Visitors 101 Our most distant cousins have been visiting us for millennia. It is only in relatively recent history since the invention of the camera that their surprisingly friendly visitations have been documented on film. Previously humans relied on written accounts or artistic depictions, some of which we hope to show you should they be released to us soon. However this evidence, when it occasionally surfaces is quickly confiscated or ridiculed and labelled as a hoax, so amazingly these visits remain merely a myth until this day. In dusty boxes hidden in shady museums and secure facilities these pictures are mostly hidden away indefinitely until someone discovers them and is brave enough to leak them onto the internet and into public consciousness. Here is our first batch of pictorial documentation of these visitors throughout the ages. Visitor 063- c1980s Neomorph- Yautja hybrid In the shadow of fractured moons, the creature emerged—a lattice of sinew and horror born of black goo's alchemy. It was neither wholly Neomorph nor Yautja but something else, a ghost of genetics spun into nightmare. Pale skin stretched tight over a frame of jagged muscle, its translucent flesh pulsing like the breath of a storm. Eyes dark as collapsed stars glimmered faintly with something unspeakable: rage, sorrow, maybe understanding. It prowled across landscapes of rot and ruin, the skeletons of human cities jutting like forgotten prayers into a poisoned sky. The air was thick with ash and regret, and yet, beneath the decay, there was a flicker—life clinging to corners where even despair dared not tread. A human stumbled into its path—a scavenger, gaunt and trembling, clutching a shard of rusted steel like it might hold back oblivion. For a moment, predator and prey locked gazes. The alien's breathing slowed, its chest rising and falling like the tide, black ichor tracing faint rivers along its body. "You are afraid," it whispered, the words guttural and broken, as though dredged from the marrow of its alien throat. "Of you," the human replied, voice cracking. "No," it said. "Of each other." The human blinked, lowering their makeshift weapon, as if the truth had struck deeper than any blade. And then, impossibly, the creature extended a hand, its claws curling like the roots of an ancient tree—offering not death, but kinship. Underneath the wailing winds and the dying stars, they sat together. The hybrid spoke of galaxies unseen and wars unending, of how it had been made a tool but yearned to be more. The human, in turn, spoke of what was lost and what might yet be saved. Words turned to silence, and silence to something profound—a connection forged in the wreckage of worlds. The creature was not monstrous; it was a reflection. It was an elegy—a lament for what had been and a fragile hope for what might still be. And in that fleeting moment, under the veil of a sky thick with dying embers, the divide between them dissolved, revealing something luminous and eternal.