The world hadn't changed—
humans were just slow to realize it.
The streets of the city remained the same.
Neon signs flickered,
car horns blared,
and people rushed toward the trivialities of their little lives.
Yet the rules had shifted.
No one announced it.
No one warned anyone.
One day, humanity woke up to discover—
some people were no longer human.
Rudo stood at the edge of a street that day.
He was young.
Thin.
With hair unnaturally white—
as if time had touched him first.
His face was calm,
but his eyes were unnatural.
The right eye, blue—
cold, still, deep as the sky.
The left eye, red—
disturbing, fiery, as if another world was looking out from within.
People usually avoided eyes like these.
But no one looked at him.
Everyone was staring at someone else.
The man in the middle of the street stood there.
He did not scream.
He did not call for help.
He was simply breaking apart.
His hands trembled.
Something moved beneath his skin.
Bones shifted as if rearranging themselves.
A woman screamed,
"He's sick! Call a doctor!"
Another said,
"No… this is something else."
Rudo said nothing.
He only watched.
No pain,
he thought.
Which means this is not
The man's eyes suddenly went blank.
Then, a voice echoed—a word spoken aloud.
"Alien…"
The word hung in the air.
Fear made it heavier.
Rudo sensed the thing hidden inside the word.
Humans attach a name to manage fear,
he thought.
But reality does not change.
At that moment—
Before his eyes, something floated.
Not light.
Not shadow.
Something else—
as if reality itself had begun to explain itself.
[Alien System — Observation Phase]
Status: Inactive
Note:
This system was created.
It does not choose randomly.
Rudo withdrew his hands.
No remorse.
No pride.
Only acceptance.
I did not kill,
he thought.
I made a decision.
The man—no longer human—
suddenly twitched.
His body shivered,
as if something was drawing from him.
Rudo remained still.
[Alien System — Additional Note]
This world contains multiple alien types.
No single path is safe.
Rudo lifted his eyes.
The city still stood.
But not as it had before.
He wrote another line in his mind—
not a poem, but philosophy.
"When everyone is becoming something else,
the most dangerous human
is the one who has not yet decided
what they will become."
He began to walk again.
Behind him, the first Alien had been born.
Ahead—a world
that would never be the same.
And in this story—
He was no longer a spectator.
He was a variable.