CHAPTER 2: FALL FROM THE SKY

Professor Liu's voice droned on about mitochondrial function, but Elara couldn't focus. The news alerts had been coming all day—atmospheric disturbances growing stronger, communications systems experiencing interference, strange lights reported over major cities.

Outside the classroom windows, the evening sky had taken on an unusual purplish hue.

"—and so the mitochondria's primary function as the powerhouse of the cell—" Professor Liu stopped mid-sentence, his gaze fixed on something beyond the window. "That's... unusual."

The entire class turned.

The purple sky was splitting open.

There was no other way to describe it. Like fabric tearing along a seam, the twilight sky separated, revealing a void of utter darkness punctuated by stars that didn't match any constellation Elara recognized. And from this cosmic wound, objects were emerging.

""Holy space nuggets," someone whispered.

They were ships—if you could call them that. Less like vessels and more like massive insects, with segmented bodies and translucent wings that caught the fading sunlight. They moved with an organic fluidity that no human aircraft could achieve, descending toward the city in perfect, terrifying synchrony.

Phones were out, recording. Social media would be exploding. Somewhere, Elara thought distantly, government officials were having the worst day of their careers.

"Class dismissed," Professor Liu said faintly.

No one moved.

The ships—creatures—whatever they were—were getting closer. From this distance, Elara could make out details: iridescent carapaces, appendages that seemed to pulse with internal light, structures that might have been weapons or sensors or something humans had no concept for.

Her phone rang. Chad.

"Babe! Are you seeing this?" His voice was excited rather than afraid. Typical Chad. "It's like Independence Day but with giant bugs! I'm heading home, you should too. I'm gonna stop for protein bars first though, alien invasion or not, macros are macros."

"Chad, I don't think—"

The call dropped. All around her, students were finding the same—no service, no internet.

Outside, the insectoid ships had reached the city. One hovered directly over the community college, its shadow engulfing the building, blocking out the strange purple light. It was massive—at least half a mile long—and from its underside, smaller shapes were detaching. Falling. No, not falling.

Descending.

"We should get to the basement," Professor Liu said, his academic calm finally cracking. "Now."

The class moved as one, grabbing bags, rushing for the door. Elara followed, but something made her pause at the window for one last look.

The smaller shapes were landing now. In the parking lot. On the roof. On the perfectly manicured lawn where students studied on nicer days.

They were insects—sort of. The size of large dogs, with six articulated limbs and bodies segmented into three distinct parts. Their exoskeletons shimmered with metallic blues and greens, and what might have been heads swiveled with mechanical precision, scanning their surroundings.

One looked up. Directly at Elara's window.

Its eyes—if that's what they were—were compound structures of countless geometric facets, reflecting her own pale face back at her in kaleidoscopic repetition.

It raised a limb. Pointed.

Others turned to look.

"Elara, come on!" A classmate tugged at her arm.

As she turned to run, the window exploded inward in a shower of glass and chitinous limbs.

The last thing she remembered was a sharp pain at the base of her skull, the smell of something like cinnamon and copper, and a voice—not heard with her ears but felt somewhere deeper—saying something that sounded like:

*Compatible.*