"Maybe it's scouting," he says aloud, rubbing at the days old stubble on his chin. "It could be on a mission, checking out the ropes to see if it's a good place to colonize. I mean, I don't know if Darrow is really the best place to start since there's so many people here that could probably kick its--"

He stops mid-sentence because he nearly bumps into Owen, and he's about to demand an explanation but then he sees it. His jaw drops at how huge the thing is, human-sized and ugly as hell and goddamn, he just wants to go poke at it until he figures out how it works. "Dude. I think you're gonna need a bigger gun."

"I'm not so sure shooting it'll help much," is Owen's quiet response, though he doesn't put his gun away just yet. Maybe there's a chance it won't do much damage if it comes down to it, but it could be a distraction if they happen to need it. It's a security blanket, and he knows it.

"Maybe it's not hostile," he guesses, knowing that it's likely an empty hope. They're always fucking hostile, aren't they?

He pauses, not sure whether to surge forward or regroup, because now that they've found it what it is they were looking for, Owen's not sure what the best course of action is. Trap it? Question it? Owen's not about to admit it, but right now he really wishes Jack was still around.

"Probably not," Newt agrees, and normally he'd be ready with some comment about how this is probably the first thing they've agreed on since they'd met, but he's a little distracted by the giant freakin' slug thing in front of them. He takes a step past Owen, still cautious but leaning forward a bit just to get a slightly better look at the thing.

"It's got antennas, but..." He squints and yeah, he's definitely seeing what he thinks he's seeing. "It's not using it. You know how antennas are basically the snail's feelers? It's got goddamn arms, dude." He looks back at Owen, who's still got his gun raised. "Like an evolved gastropod. Except no legs, look at the way it's straight up, this is amazing. Probably just a little hostile, though."

The snail--Newt doesn't even know what else to call it--grunts, it grunts, and Newt's officially skeeved out. But also really, really wanting to get this thing in a lab. "What do you think we should do?"

"Antennae have to be vestigial," Owen thinks aloud, "Unless they're a means of communication. Depends on if it's got vocal chords."

Owen really wishes there was some way of capturing it. But with just the two of them and no way to know just how dangerous it is, that's going to be out of the question. Plus, he's only got his gun on him, which he knows isn't enough to work with.

Unless Newt could talk it to death. Owen would laugh if they weren't currently stuck looking at whatever the hell this is, without a solid plan on what to do. Usually he's alright with improvisation, but he'll admit, he's gone a bit rusty since the island and since arriving in Darrow.

"Only thing to do is press on, I suppose," Owen decides, and even as he says it, he doesn't think it's the best idea in the world, "You'd better hang back though, just in case."

"What if it talks," Newt practically whispers because holy shit, holy shit, that would be so freakin' awesome. It would pretty much cement his comfort level with being stuck in Darrow because if he's going to be having encounters like this with giant talking slugs, he's not going anywhere. If the kaiju had been able to speak actual words, Newt's pretty sure he would have fallen to his knees and cried. He's momentarily distracted by the thoughts of conversations he'd have with this thing because come on, is he not supposed to think about this? He wonders if Sluggy's rifling through garbage because he's hungry and oh god, what if he's totally civilized and just wants to go have a chat over tea?

He narrows his eyes when Big O says he should hang back, though, because does he not remember that Newt is a bona fide world-saving rock star? He scoffs, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckles. "Please, I'm so not going to--" It's then that Sluggy makes a loud grunting sound and starts to turn toward them and if Newt lets out a little shriek and ducks for cover behind Owen, it will never be spoken of again.

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