“The chances of this NOT being a trap are as good as your chances of making the football team.”

“I’d rather bathe a tiger than join our college’s football team. Not that I see a difference between the two.”

“You WOULD say that, you weenie. But I bet the option you’re taking is just as bad.”

His best frenemy’s words rang dimly in Sam’s mind, bouncing off the new blank spaces in his brain as he stared at the spectacle in the centre of the living room.

At the time, Sam’s insistence that he knew what he was getting into had seemed perfectly sane.

Now, it was just another echo in the cacophony swirling through his head: a chorus of inane questions, obvious statements, and random vowel noises.

In a distant corner of his mind, Sam was aware that the door was sliding closed. It would be easy to escape, but somehow the sound of it clicking shut felt like a signal that he’d just been locked in an asylum and was expected to run the place.

“Hi.”

The word left his mouth before he could quell the social reflex, and panic slugged him in the chest, as if his heart had decided it was tired of living in a body with an idiot and was trying to punch an escape route through his ribs.

As the smoothness of the carefully-carved path gave way to the harsh edges of a small mountain, and a gust of wind turned the tunnel ahead into a shrieking maw, a surge of adrenaline and dread turned Frisk’s pulse into a pounding tide.

The dull red glare of the firelit ceiling loomed high above, turning the buildings and machines into ominous silhouettes, and closer – far, far too close – a smaller but vastly more perilous figure stood motionless on the mountaintop.

A spark of anger flared through the fog of fear, and this time the curl of their toes whispered of a desire to use the shoes they gripped for a purpose other than running away.

The edge of pain in the monster’s voice cut through the haze of rage like a spear, and the memories that followed it warped what remained of their indignation into gut-twisting guilt.

It was clear that Undyne was going to wait until Frisk made the first move. Still, the human hesitated, caught between a retreat that offered no escape and a battle they didn’t know how to wage.

As one dark, wet corridor faded into a dim procession of others like it, and one heart-pounding battle was followed by half a dozen more, the electric stab of fear slowly faded to a tense, resigned dread.

At least the monster child could be in Frisk’s presence and speak with them for more than a few sentences without attacking. A meager comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

There was almost always a friendly voice available on the other end of the phone. A faint light in the darkness, a small handhold on a cliff. As long as they had that much to hold onto, they could stay determined.

Part of them tugged away from the echo flower, afraid to hear another prayer for the freedom that only their death could grant, but curiosity pulled them relentlessly forward, until they were close enough to draw a whisper from the bloom.

An icy rock plunged into their gut, and Frisk spun with a gasp as the harsh, rhythmic clank rang behind them. Adrenaline screamed through them, and the knowledge that they’d come back to life was powerless against the fear that fogged their mind.

The woman bound to the chair attempted to tip herself over, her language turning obscene, and Alexandra thought she caught the faintest flicker of emotion in the kidnapper’s alien eyes. Anger, guilt, and perhaps something else...

“Zorei, let her go,” Kadian growled, gesturing to the bound woman.

“You’re here,” Zorei murmured, his eyelids dropping in a way that seemed to speak more of weariness than anger. “It took you a very long time. I was beginning to run out of words.”

“All that effort to track me down so you could play the hero. But real heroism...” Zorei got down on one knee beside the fallen man... “requires more than simply breaking down the door.”

“And taking me down will take more than just stabbing my head.”

“A shapeshifter. Of course.” Zorei’s voice was laced with bitterness as he pressed a hand to his bleeding cheek. “I should have realized that your brain wouldn’t be in the obvious location.”

It was something straight out of a low-budget superhero film. On a TV that even the most desperate local charities probably didn’t want, an unnatural face glared out at the world, daring the target of his words to trace them to their source.

The woman thrashed against her bonds. “I don’t know what kind of joke this is, but I want out! Look, I don’t care if you’re a robot, a hologram or a person in a costume; I have things to do today, and they do NOT involve this kind of bull-”

The creature was ignoring her, calmly explaining the grim details of his captive’s potential fate. The description was as disturbing as it was explicit, but somehow, Alexandra doubted he was actually going to carry out his threats.

​She had to admit, the disguise was convincing, if that was what it was. The smooth blue skin moved as naturally as her own, and the creature’s almost luminously golden eyes were far too large to be human.

Mastering himself at a speed that seemed almost robotic, the dark-blue alien mustered a small, reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. We’ll survive, find a home, and find a way to make sure something like this never happens again.”

 ‘Once upon a recent time, I only reported on stuff like this.’

One kick, two. Pain fired through her foot, and Alexandra changed tactics, ramming her shoulder against the door with firm, cautious force.
​
‘And now, here I am, right in the middle of it.’

‘Be careful what you wish for...’

WHAM!

‘You just might get it.’

CRACK!

With this final effort, the damaged doorjamb gave way and she tumbled into the stairwell, rubbing her shoulder ruefully and forbidding herself to stop and rest.

‘Happy birthday.’

“This is Alexandra Renai, reporting live from the scene of either the fanciest prank I’ve ever seen, or something truly fascinating: a conflict between aliens.”
​
‘And facing the stupidest challenge of my whole career: keeping my back turned on this.’

“The planet is taken. Do not come home.”

Eight grim words that said so much. And, beyond that, nothing. No elaboration, no instructions, not even a set of star charts.

They must not have had time.

​He was supposed to be firm and decisive, to make a plan and ensure that it was carried out. But the immensity of the disaster that had swallowed their lives was smothering his mind, reducing all thought of action to a vague and impossible dream.

​Respectfully ignoring his shipmate’s distress, Zorei turned to the front of the ship, visibly calling on a store of resolve that Kadian couldn’t hope to equal. “Home,” he said, as firmly as he could, reaching for the controls. “We’re finding a new home.”

​“We’re finding a new home.”

A ludicrous idea, too strange and impossible to be stated so simply. Somehow, in the vastness amidst alien stars, they were going to have to... “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

A small, wry smile pulled at her lips, disturbing the dusty coating that had settled on them. “This ship probably sent messages through space, but I can’t even use it to contact a person in this building, or a city that’s sitting just outside that wall.”

​“The one story I couldn’t convincingly report. Sorry, buddy.” Her eyes strained upward into the dark. “But if I can’t get people to believe your story, at least I can make sure I don’t have to tell them its ending. Not for a good long while.”

​The spaceship was starting to fade into the dusk, and the reporter cast it a regretful glance as she neared the exit. “Sorry, ship. Looks like we’re both muzzled today. I’ll come back when I know how to talk to you.”

​“Do not come home.” The message lingered on the small comm screen, crushing in its cold, unbending simplicity. “The planet is taken. Do not come home.”