I SEATTLE, Washington—George
George stood in the dimly lit bunker, cigarette in hand, staring at the sleek, black, forty-foot sphere resting on its three metallic legs. It was an alien spaceship, yet it exuded an eerie sense of calm. Even buried in this underground facility—a vast chamber the guards had dubbed “the Cave”—the air carried the scent of fresh rain. That, more than anything, unsettled him.
“What the hell are you doing? You know you can’t smoke in here!”
George exhaled slowly before turning to face the project’s director, Wade—a thirty-year-old with unruly red hair, desperately trying to mask his insecurity behind a dense beard.
“Look, Wade,” George said, flicking ash to the floor. “I’m tired. I’m cranky. Let’s pretend you didn’t see me smoking, yeah?”
Wade shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. George smirked. NASA actually put this guy in charge?
“Rules are rules,” Wade said, tugging at his beard.
George took another drag, unfazed. “Let’s talk about something more interesting—like why I’m not running this project. I left a damn good position at the NSF for this. I had influence. I controlled academic funding across Seattle. Naturally, I expected to be in charge. Reasonable, don’t you think?”
“You are in charge,” Wade countered. “Of everything concerning the alien pilot. That’s why you’re here.”
George narrowed his eyes. “And yet, I haven’t even seen the pilot.”
Wade sighed. “We’re working on opening the inner compartment. Just be patient.”
George scoffed. “Patience isn’t my thing, Wade. And let’s be honest—you’re not cut out for this. Your position? It’s just a matter of time before it’s mine.”
Wade opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it. Instead, he turned and walked off. George chuckled, watching him retreat.
Maybe I overdid it this time.
He took another drag, staring at the alien craft. The outer hatch had been opened days ago, yet the inner chamber remained sealed. Ridiculous.
His thoughts drifted to Rachel—his best friend’s wife. He tried convincing himself it was over, that she had chosen Allan. Yet, three days ago, he had run into her at a diner in Portland—completely by chance. Or was it? What are the odds? Maybe fate was trying to tell him something.
A shout snapped him back to reality.
“Holy shit! It’s open! Mr. Silva, it’s open!”
George crushed his cigarette beneath his shoe and sprinted toward the craft. Climbing the short ladder, he found Marvin, one of the engineers, staring into the now-open compartment.
“How did you do it?” George demanded.
Marvin shook his head, bewildered. “I didn’t! It just… opened.”
“Things don’t just open, Marvin.”
“I swear! One second it was sealed, the next—this.”
George exhaled sharply. “Fine. Get Wade. Now. And bring me protective gear.”
Within minutes, Wade and three other scientists arrived. George suited up and turned to the team. “I go in first. No one touches anything without my say. Got it?”
They nodded.
He took a breath and stepped inside.
Bright white light flooded the space. His ears popped as the pressure adjusted. It took a moment for his eyes to adapt, but when they did, he saw it—a body lying motionless on the floor.
Fifteen feet ahead, clad in a white uniform, was the alien pilot.
“It’s… human,” Wade whispered behind him. “I mean, it looks human.”
George crouched beside the figure, noting the military haircut, the shoulder patches. “Whoever this is… they were on a mission.”
The others watched in stunned silence. George exhaled, refocusing. “We take the body to an observation room. Remove the uniform, put it in a hospital gown. I need help with—”
A sharp inhale.
A gasp.
The figure twitched.
George froze. The others did too.
Then the pilot’s eyes snapped open.
Panic surged through George as the figure dragged itself toward him, gasping in agony. Blood leaked from its ears. It reached for him, desperate, eyes filled with something raw and unrelenting.
“They shot the ship down for a reason,” the pilot rasped. “The third visit is essential! You must keep them safe. Promise me!"
George recoiled, heart hammering. The pilot gripped his arm, eyes wild with recognition.
“It’s you!” The pilot’s voice cracked with disbelief. ”How can this be? It’s you!"
George tried to pull away, but the pilot’s grip was ironclad.
"You will be the cause. Because of you, man will fall. IT IS YOU!"
The grip loosened. The pilot’s body went slack.
Dead.
George sat there, shaking. Wade’s voice cut through the silence.
“What… what the hell was that?”
George swallowed hard. “Nothing. Delirium. The guy was dying. Doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
Wade didn’t look convinced. “But—”
"We proceed as planned,” George snapped. “The body goes to observation. And we don’t discuss this again.”
The others hesitated, but ultimately obeyed.
George helped lift the body and turn it over. Then he saw it.
A birthmark.
A very specific, very familiar birthmark.
He stumbled back, pulse pounding. His mind reeled.
“Are you okay?” Wade asked.
George forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to smile. “I’m fine. But I need to bring someone onto the project. A trusted friend.”
“Why?”
George’s mind raced. He felt guilty. He felt trapped. But most of all—
He felt certain.
“Because,” he said carefully, “the success of this project depends on it.”
