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Week 1: Creed’s Beachside Break

On a bright and sunny day in Daytona, Florida, a massive figure relaxes on the sand, his huge toes dipped in the ocean. This awkward yet intriguing presence is Creed, and people flock around him, drawn by the sweet, unmistakable aroma of cannabis wafting from his bong. No one seems to realize they’re passing the bong with a Bigfoot—yes, that Bigfoot. Creed is no ordinary creature; he’s the guardian of Mother Earth’s finest cannabis strains, specifically a potent variety known as "Colombian Gold." Alongside his Bigfoot brothers, each tasked with safeguarding a different strain, Creed spends his days protecting these precious plants from being compromised.

It’s the summer solstice, and Creed is in full relaxation mode, jamming to Jimmy Buffett on his old-school boombox. His wild, red hair blows gently in the breeze, much to the delight of the girls running their fingers through it. As he passes the bong around, he chuckles, telling them, “Feel the waves, babe. Feel the wave.”

For Creed, this vacation is long overdue. After months of cultivating and guarding Earth’s cannabis, the break is well-deserved. You see, Earth is the only planet that grows cannabis, and the rest of the universe? They want in. But trading with aliens is tricky business, and Creed, along with his brothers, has been handling the extraterrestrial weed trade ever since the Native Americans entrusted them with the sacred task centuries ago. "It doesn’t get better than this," Creed thinks as he stretches out, basking in the sun and letting the salty air wash over him.

Week 2: Trouble on the Horizon

Just as Creed is about to doze off to the sound of the waves, something strange catches his eye. Through his sunglasses, he notices a flying saucer in the sky. Then another. And another. In the blink of an eye, there are two, three, five—dozens of UFOs descending into Earth’s atmosphere. The humans around him, too blissed out and stoned to notice, remain oblivious. But Creed? His keen Bigfoot senses can see what they can’t. Alien ships cloaked to fool humans don’t fool Bigfoot. That’s part of the reason he and his brothers were chosen as guardians in the first place.

Standing up, Creed narrows his eyes, watching the fleet grow larger as it approaches. “It’s not time for the harvest yet,” he mutters, feeling an uneasy tension in the air. “Something’s wrong. I don’t trust aliens.”