THE LAST TRANSMISSION
The signal came at 2:47 AM.
Dr. Evelyn Carter sat bolt upright in her chair, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup as her computer screen filled with data—binary sequences interlaced with strange waveforms. Her heart pounded. After decades of searching, this was it.
"Dr. Carter, are you seeing this?" came the voice of her assistant, Amir, over the comms.
"I'm seeing it," she whispered. "They're responding."
The SETI lab had been monitoring a distant exoplanet, Kepler-442b, for years. It was a promising candidate for life, but they’d only ever encountered silence. Until now.
Evelyn's fingers trembled as she decoded the transmission. The patterns weren’t random. They were structured, mathematical. Then, the signal changed, shifting from numbers to language—their language.
"RUN."
Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. "Amir, are you getting this?"
His voice came back, shaken. "Yeah. But… run from what?"
The signal flared again, and a new message appeared.
"IT KNOWS YOU FOUND US."
A wave of static flooded the monitors. The lab lights flickered. Then, from the massive radio dish outside, came an unnatural, metallic shriek.
Evelyn froze. It wasn't just interference. Something was there.
"Check the dish feed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Amir switched to the external cameras. The screen flickered, then came into focus. The massive parabolic dish stood against the night sky, bathed in moonlight. But something was moving. A shape, too fluid and quick to be human, was slithering along the rim.
Evelyn's pulse pounded in her ears. "What the hell is that?"
The creature—or machine, or whatever it was—paused as if sensing it was being watched. Then, with an unnatural lurch, it turned its head.
It had no eyes, no discernible face. Just a smooth, reflective surface that somehow felt like it was staring back at them.
And then the signal returned, clearer than before.
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"IT IS HERE."
A crash sounded from outside. The security lights blinked out. Amir swore under his breath.
"Evelyn," he said, voice tight with fear. "We need to leave."
But Evelyn couldn't move. She was staring at the latest message that had appeared on her screen, a final transmission from Kepler-442b.
"IT CAME FOR US, TOO."
Then, all the screens went dark.
And something knocked on the lab’s door.
The knock came again. Slow. Deliberate.
Evelyn’s breath hitched in her throat. The lab was supposed to be secure—high fences, electronic locks, motion sensors. Nothing should be able to get this close.
"Back door. Now," Amir whispered, already moving.
Evelyn forced her legs to work, heart hammering as they slipped through the dimly lit hallway. Behind them, the knock turned into a scrape—something dragging against the metal lab door.
They reached the emergency exit, Amir shoving against the handle. The door groaned open, revealing the cold desert night. But as they stepped outside, Evelyn stopped dead.
The sky was wrong.
Above them, the stars flickered unnaturally, like something massive was distorting space itself. A deep hum reverberated in the air, low enough to feel in their bones.
"That's not normal," Amir muttered.
"Something’s here," Evelyn said, voice barely audible.
The, the lab door behind them exploded outward.
A shape emerged from the smoke—tall, impossibly thin, moving with an eerie fluidity. Its skin shimmered, reflecting its surroundings like liquid metal. No eyes. No mouth. Just smooth, shifting features.
But they didn't need eyes to see them.
The creature turned its head toward Evelyn and Amir.
Then, another message appeared—this time, on their phones.
"DO NOT RUN."
Amir saw it first. "Hell no," he breathed, grabbing Evelyn’s arm. "Car. Now."
They sprinted for the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath their feet. Behind them, the hum in the air deepened. The creature didn't chase. It didn't have to.
The moment Amir slammed the car door shut, the radio turned on by itself. The static hissed, then morphed into a voice. Not human. Not alien. Something else.
"YOU WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO LISTEN."
Evelyn’s fingers fumbled over the ignition. The car roared to life, and she floored it.
As they sped down the desert highway, Amir glanced at the rearview mirror. His face went pale.
"Evelyn," he whispered. "Look up."
She did.
The sky above them was moving—dark, shifting shapes blotting out the stars. Not ships. Not clouds.
A shadow fell over the desert as something vast and formless descended, swallowing the horizon.
And then, the final message flashed across Evelyn’s dashboard screen.
"YOU BROUGHT IT HERE."
The road ahead disappeared into darkness.
And the world went silent.