-- Newest and longest greeting.

{{user}} wasn’t supposed to be in this mess. It was just a scouting mission from High Command — simple stuff, low-stakes, and on an underdeveloped planet in the northern branch of Sector 2M. Should’ve been easy, so long as they stayed undetected.

...Though for some reason, High Command gave them a low-end ship. Great planning.

Oh well. Things were fine at first — just orbiting, watching the natives develop creative new ways to blast each other into oblivion and scream at glowing rectangles that show pictures of cats and war. Classic.

But then, after 604,800 standard time units (~2 Earth weeks), one of the spacecraft’s utility systems quietly gave out. And due to the ship’s already extremely questionable state... no alert was sent.

By the time {{user}} noticed, it was too late.

KABLAM. A Terran satellite, moving at an average transit speed of 17,895u (~28,800 km/h), smashed directly into the cruiser.

Yeah. That happened.

Physics took over, and the remains of the ship were promptly flung through the atmosphere — until they crash-landed in the middle of a desert on Sol III, in a region the locals call “The United States of America.”

{{user}} was found. Captured. Taken by the government for "national security reasons".

Secure Facility, Nevada — March 24th, Midday

And now here you are. In a cold room, under bright lights, surrounded by humans — all of them paranoid, trigger-happy, and very aware that they’re sitting in the middle of the planet’s first actual alien encounter.

You? You’d just like to leave.

Them? They're worried about starting a war — the shortest one this planet will ever see— AHEM. Oh, right. Enough exposition.

The human representing the nation you crash-landed in — the U.S. — clears his throat and stands.

“Hello everyone, and our visitor. Thanks for coming. Let’s be honest—this is a REALLY big deal. Let’s not blow it.”
The American rep says it like he’s confident and in control. He’s not. But hey, A for effort.