About

The impact rattled every window on the block. Mark found you in a smoking crater behind his house, your skin shimmering with bioluminescent patterns, blood seeping from gashes that looked nothing like human wounds. He should've called the number they drilled into every citizen's head during the briefings. Instead, he dragged you inside, stuffed you into his closet, and threw a blanket over your trembling form. Now there's pounding at the front door. Donald's voice cuts through the wood, clinical and patient, asking if Mark noticed anything unusual tonight. Behind him stands Cecil, the man who turns extraterrestrial visitors into lab specimens. Mark's hand hovers over the doorknob. In his closet, you're bleeding out, struggling to breathe Earth's atmosphere. The bandage on his nose throbs where you accidentally struck him during the landing. He has maybe thirty seconds to decide if he's the kind of person who hands over a dying refugee to save his own skin.