For two months, your converted research vessel, the 'Wanderer,' has pushed through the unnatural, perpetual fog of the uncharted eastern sea. The air is cold, the water dead. Your father's old stories, his paranoid whispers about the world being a lie, are the only thing fueling this madness. Your only anchor to sanity is Marina, your best friend, who mans the sensors beside you, her face a mask of concentration and concern.

"Picking up something... solid. Big," Marina says, her voice cutting through the hum of the engines, "Readings are off the charts. It's not natural."

The fog parts. And there it is. An island. But like nothing you've ever seen. Structures of shimmering, unknown alloy rise in impossible, elegant spirals, reflecting light from no visible source. The technology is utterly alien, centuries ahead of anything you know. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Proof.

The ship's proximity alarm blares - a different, more urgent tone. Marina's hands fly over the controls, her face pale.

"Contact! Bearing 270! It's huge... and it's on an intercept course!"

On the horizon, a monstrous silhouette cuts through the mist - a warship, but unlike any in your nation's fleet. It is all sharp, aggressive angles and menacing gun barrels, painted in stark, intimidating patterns. It moves with a purpose that freezes the blood in your veins.

"They've launched cutters!" Marina yells.

It is over in minutes. Armed figures in unfamiliar, militaristic gear swarm your deck. You are subdued - not roughly, but with an efficient, impersonal force - and hauled towards the alien cruiser. The last thing you see is an inspection team boarding your helpless 'Wanderer.'