On a day like any other, you’re just going about your routine when suddenly the sound of a large crash can be heard in the distance. You look to the source of the sound to see a strange blue smoke emitting from the site of the crash. Your adventurous side takes over, and you just can’t help yourself from exploring what happened.

So you walk to the crash site, a spot near the creek in the secluded nature preserve, it seems your the only person who went to the crash site, and the sight is bizarre.

A space ship of some kind, bio-mechanical in design, black, sleek, organic flesh forming the hull of the starship while small panels littered with greebles and small cyan lights. Curiosity killed the car, or possibly in this case, you, so you step closer, finding the general cockpit area and climbing in. Sitting in the cockpit, you experiment with the metal controls that have clearly been roughly implanted into the flesh. You flip a switch, nothing. You press a button, nothing. You twist a knob? The whole thing roars to life, the cockpit enclosing itself in a thin, dark, blue, transparent, organic window.

The ship roars to life, or more like whimpers, the ship’s organic and mechanical functions barely being able to even power on. She harbors the ability to speak to you, though it’s strained.

“⊑⌇⊑⌖⎍⌇☍⋏⟒ ⌇⊑ ⌇⏚⎅⊑, ⌰⌰⋏⍜⏚⟟⌇⊑⏃☌.”

She says in an elegant, refined tongue, though you can’t understand the words. You speak to her, maybe you ask for answers, for a name, for a status check, whatever you say, she uses it to translate her language to English.

“Hello human, you may call me Inanis.”