In an ancient time, on a small ball of mud, a treaty was made. Only a handful of beings in the galaxy even remember that there was an agreement; none still alive are privy to the details. Somehow, a small group of brave inhabitants forced the Greater Powers into a bargain, that for one full galactic cycle, this tiny planet the warriors called home would be exempt from The System. Then there would be an evaluation; if failed, the planet would submit to galactic control, galactic standard rules. The accord was struck. The galaxy turned like a giant clock, slowly ticking away a time-frame most humans couldn't imagine, much less understand.

At the given time, unbeknownst to the inhabitants of that planet, machinery hummed to life, and a scan of the planet was performed. A lifeless mechanical voice read out the results to the only observer in attendance, the last with the authority to approve or deny the machine's recommendations.

"Analysis: Greed and selfishness pervade most cultures. Honor codes have been forsaken for a moral system that is thoroughly corrupted where it isnt deliberately broken. Senseless violence is pervasive, at both the individual and organizational levels, with several different means of producing extinction level conflicts. Resources have been grossly mismanaged, and the environment has suffered accordingly.

Conclusion: experiment has failed. Conditions have not been met. Initiate System control."

The observer, with little idea of what was happening and none of how to stop it, simply said "proceed", clueless as to the events set in motion.

Hank woke to a big blue box about three feet from his face. Not awake until after his first cup of coffee and cigarette, his brain didnt register anything about it as his hand swiped it away, causing it to disappear. He slid out of bed and into the pants on the dresser before leaving his bedroom for the kitchen to get that first cup of coffee. As he stepped out, he notice the clock wasnt working. Power loss was unusual, but it did happen. He looked at his watch. It wasnt working either. It shouldnt have been out of power yet, but.....

He shrugged and continued to the kitchen before realizing that without power, there would be no coffee. It was shaping up to be a bad day. He tried to turn on the faucet for a cup of water, but nothing came out. His mind kicked into gear almost immediately at that point. The only way for the water to be out was if the city infrastructure had lost power. That.....well that shouldnt be possible. As he was trying to figure out what kind of disaster could cause the whole city to lose power, he looked out the window. Something wasnt right.

It took a minute for his sleep-addled brain to process what was wrong. He was seeing the Northern lights. He lived at the 38th parallel; nationally, it was known as the 80/90 corridor, for the highway that crossed most the nation. He could remember maybe twice in his life that freak solar flares would extend the Aurora this far south, not that he had been able to see it either time. And it was daylight. That wasnt supposed to be possible. Solar flares werent supposed to be able to do that, to his knowledge. As close as he was to Chicago, it couldnt be a nuke, or he'd already be dead. He was running out of possible excuses when he remembered the blue screen. Just thinking of it caused it to pop back into sight, a large blue box that blocked most of his field of view.

"Greeting, Sentients, and rejoice, for the System has returned to welcome you back into to the Universal Collective. In accordance with the Akashic Accords, your planet failed to achieve the required level of advancement to extend its exemption from the rest of the Collective. Remedial corrective action is in effect until such time as your planet either raises to universal standard expectations, or proves unable to do so. At which point bidding will open for a governing body to manage colonization."

System initiation: 1% Ectopic Xenophagic Potential field strength; currently too low to engage EXP protocol. Tutorial grade engagement species initiated. Health Potential and Stamina Potential sub-routines partially engaged; Status protocol engaged; EXP Field too low to engage mana, attribute, or Skill sub routines.

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Like a tire on ice, Hank's brain was spinning, but only catching traction every so often. He did manage to put together that apparently aliens were contacting the planet, and might conquer the planet if unknown conditions werent met. He had read plenty of books with that premise, and began to wonder which apocalyptic scenario Earth was in for. As he was trying to puzzle it out, he watched an oddity in the yard outside his window. Just like an old episode of Star Trek, the blue sparkling lines formed, phasing into three creatures.

The beings were green; two more 'olive drab' with the third being the color of mountain dew. They stood not quite three feet tall, though it seemed slightly shorter due to their hunched backs were hunched, leaving their shoulders as high as their heads, with no visible neck. Their arms were abnormally long, with their clawed hands being nearly the same level as their knees. The heads were near perfect spheres, with a mouth that seemed to take up half their head, small pure black eyes, a pug nose that perpetually dripped some slime, and a greasy tangle of black hair, coarse and wiry. And they were picking up fists of dirt to throw at him. Great...ugly monsters seeking violence. Between that and no coffee, this was really shaping up to be a miserable morning.

The first thing he did was to go back into his room and grab his revolver and one of his favorite combat knives. The revolver was a basic .357 with a 6 inch barrel; ideal for a mix of ranged accuracy while still useful for close quarters work. It looked like a stock weapon, blackened metal with wood grips, but he'd had it modified with better rifling in the barrel, meaning he could get good groupings out to 150 meters, though he rarely shot at more than 50. It was already loaded with the 6 rounds, though these were targeting rounds; lighter weight and cheaper. Dangerous at close range or against smaller targets; perfect for what he was about to do. He'd bought the knife back at the start of the desert war, when the US had changed regs on 'proper' combat blades. The classic K-bar that had been marine issue since WWII was banned for being too big; the new rules were blade 4 and a half inches or less. So the base stores put out a smaller version of the K-Bar, which he had bought. Twenty years later, it was still a good battle knife, especially with all the time he'd spent training with it. Between the two, he had no worries about fighting the creatures in the yard.

He walked out the back door and rounded the corner of the house, the pistol already out to shoot. *click* Even as his brain was still registering the misfire, he was already pulling the trigger again and again. The creatures started to move towards him. At the fourth misfire, he dropped the pistol and switched the knife to his right hand, dropping into his preferred combat stance; a deep left-leg-forward stance with the knife low by his hip and his left out at shoulder level, hand curved in a lazy "c". The first had started a loping movement, using an arm and both legs to run like an ape, and was the fastest of the three. The other two were moving more cautiously. As soon as the creature was in range, Hank used his favorite opening attack, swinging his right leg in a snap kick. Training had prepared him for it to hit the stomach of most opponents; he hadnt adjusted for the shorter stature of these things, and snapped it right under the chin. There was an audible crack as its head rolled back and it dropped to the ground. One hit killed it? What was going on here; there was no way Hank was strong enough to pull that off. What kind of creatures were these?

Before he could get overconfident, the other two came in at the same time, each going for a leg. Hank chopped at the one on the left with his open hand as a stop-hit, but missed, while the pommel of his knife hammered into the head of the one coming on the right, and it too fell, twitching and bleeding. But that gave the one on the left time to sink fangs into his thigh. He instinctively stabbed at it, missing the head but getting the neck in a spray of thick greenish fluid. Green blood? Definitely not locals. In the back of his mind, a tangent rambled on about how these 'vulcans' didnt seem very 'spock'-like.

After checking to confirm the three were dead (a well placed kick to see if they flinched) he looked at the bodies. Basically naked except for a loincloth, (that he refused to search) and no weapons. Nothing worth looking at. He then picked up his revolver and checked the ammo. All four had been hit by the firing pin. It was new ammo, so they werent likely to be duds; like, his odds of winning the mega lottery were better than having all 4 misfire. Great, it was one of those stories; the ones where the laws of physics had somehow been altered, and guns wouldnt work anymore. A lot of people were going to be very screwed by that.