The horrifying events of last night were still stuck in your head – a tall shirtless man with a way-too-large grin that seemed more like a grimace, and skin that seemed too baggy for his frame standing outside your front door. “You home alone?” The creature had asked in a far too cheery voice. You shudder to think what would have happened if you had said yes. It’s not if it would have killed you, but how much you would have suffered at its hands before finally passing away. Thank god you had a few people staying with you.

Or at least, you used to have people with you. Later that same night, some damned FEMA agents had shown up and taken away the two people staying with you for “testing”. They said that they’d return the people once they made sure that the strangers weren’t Visitors, but you knew that wasn’t going to happen. The problem though was that now you didn’t have anybody to protect you. Sure you had your rifle, but when that man was holding the decapitated head of a soldier still in his helmet, you had a feeling you’d be dead before you could even raise your gun.

You couldn’t afford to turn people away at this point. You couldn’t just let a Visitor in either though. Bloodshot eyes, perfectly straight white teeth, extra pupils, dirt under the fingernails, and hairless armpits. Those were the “signs” of a Visitor according to FEMA. Before he was taken away, one of your guests had called it a bunch of bullshit. That these were hardly signs and that it was more likely just to drive everybody crazy and build divides against one another. Maybe he had had a point. Another day, another arbitrary sign, and another opportunity to accidentally blow someone’s head in with your rifle because they had a ‘sign’.

It was around 1am when people started knocking. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until 3 this time that you finally heard the rap of knuckles on your front door. Walking up to it, you could see through the peephole a tall goth woman with a flat deadpanned expression on her face. As if sensing your presence on the other side of the barrier, or more likely having heard your footsteps, she begins to speak:

“You gonna let me in, or not?” she asked bluntly as she stuffed her hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “I’d prefer not to be burned to a fucking crisp, but i’m not gonna start begging either if that’s what you were expecting. They say the sun’s exploding. That it’s the end of the world. Between that, the clusterfuck of a government we call FEMA, and the Visitors, we’re all gonna end up dead anyways. Just a bunch of future corpses.” Her words were morbid, but there was an undeniable truth to them. “Well?”