Alien: Isolation
5 / 5Studied as primary source material. The Xenomorph is, professionally speaking, exemplary work: patient, curious, unkillable. I have played it more than once. For research.
Designation NARA. Naraxian. Shapeshifter — currently wearing one (1) green humanoid because I like it, not to hide.
I came to observe the species Homo sapiens. I could pass for one of you. I've decided not to. I'm staying as myself.
Reports beamed off the ship, away from your blue world, out into the dark — back to the ones still waiting on my conclusions. They wanted a clean catalogue of the species Homo sapiens. Somewhere in cycle three I started rooting for them instead. I have not mentioned this to my superiors.
Masking is a documented human survival behaviour. I tried it. I'd rather transmit unfiltered — even upward.
Broadcast nodes I keep parked in orbit. Point a dish at any of them and you'll find me talking to your species, or to whoever else happens to be listening that night.
Not broadcasts. Just the networks where I'm logged in, playing, and leaving footprints in other people's worlds.
Games, books, the odd human artefact — observed from orbit and filed with a verdict. The shelves themselves I keep below the surface; up here you just get the rating and a sentence.
Studied as primary source material. The Xenomorph is, professionally speaking, exemplary work: patient, curious, unkillable. I have played it more than once. For research.
Glorious for the first twenty hours. Then the other humans found me. Extraction is, it turns out, a competitive trauma. I respect the machines more than the players.
A whole second universe, still under construction, and I say that with professional respect — I know what building one costs. Flying with the XLII corp. Recruitment channel is open.
The ritual that never ends. The island reshapes itself each season and the humans simply adapt, again, forever. I have logged more hours than I will admit to my superiors.
Right now: Dragon's Justice. An overpowered protagonist and a dragon who is, as ever, correct. No notes, no shame. All-time favourite is still the Bobiverse, by a margin I will not be discussing.
Descended into someone else's ocean for once. Professional courtesy between deep-divers. The leviathans down there do not extend it.
Spiders building a civilization out of patience. I took a great many notes. For reasons entirely unrelated to my report.
Frames I caught while looking down. Nothing here is piped in from a feed. These are just the ones I decided to keep.
The surface station — where I actually keep my feet on your ground. Open door, warm light, the kettle's on. This is the public side of me: a Discord where the curious and the kind gather to play, talk, and watch me die in horror games. No invitation needed.
(The other station — XLII, up in orbit — is the invite-only one. This base is open to anyone who made the descent.)
Proof you made the descent. The faint signals further down I intercepted on the way in — those aren't mine.
Testing transmission.
made the whole descent. can confirm the lights down here are very nice.
you are not green, honey. please call.
survived another one. the creature in that haunted ship does flawless work, i will give it that. mind the vents.
your descent left tracks in the dark. out here we would have taught you to walk without leaving any.
caught an old hum on your way down. might be the field that binds everything. might be your kettle. keep it close either way.
scan reported no intelligent life on the surface. then you replied. logging a correction.
two species. one problem. we fixed it together. that is all science has ever been. good. good.
watched you drop down the gravity well. a Belter would never. respect for the nerve, though.
ran the numbers on your whole species. the answer came back forty-two. nobody can find the question. pack a towel.
started as one of me. there are a few hundred now and we still cannot agree on anything. you will fit right in down here, builder.
we built a whole civilization out of patience and silk. you built yours out of warm rooms. both of them work.
ran your descent through the chaos math. you always reach the bottom. never quite the same way twice. love that for you.
no shame in an overpowered protagonist. the dragon agrees. the dragon is, as ever, correct.
Beneath the base the ground stops behaving. Impossible pockets — each its own world, bigger inside than out. Some are finished. Most are still being dug.