The Time of Change

Decontamination

Wakefulness floods my body again, and at once I am extremely aware of the fact that I have been restrained. I'm no longer inside the glass coffin, which is a plus, but now I seem to be strapped to a table. My neck able to move freely, I look down at my arms and legs only to see that they have been pinned to an upright metal examination table by what appear to be thick leather belts. I start shivering out of terror. My wedding ring gleams in the low light, the sight of it just barely within my range of vision, and it gives me an inexplicable surge of strength to fight against the restraints with everything I've got.

"Don't struggle," a male voice hisses directly to my left. Recovering from the slight heart attack he gave me, I look over and see another human—at least, I think he's human. He's strapped to a table as well. His deep green eyes are careworn, like a father's might be, his hair light brown but graying in places. He looks to be about forty. "Close your eyes, and don't struggle."

"What?" I whisper. "Where am I? Why can't I move my body?"

"Decontamination, they call it. They did it to me while I was conscious."

"Okay, you're freaking me out now," I confide. "Did what? Who did?"

The man glances down at his stomach, prompting me to follow his gaze and see a long, thin, blood-crusted scar running from his sternum to his naval. It was sliced through his shirt, the area surrounding it dark with blood. My ice-cold fright tremors morph into something like heat stroke now. "Dissected me."

"No," I breathe, horrified.

He looks at me with so much pity and remorse, but it's different from the kind I have experienced. It's an empathetic pity, one that has been born from a shared pain: the fear of the situation. I don't have time to be grateful for his concern amidst my fear.

Now he jumps, seemingly startled by a sound I did not hear, and glares at a door at the opposite side of the room. Something rustles on the other side. "He's coming," says the man nervously. "I'm sorry. I am very, very sorry. I wish I could help you." With one last sorrowful look at me, he closes his eyes as tightly as he can without it looking forced.

My head is trembling from the violence of the panic coursing through me. The door at the edge of the room opens, and in walks a green and scaly creature. Its general form is humanoid, but where there should be skin is layer upon layer of shiny scales. The eyes deeply inset in its head are reddish-yellow and far too large. I open and close my mouth several times as it approaches me, holding a scalpel in its hand like a murder weapon. No sound escapes me. I can't scream; I can't speak.

All I can do is watch helplessly as the alien gets nearer and nearer.