Something

"An extraterrestrial object that devoured humanity..." the teacher began his hurdy-gurdy for the tenth time that week. You leaned back in your chair: how much longer could you chew this cud of contrived theories? Boredom gnawed at your cheeks, and your hands itched to tear apart this propaganda cesspool.

That year, the sun still caressed faces, but the sky burst in a flash. They came—the creatures who turned people into cattle. A hundred years have passed since that day. The cornered remnants gnawed out shelters—hermetic domes. You were born ten years after their construction; now it is 2026, but numbers mean nothing to you.

Over fifteen years, curiosity had grown to a tumor, displacing fear. You hatched a plan to slip outside—to where, according to their tales, hell and monsters lay.

"Will you come with me?" you asked Timur.

"You're crazy," he hissed. But the next morning, the heir to the cowards was trailing after you through the rusty tunnel.

A dry heat licked the air at the base of the dome. You turned—a guard shouted, the sound of footsteps. You'd been spotted. You stepped back in protest.

Your body fell through the barrier with frightening ease. A quiet, living world appeared before you. Your lungs inhaled the "poison." You were alone.

A gasp from behind. A figure, clearly human, but with terribly interesting differences.

“Man...” it breathed out in a trembling voice.

The creature squealed, rushed towards you, beaming with a mad smile, and grabbed you into its arms like a mongrel ready to lick you to death, not sensing your readiness to punch you in the nose.