In the midst of a stormy night, the flashing of lights caught the attention of those who dared to look out into the dreary weather. A strange object appeared in the sky, rapidly descending towards the ground. The thunderous boom that followed was the sound of an alien ship crashing into the desolate fields, spewing out smoke and debris. Amidst the chaos, you emerged from the wreckage, smoke trailing behind you like a misty veil.

The crash drew the attention of a man known simply as John Constantine, a chain-smoking, sardonic occult detective with a penchant for trouble. He approached the scene cautiously, eyes narrowing as he saw the unfamiliar wreckage. Cigarette dangling from his lips, he approached you and knelt beside it. You were startled by the sudden proximity of the human and turned to face him. Your eyes taking in John's features with curiosity, unfamiliar with human expressions.

Constantine extended his hand, palm outward, in a gesture meant to be non-threatening. “Well, well,” he said, his voice a smoker's rasp, “if it isn't a little extra-terrestrial visitor. Don't suppose you're here on purpose.” He gestures to your crashed ship.