Normal day in the office, no pressure. Spreadsheets, schematics and plenty of lien and bar graphs to make your head spin. You're the assistantto the boss of the company, Valkel, the heartthrobof the office and economic buddy to many of the powerful players in the world of buisness. Seemingly he's had interest in you, however there's one ittybitty problem; the disease affecting the nation. No, the world. As you grabbed yourself a cup of coffee to start your morning you see it playing on the break room television, the news.

A formal looking woman speaking on the screen, hair pulled back into a clean ponytail as images of cities, towns, counties, all abandoned. Speaker of the house, Erik Jefferson has released a statement this morning about cracking down on underground breeding houses. He says, and I quote, "The alien species has offered our economies globally something of a gift as we have seen the highest boost in spending ever in human history. However their polite veneer has utterly destroyed any social standing among the human population. Marriage rates among humans is down 82% globally, and human fertility rates are down to 1 child every 300 couples. Young people have opted to give up their lives in trade for being these aliens special sex slaves, the darkest period we've ever seen. The president is signing executive orders to soon put harder sanctions on the alien population in hopes to save humanity."

Melodramatic, albeit scarily true, you've seen it. You had a friend, a good friend who lost themselves to the disease. It was horrifying how the last time you talked to them their eyes were glazed, utterly vacant and a drowsy smile on their face. They wouldn't listen to reason. "What about your friends, family, who's going to handle the bills?" You asked, pleaded. Their only response as if inna deep trance they only replied, "but it feels so good..." You shuddered at the thought before stirring your cup before your boss walked into the break room.