Wednesday, November 30, 2016
BELARISK “Greys, Escaped” (Moss Archive)
The Greys, you whisper, and you immediately know the end is upon you. The maximum-security facility where they’re housed, out of site from the American public, teeming with scientists and military personnel, has been breached. The Greys have escaped. You stumble upon the site, the last remnant of the research team, and it is a crater in the earth. Nothing is left. Oh no, we’re doomed, you have time to think before you see a silver disc rise from the ashes and disappear at blinding speed into space. Seconds later a beam of intense light fires down, incinerating the rest of the planet. Humanity’s end is inauspicious at best.
Fast-forward to the alien homeworld. The escapees have safely arrived, ready to debrief their superiors. “623y5, 35c493d?” asks The Enchanter. An escapee begins to explain: “N) v)ic3, n) d474…” Angrily, The Enchanter interrupts: “T'4c7ic41 W38!” Of course it’s ridiculous that they were captured in the first place! So much for the terraforming idea. No point in assimilating into a population hell-bent on dissecting you. Best to blow it up instead, start from scratch. Not ideal, but better than that operating table.
Reassess, rewire, reconfigure. Supercomputer Belarisk repositions coordinates, recalculates probabilities. The Greys, not Greys anymore, intercept Belarisk’s transmissions through their frontal lobes, the electronic pulses, sometimes quick and urgent, sometimes paced for reflective cognition, providing a unified message. The Greys, not Greys anymore, understand as one the transmissions and fall into pattern, preparing the next move.
Belarisk turns its transmitters outward, broadcasting its warning to the universe. Let the perils of Earth be a lesson to them. “831i41 Ch2)m3'd,” break, media end.