UnBooks:Ivan and Aliens

Life looks common

Ivan's adventures vol. 5

Chapter 1

Life for Ivan and Lara had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Each morning, they would part ways as Lara headed off to Cambridge to lecture on archaeology, while Ivan made his way to the high school where he taught history. Though their lives were filled with responsibilities and students vying for their attention, the couple always looked forward to the evenings, when they would reconnect over dinner, recounting the day’s small victories and odd moments.

Their evenings were a blend of quiet companionship and lighthearted banter, interrupted only by Ivan’s occasional late-night escapades in the garage. An engineer at heart and an adventurer in spirit, Ivan loved tinkering with cars, always on the lookout for something new to add to his small collection. The garage, filled with the faint smell of oil and metal, had become his haven. On weekends, Lara would sometimes sit nearby with a book or cup of tea, sharing in his enthusiasm or, occasionally, just humoring him.

Ivan bought himself a real unusual car

One evening, Ivan couldn’t contain his excitement as he rolled a new vehicle into the garage. The vintage car gleamed, its elegant curves and chrome accents catching the light in a way that made his heart race. It was a GAZ M-13, a Soviet classic with a soul, built with the kind of old-world craftsmanship he adored. Lara laughed as he gave her an impromptu history lesson on its engine, design, and legacy, teasing him about finally finding something more captivating than his last automotive obsession.

As the weeks rolled by, Lara’s thoughts began to drift back to her passion for exploring ancient ruins and discovering long-lost artifacts. When she brought up the idea of a tomb raiding expedition to her younger colleague Elizabeth, the two immediately hit it off. Elizabeth, full of enthusiasm and curiosity, reminded Lara of her younger self, making it feel like the perfect opportunity for an adventure.

“Ivan,” Lara began one evening as they sat over dinner, “Elizabeth and I have been talking… and we’ve decided to go on a tomb-raiding expedition. We’d be gone for three months, but I think it’s time. It’s been too long since I really went out there.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement, the familiar hunger for adventure rekindled.

Ivan looked at her thoughtfully, a slight smile playing at his lips. He knew that spark, knew it was a part of Lara he could never keep contained. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

“Three months?” he said, feigning a pout. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

She laughed, taking his hand. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. Between school, your garage, and that new car, you’ll have plenty to keep you busy. Just don’t let the house burn down.”

After a few more shared laughs and a few earnest hugs, Ivan watched Lara and Elizabeth prepare for the journey. The day of their departure arrived in what felt like the blink of an eye. Ivan stood by as they loaded their gear, offering advice and good-natured teasing. When it was time to say goodbye, he held Lara tightly, feeling the mix of pride and bittersweetness that always accompanied her departures.

“Take care of each other,” he said, looking between her and Elizabeth.

“Always,” Lara replied, smiling as she climbed into the car with Elizabeth. “And don’t forget to start that GAZ at least once a week. I’ll be checking!”

With one last wave, they were off, leaving a quietness behind that was new to Ivan. As he watched the car disappear down the road, he took a deep breath and made his way back inside, already feeling the strange calm of an empty house.

Life moved on. Ivan returned to his teaching routine, finding solace in his students’ curiosity and enthusiasm. He spent his evenings in the garage, working on the GAZ, letting his thoughts wander back to Lara and her expedition. Though he missed her presence, he took comfort in knowing she was out there, living her dreams, even if it meant a temporary goodbye.

Unbeknownst to him, the silence that had settled around him would soon be broken by something far stranger than he could have ever anticipated.

Chapter 2

But it's not

Ivan’s days followed a familiar rhythm: teaching, repairing, and tinkering in his garage. His time with students filled his mornings, and the evenings often drifted away as he worked on the GAZ, wiping grease from his hands and feeling the calm that came from methodical labor. His solitary life had its peace, but he felt Lara’s absence more sharply each night.

One rainy afternoon, as Ivan sat in his classroom, grading a stack of essays, a knock sounded at the door. He looked up, expecting a colleague or perhaps a student in need of tutoring. To his surprise, it was one of his more reserved students, Mark, who rarely spoke up in class.

“Mr. Ivan,” Mark began, with an odd glint in his eye, “I come in peace. I bring you a message from… another galaxy.”

Ivan’s eyebrow shot up, masking a half-smile. “Alright, Mark, very funny. Gotten into some new sci-fi series lately?”

But Mark’s expression didn’t waver. He held Ivan’s gaze with a seriousness that was both unsettling and bizarre. “Mr. Ivan,” he said slowly, “you don’t understand. My kind has been watching, studying, and now we’ve come to survey. We sent me first because you wouldn’t expect it from a student.”

Ivan chuckled and shook his head. “Listen, kid, if this is an elaborate prank, it’s not working.” His tone turned stern, the laugh fading. “Don’t waste my time with this nonsense.”

But Mark’s voice grew cold. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. You humans never do.” He muttered something under his breath, and then added, in a sharper tone, “Maybe you’re too stubborn to see what’s right in front of you.”

Ivan bristled, feeling a flare of anger. “Watch your tone.” His hand went instinctively to his pistol—one he kept for protection and rare emergencies. In a quick, practiced motion, he drew it and struck Mark’s shoulder with the butt of the gun, expecting him to flinch or at least react. Instead, there was a dull, solid thunk. Mark didn’t move an inch.

Ivan’s eyes widened. He tapped the gun on Mark’s shoulder again, and again there was a strange, hollow sound. It was as if he were tapping metal, not flesh.

Before he could fully process the strangeness, Ivan’s vision blurred. A dark shadow clouded his mind, and he felt a rush of dizziness. Then, just as quickly, he found himself on the floor, blinking and disoriented. When he regained his senses and sat up, what he saw left him frozen in place, heart pounding.

Standing before him was an exact copy of himself—down to the last detail, even the flecks of engine oil on his hands.

The doppelgänger looked at him calmly. “Adopting your appearance is nothing to us, Ivan. We can do much more than this.” The voice sounded precisely like his own, but there was a cold, mechanical quality to it that made his skin crawl.

For several long seconds, Ivan simply stared, unable to move or speak. As he struggled to comprehend the scene, he watched as the clone’s eyes held a strange intelligence, something ancient and alien, something beyond his understanding.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the doppelgänger had vanished, that Ivan began to process what he had just witnessed. He replayed every detail in his mind, trying to convince himself it had been some bizarre dream. But as the memory settled in, a single, chilling thought echoed in his mind: They’re here, and they’re real.

Chapter 3

The days passed in an odd but manageable routine. Ivan went to work, spent his evenings tinkering with the GAZ, and tried not to think too hard about the strange encounter with his doppelgänger. But the memory lingered, casting an uneasy shadow over his life. He convinced himself he’d imagined it—or at least tried to—yet there was a nagging suspicion that something beyond his understanding was unfolding around him.

One evening, as he was settling in with a book, the doorbell rang. Ivan glanced at the clock, surprised. It was well past visiting hours, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. When he opened the door, he found himself face-to-face with his school principal, Mr. Burkov, who stood on the doorstep with an expression somewhere between serious and unnervingly calm.

“Mr. Ivan,” the principal said in a measured tone, “I came to discuss a rather urgent matter.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t usual for his boss to drop by unannounced, especially at night. His mind flashed through the possibilities. Am I getting fired? he thought, half-jokingly, as he stepped aside and motioned for the principal to come in.

But instead of the usual formalities, Mr. Burkov fixed Ivan with a penetrating stare. “I know what happened,” he said. “The incident with one of my… associates. I’m here to warn you: if you harm my kind again, I’ll have to take… disciplinary action.”

Ivan’s amusement faded, replaced by a mixture of shock and disbelief. So it’s true, he thought. He forced himself to remain calm and nodded. “Understood, sir. Would you like a drink? I’ve got some fine cognac.”

To his surprise, Mr. Burkov’s eyes flashed with a sudden intensity. Before Ivan could react, two beams shot from the principal’s eyes, slicing through the air and shattering a row of dishes on the shelf. The beams carved a path of destruction, leaving scorched vases and broken glass across the room.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Mr. Burkov reached into his coat and pulled out a small flask. He took a swig, only to choke on the liquid and sputter, his face twisting as he coughed. Instinctively, Ivan stepped forward and gave the principal a hearty slap on the back. The impact was unsettling; instead of a normal thud, the slap landed with a hollow, metallic sound.

Burkov recovered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not a word of this,” he muttered, turning to leave as if the whole scene had been a routine visit. He left his flask on the table in his rush to go, vanishing into the night before Ivan could even respond.

Ivan picked up the flask, examining it cautiously before taking a cautious sip. His face twisted in surprise—it was motor oil. What kind of creature drinks oil? he thought, shaking his head in disbelief.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his own can of motor oil and a knife from his workbench and headed to the principal’s house. When he arrived, he knocked on the door, greeted by Burkov’s wife, who looked at him with polite confusion.

“Ivan?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “It’s late. Is there something you need?”

Ivan nodded. “I need to speak to your husband. There’s something he left at my place.”

The principal’s wife hesitated. “It’s a bit late. Couldn’t it wait until—”

“It’s urgent,” Ivan replied. “Trust me, it’s something he’ll want to drink.” With a slight smile, he held up the canister of motor oil and a glass.

She stared at him, bewildered. “And you’re sure this is for my husband?”

Ivan nodded firmly. “He’s the only one who’d enjoy this particular drink.”

Reluctantly, she nodded and went to get her husband. Ivan poured the oil into the glass, feeling the principal’s wife’s gaze on him, her confusion growing. She has no idea what she’s living with, he thought, eyeing the door as Burkov emerged.

The principal stopped short, surprise flashing across his face. “Ivan? What are you doing here?”

Ivan stepped forward, holding out the glass with a smile that was almost mocking. “Thought you’d like a taste of something special.”

Burkov’s eyes narrowed as he accepted the glass, sniffing the contents suspiciously. “And what exactly is this?”

“Consider it a surprise. For you,” Ivan said, his tone neutral. He watched as Burkov took a cautious sip, grimaced, and immediately spat the oil out, turning his back in disgust.

Without hesitation, Ivan seized the moment. He lunged forward, raising his knife, and stabbed the principal square in the backside.

Burkov howled in pain, a sharp, otherworldly cry that echoed through the house. His wife screamed, hands flying to her mouth in shock as she stared at Ivan.

Ivan pulled back, catching his breath, and looked Burkov in the eye, his voice steady. “You showed up at my house, fired laser beams at my dishes, and broke half my furniture. I’d say we’re even.”

Burkov, still clutching his rear in shock, managed to pull himself together. He glanced at his wife, who looked on in horrified disbelief, and cleared his throat. “We’ll… discuss this tomorrow, Ivan. It’s been a long night.” He gave a sharp nod toward the door, dismissing him with a strained dignity.

Ivan left without another word, feeling the adrenaline start to fade as he made his way home. The reality of what had just happened weighed heavily on him, filling him with a strange mix of triumph and fear. That night, he lay in bed, wide awake, the shadows seeming to whisper around him. Who—or what—are these beings? he wondered, staring into the darkness, knowing that his life had taken an unsettling turn he could never have foreseen.

Chapter 4

Life went on for Ivan, or at least that’s how it seemed. He kept up his teaching, meticulously working on his GAZ in the evenings, and occasionally sharing his unsettling encounters with “aliens” to a few trusted colleagues. Most of them chuckled, attributing his stories to stress or quirky imagination. But to Ivan, the strange incidents weren’t fabrications; they lingered in his mind, unshakable and vivid.

One chilly morning, Ivan arrived at school to see several smartly dressed inspectors stepping out of sleek black cars parked near the main entrance. Their presence immediately set a different tone for the day, and whispers spread quickly among the teachers and students. The inspectors greeted the faculty with too-bright smiles, introducing themselves as a “routine evaluation team.” They walked through the school with an air of calm authority, reassuring everyone they spoke to.

At one point, one of the inspectors gave a practiced smile and addressed the entire staff in the teachers’ lounge. “We’re here to ensure everything is in order. And just to clear up any… misunderstandings—rumors about aliens and strange beings,” he chuckled, making light of it. “It’s all nonsense. There’s nothing unusual going on, and we’re here to confirm that.”

Ivan watched the inspectors closely, noticing how their gaze swept the room, lingering on him just a fraction too long. The assurance they offered felt more like a command, and Ivan sensed something was wrong. His suspicions flared when he noticed the devices on their wrists. They looked like watches, but instead of numbers, strange symbols blinked faintly on the screens.

Suddenly, a series of high-pitched beeps erupted, cutting through the low hum of conversation. Every inspector’s “watch” began to flash in unison, casting an eerie glow on their faces. The inspectors exchanged quick glances, their faces hardening as they wordlessly turned and headed for the exit, quickening their pace.

Ivan’s instincts took over. He clenched his jaw, his hand reaching into his pocket for the small knife he always carried. “They’re aliens!” he yelled, pointing toward the departing inspectors. Ignoring the stunned silence that followed, he dashed out of the lounge and chased after them.

“Ivan, no!” Principal Burkov’s voice echoed down the hallway, frantic. He ran after Ivan, his face twisted with alarm. “Don’t do this! They’re just inspectors—please!”

But Ivan was deaf to his pleas, his focus locked on his quarry. The inspectors hurried outside, slipping through the main entrance with brisk, practiced movements. Ivan burst out behind them, his breath clouding in the cold morning air as he scanned the parking lot.

Near one of the black cars, he spotted the lead inspector—a stocky, grey-haired man with a steely look. The man was leaning over, his back turned as he spoke to his driver through the car window, utterly unaware of the approaching danger. Ivan barely noticed the other cars pulling out of the lot, too focused on the figure before him. Adrenaline surged through him as he closed the distance.

Without a second thought, he lunged forward and drove the knife into the inspector’s backside.

The man let out a loud, startled yelp, jolting upright and clutching his wounded side. His driver and nearby teachers stared in shock, frozen as they processed what had just happened. The inspector stumbled, glaring at Ivan with wide, stunned eyes, his face twisted in pain.

From the school entrance, teachers rushed forward, alarmed cries filling the air as they reached Ivan and pulled him away from the inspector.

“You don’t understand!” Ivan shouted, struggling against their grip. “They’re aliens! They’re here to deceive us—”

Mr. Burkov, his face pale and pinched with distress, grabbed Ivan by the shoulders. “Ivan, please! Stop this! These are just school inspectors!” he insisted, his voice trembling. The crowd of teachers finally managed to restrain Ivan, pulling him back toward the school.

They led him, almost in a daze, down the hallways and into his own classroom. Inside, they closed the door behind him, locking it securely from the outside.

Ivan stood alone in the quiet room, breathing heavily as the adrenaline drained from him. His thoughts raced, replaying what had just happened. Had he really just stabbed an inspector? The realization hit him, and he sank down onto a chair, staring blankly at the wall. His conviction that these inspectors were aliens, that he was right all along, started to waver. What if he had imagined it? What if he’d gone too far?

Outside, he could hear the muffled conversations of his colleagues, their voices filled with confusion and concern. The thought of facing them, of explaining himself, filled him with dread. For the first time, a pang of doubt crept into his mind. Had he really seen what he thought he’d seen? Or was he slowly losing himself to an obsession only he could see?

As he sat alone, waiting for whatever consequences might come, Ivan felt the weight of his actions bearing down on him, casting a long, unsettling shadow over the life he thought he knew.

Chapter 5

Sitting alone in the locked classroom, Ivan’s breathing began to slow as the adrenaline coursing through him finally started to ebb. His mind was a chaotic whirlwind, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The cold realization of his actions seeped in; he had attacked an inspector, perhaps a human, in full view of his colleagues. But the more rational part of him—the teacher, the friend, the respected member of the faculty—warred with the instinctive part that screamed at him: they were not what they seemed.

He sat there, gripping the edges of his chair as he stared at the pale gray walls, his thoughts racing. Was he losing his mind? Or had everyone else simply chosen not to see the truth? The memory of the inspectors’ strange devices flashed in his mind, those unnatural symbols blinking ominously. He shook his head. No, it wasn’t paranoia. It couldn’t be.

Ivan stood up suddenly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He glanced at the door, still locked from the outside, the voices of his colleagues now a low murmur filtering through the crack beneath it. He couldn't stay here, bound by their doubt and fear. If he was to uncover the truth, he needed to act now.

With steady hands, he retrieved the small knife from his pocket and inserted it carefully into the lock mechanism. A click echoed through the room, the sound sharp and triumphant. Ivan pulled the door open just wide enough to peer down the hallway. Empty. Most of the teachers had likely moved to the main office or outside to discuss what had happened.

Ivan slipped out, moving quickly and silently down the corridor. He felt like a fugitive, his heart hammering as he approached the exit. No one shouted his name. No one chased him.

Once outside, the biting air stung his face, but he barely noticed. He navigated the side streets of the town with a practiced ease until he reached his small, dimly lit apartment. He locked the door behind him and leaned against it, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. The room was cold, dark, the silence broken only by the ticking of an old clock on the wall. The familiar surroundings did nothing to calm him.

He scanned the room, eyes landing on the worn wardrobe that housed a relic of his past life. Ivan moved toward it, pulled open the creaking doors, and ran his fingers over the olive-green military uniform that hung there, untouched for years. The sight rekindled a sense of purpose deep within him. If he was to confront whatever these beings were, he needed to do it as a soldier, not just a man branded by doubt.

Dressing in the uniform felt both alien and familiar, like stepping into an old role. Each piece carried the weight of memory, of training, of discipline. Fully equipped, he glanced at himself in the cracked mirror. His eyes were sharper, his expression set. He wasn’t just a man unraveling; he was a soldier ready for battle.

Ivan packed a few essentials into a small rucksack, including a flashlight, a compass, his service knife, and a worn notepad with a pencil and 7,62 mm pistol. Then, with one last look around his small, cluttered apartment, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. The sky was darkening, the first stars pricking the deep blue. He set off toward the woods on the edge of town, the place where the strange lights had appeared, the place that held the secrets he was determined to uncover.

Chapter 6

Ivan crouched in silence at the edge of the small clearing, eyes locked on the shadowy expanse ahead. The chill of the night wrapped tightly around him, seeping into his bones as the wind whispered through the tall grass. It was the kind of night where every rustle and flicker of movement felt magnified, as though unseen eyes were watching from the dark. His instincts were razor-sharp, honed by days of paranoia and sleepless vigilance.

A sudden glimmer of light pierced the darkness, drawing Ivan’s attention. At first, he squinted, expecting to see the mysterious floating orbs that had haunted his thoughts. But as the lights approached, they moved smoothly, revealing the low, sleek silhouette of a Jaguar F-Type. Its polished body glistened under the faint moonlight as it rolled to a stop at the clearing’s edge. Ivan’s pulse quickened when he noticed the figures inside.

The soft glow of the car's interior light illuminated two silhouettes. Ivan leaned forward, squinting to make out their faces. His breath caught in his chest when he recognized one of them: Adam, the literature teacher from the school. Adam, usually so calm and mild-mannered, now sat close to an unknown woman with dark hair cascading over her face. They leaned into each other, sharing an intimate moment that seemed oddly out of place in the desolate clearing.

What was Adam doing here at this hour? A rush of confusion and suspicion coiled in Ivan’s gut. Determined to find out, he crept closer, silent and purposeful.

As Adam stepped out of the car, Ivan seized his moment. In a swift motion, he closed the distance between them and slapped Adam on the back. The sound was louder than he intended, echoing in the stillness. Adam’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly, his eyes wide and glistening with a strange, unnatural light.

Ivan’s heart pounded as Adam’s expression shifted, his face darkening with a look that sent a chill through Ivan's veins. Without warning, Adam reached into his coat and pulled out a dagger, the blade catching the moonlight as it moved. In one fluid motion, he plunged it into his own chest.

“No!” Ivan shouted, stepping back in horror. But Adam showed no sign of pain. His eyes, still fixed on Ivan, flared with an eerie, cold light. Before Ivan could react, beams of energy shot out from Adam's eyes with a hissing crackle, the heat searing the air as they streaked toward him.

Ivan’s cap burst into flames as the energy licked the edges, the sudden heat jolting him into action. He yanked out his vz. 52 pistol, the familiar weight a comfort in the chaos. He raised it, aiming at Adam, his finger hovering over the trigger as if it would give him back control of the nightmarish situation.

For a moment, they stood frozen—Ivan aiming, eyes wild with shock, and Adam with that hollow, otherworldly stare. The woman in the car watched, motionless, her expression unreadable behind the glass.

Realizing the danger was far beyond anything he could comprehend, Ivan felt a surge of survival instinct wash over him. He lowered the gun slightly, the weight of what he was witnessing pressing on him. With a burst of energy, he turned and bolted into the darkness, the forest swallowing the sound of his pounding footsteps.

The wind cooled the burn on his head as he tore off the flaming cap and flung it aside, the smell of scorched hair and fabric still clinging to him. The path back to his apartment felt like a gauntlet, every shadow deepening his dread.

He burst through his door, locking it behind him with shaking hands. Leaning against the wall, he gasped for air, the pistol still clutched tightly in his grasp. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what he had just seen. He knew one thing for certain: this was far from over.

Chapter 7

On the surface, Ivan's life appeared ordinary. Each morning, he woke up, prepared lessons, and spent his days teaching literature to a class full of half-attentive students. Afternoons were dedicated to marking papers and reviewing material, and the evenings found him in his garage, working on his beloved GAZ, grease-stained hands a reminder of simpler pursuits. Yet beneath this veneer of normalcy, a relentless fear gnawed at him. His every movement was shadowed by doubt, and the events that had unfolded haunted him, replaying in his mind like a broken reel of film. The night in the clearing, the look in Adam’s eyes, the light that had almost incinerated him—it was all too real.

But in between moments of paranoia and flashes of suspicion, Ivan clung to the ordinary. He taught, he repaired, and he tried desperately to convince himself that he could somehow make sense of it all. He wasn’t prepared for what would happen next.

That week, Lara, his wife, finally returned home after months abroad. Her work was always shrouded in mystery, tales of long-forgotten ruins and dangerous expeditions whispered in their circle of friends. Ivan was supposed to meet her at the airport, as he always did, a bouquet in hand and a warm smile to welcome her back. But this time, he wasn’t there.

When Lara arrived at their home, she was taken aback by the scene that greeted her. The living room was a mess—shards of broken vases scattered across the floor, shattered pieces of decorative plates lying in a chaotic pattern. The air held the faint metallic tang of something not right, something disrupted. Lara’s pulse quickened as she stepped inside, taking care not to crunch over the remnants of what had once been the carefully curated decorations that she loved.

She dropped her bags and immediately reached for her phone. With trembling hands, she dialed Ivan's number.

The phone rang twice before Ivan’s voice, strained and distracted, came through. “Lara?”

“Ivan, what happened? The house—it's in shambles. Are you okay?” Her voice was edged with worry, tinged with frustration at his absence at the airport.

Ivan’s response came after a pause, heavy with hesitation. “Lara, listen to me. They’re here. On Earth. The aliens I told you about—they’re real.”

There was silence on the line, followed by a short, incredulous laugh from Lara. “Ivan, this isn’t funny. What on earth are you talking about?” She shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it, as she looked around the room with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

“I know it sounds insane,” Ivan said, his voice suddenly taut, as if he were holding something fragile. “But you need to be careful. Everything changed while you were gone.”

Lara's expression softened with concern, but exasperation won out. “Ivan, I’m exhausted. I just need a moment to catch my breath.” She sighed and hung up before he could say more.

For a moment, the house was silent, only the distant hum of the city filtering through the windows. Lara rubbed her temples and moved to the kitchen, finding it untouched by whatever frenzy had swept through the rest of the living room. She made her way to the couch, intending to rest for just a few minutes, but sleep took her almost immediately.

Meanwhile, across town, Ivan was deep in his obsessive search for answers. His desk was littered with notes, diagrams, and newspaper clippings. A half-empty cup of cold tea sat beside him, ignored as he pored over everything he had gathered. The exhaustion was palpable, pressing down on him, but he pushed through it, knowing that every second counted. The night pressed on, drawing him further into the depths of a mystery that threatened to consume him.

The world outside carried on, oblivious to the storm that raged in Ivan’s mind. And even as Lara slept, the faint noise of shifting shadows outside the house hinted that her rest would be short-lived.

Chapter 8

Ivan's nightmare

The early morning sun cast a soft glow over the English countryside as Ivan sped westward in a stolen Ford Mondeo, bound for Cornwall. It was summer, and the beaches were already bustling with life. Surfers in wetsuits milled around, chatting and waiting for the first waves of the day. But Ivan wasn’t here for the scenery. He scanned the crowds with a practiced eye, certain that somewhere among the beachgoers, there was an alien hiding in plain sight.

Parking at a small beachside lot, Ivan stepped out and spotted a lone woman lying on the sand. She was dressed head-to-toe in scuba gear—fins, mask, and snorkel—all while sipping from a bottle that looked suspiciously like tanning oil. Ivan’s eyes narrowed. No human would drink tanning oil, he thought. This had to be one of them.

With a deep breath, Ivan approached her and put on his friendliest smile. “Good morning,” he greeted her.

The young woman, cheerful and bright-eyed, looked up. “Good morning!” she replied with an American accent.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Ivan said, his eyes glued to her bottle.

“Oh, absolutely!” she replied and took another sip.

To Ivan, that was all the confirmation he needed. He lunged forward, grabbing her wrists and pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The woman let out a scream, twisting and thrashing as Ivan tried to subdue her.

“What the hell?!” she shrieked, struggling beneath him. “HELP!”

People nearby stopped in their tracks, staring at the scene unfolding before them. Ignoring their alarmed stares, Ivan kept his grip firm. “You’re not fooling me, alien!” he muttered under his breath.

Just then, a familiar voice called out, cutting through the noise. “Ivan!”

Ivan looked up and saw Lara standing nearby, arms crossed, her expression filled with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“Oh, Lara!” he called, temporarily distracted. “Perfect timing—”

Lara’s eyes flashed with fury. “I cannot believe this. I came here looking for you, and instead, I find you… you’re practically wrestling another woman in the sand!”

Ivan shook his head. “No, it’s not what you think. This isn’t a woman. She’s an alien! Look, she’s drinking tanning oil!”

Lara’s expression changed briefly to confusion before hardening again. She let out a long sigh. “Ivan… I’m done.” Without another word, she turned and walked away.

Ivan shrugged and turned back to his captive, who was now glaring at him furiously. “You’re insane!” she spat.

At that moment, a large, burly man came jogging over, eyes blazing as he grabbed Ivan’s shoulder and pulled him back. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he demanded.

Ivan jerked away, holding up the woman’s bottle triumphantly. “Look at this. She’s drinking tanning oil. Only aliens would do that.”

The man took the bottle, sniffed it, and frowned. “This isn’t tanning oil. It’s cognac.”

Ivan blinked, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. “Cognac?”

The man handed the bottle back to him, and Ivan took a tentative sip. Sure enough, it was cognac. The woman, red-faced and furious, glared at him as Ivan unlocked the cuffs with a muttered apology.

As Ivan turned to leave, he noticed the man’s watch was emitting a strange beeping sound. The woman looked at him in confusion, but before she could ask, the man pulled out a real bottle of tanning oil, took a gulp, and sprinted off down the beach, leaving her stunned.

Ivan took the opportunity to step up beside her again. “See? That wasn’t your friend. That was an alien.”

The woman looked at him, genuinely baffled. After a moment, she nodded slowly. “You… you might be right.”

“Exactly,” Ivan replied, his tone serious. “It’s not safe for you here. I think you’d better come with me. I know a place in Hammersmith where you’ll be safe.”

That evening, back at his flat, Ivan invited Priscilla inside. His apartment was modest but cluttered, filled with a mix of teaching materials, old case files, and stacks of worn papers. A certificate on the wall marked his degree in criminology, and on a nearby shelf were a few mementos of his days as an inspector before he became a high school teacher. He poured Priscilla a drink and offered her a seat.

She took a sip, glancing at the papers scattered across the room. “So… what’s this about aliens?” she asked, half-amused but clearly intrigued.

Ivan sighed, rubbing his temples. “Believe it or not, I’ve encountered them several times over the past few weeks. They’re shapeshifters. They can take on anyone’s appearance, even their voice. They’ve… they’ve taken on the appearance of my own students. My boss. Even me.”

Priscilla raised an eyebrow, clearly interested but still skeptical. “Wait—you’re serious? They’ve shown up as people you know?”

“Yes!” Ivan leaned forward, the weight of his experiences evident in his eyes. “The first time, it was one of my students. Then, just a few moments later, one of them appeared as me. Then my principal. And then… then the school inspector. Just last week, they came as my own colleague.”

He took a deep breath, glancing at the small wedding photo on his shelf. “It’s starting to strain everything. My wife doesn’t believe me. She thinks I’m losing my mind, and I can’t blame her. But these… creatures are real, Priscilla. They’re real, and they’re turning my life upside down.”

Priscilla set down her glass, her expression softening. “That sounds… intense. And no one else has seen them?”

“No,” Ivan replied, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s like they’re targeting me, messing with my head. And now, with everything that’s happened, I’m close to losing my marriage over it.”

Priscilla gave him a sympathetic look, nodding slowly as if trying to process it all. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. But… maybe you’re right. Maybe they’re real, and they’re just… very good at hiding.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken thoughts, and for a moment, Ivan felt a strange relief. He wasn’t entirely alone in his suspicions, and somehow, sharing this with someone else made it feel a little more manageable.

Priscilla glanced around the room, curiosity getting the better of her. “Mind if I take a look around?”

“Go ahead,” Ivan said with a small nod, following her gaze to the door of the garage.

Priscilla wandered over, opening the door to reveal Ivan’s collection of vehicles. She raised her eyebrows at the sight: a dusty Škoda Forman, a vintage Škoda 130 RS, a classic Rover SD1, GAZ M-13 Chaika and his dark blue Škoda Superb Combi in pristine Laurin & Klement trim.

Priscilla chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve seen half of these cars before.”

Ivan grinned, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “It’s my little collection. Each one has its own quirks, its own purpose.”

She looked over the cars, clearly impressed. “And… they all still run?”

“Oh yes,” Ivan replied with a nod. “Reliable as ever. Especially that Superb—my daily driver. Elegant, dependable, and comfortable. It’s the car I’d trust to get me through just about anything, including… well, unusual situations.”

They returned to the living room, where Ivan took a seat, and Priscilla settled down across from him. He resumed telling her about his encounters, detailing the strange behavior and subtle slips that had tipped him off each time. Despite her initial doubts, Priscilla listened, captivated.

“So… they’re really here?” she asked after a long silence.

“Yes, Priscilla,” Ivan replied, his voice firm. “They’re here. I know how it sounds, but I’ve seen them with my own eyes. And one way or another, I’m going to figure out what they want.”

Priscilla nodded, the lingering skepticism giving way to a cautious belief. As Ivan continued explaining his theories, he felt an odd sense of validation, even if it was just temporary. At least for now, someone was willing to believe him.

Chapter 9

Ivan sat in the Chaika, his fingers repeatedly dialing Lara’s number, hoping to explain that everything was one big misunderstanding. He felt a heavy pang in his chest as he heard the familiar tone indicating the call had been rejected. Next to him, Priscilla watched with a mix of disbelief and concern.

“You know, Ivan,” she began cautiously, “when you first told me this story, I thought you were at least a little paranoid. But after last night…”

Ivan raised his hand to stop her. “Priscilla, I’ll explain everything. Just… stay close, in case it turns out that Lara really isn’t… herself.”

They eventually arrived at Croft Manor, where Lara was already waiting outside. She stood in the shadows, wrapped in a long coat, her face a mixture of calm and something Ivan couldn’t quite read. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and approached her. Priscilla remained a few paces behind, observing the scene carefully.

“Lara,” Ivan started, relief filling his voice, “I’m so glad to see you. Can we… can we fix this? Maybe we both just misunderstood.”

Lara smiled softly, and for a fleeting moment, there was warmth in her expression. “Maybe we just overlooked something, Ivan,” she replied, and for a second, it seemed their marriage might be salvageable.

But then, suddenly, the Chaika’s engine cut out, leaving them in silence. Ivan frowned, puzzled—he knew the car was in perfect condition; he always took meticulous care of it. Lara merely shrugged. “Looks like we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” she said calmly.

So, they set off down the gravel path, illuminated by the faint glow of the moon, their footsteps the only sound breaking the quiet night. Priscilla followed at a distance, wary yet ready to intervene if anything strange happened.

Then, out of nowhere, a piercing light cut through the dark sky as a saucer-shaped object descended nearby with a silent, eerie grace. Ivan’s mouth went dry as he watched it land in front of them. He turned to Lara, his heart pounding, ready to grab her and run. But she just stood there, eerily calm.

“Lara,” he whispered in horror, “we need to get out of here!”

Lara, however, didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked at Ivan with a strange, almost cold expression. “Ivan, there’s no need to run,” she said, her voice devoid of any fear. Then, to Ivan’s shock, she pointed at him and said, “We should take him.”

“What?” Ivan gasped, his mind reeling. In desperation, he tapped Lara on the chest as if to confirm she was real. His fingers hit something hard, producing a hollow sound. His eyes widened in horror. It was true—Lara wasn’t human.

Without missing a beat, Lara started leading Ivan toward the saucer’s stairs that had extended to the ground. Priscilla, who had been watching from the shadows, shouted, “Run, Ivan!”

Her voice jolted Ivan out of his stupor. Fueled by adrenaline, he swung around and punched “Lara” in the stomach. The blow echoed with a metallic clang as she staggered back, her expression unchanging.

At that moment, a laser beam shot out from the saucer, placing small explosives around Ivan’s feet in a calculated pattern. Realizing his only option was to escape, he sprinted toward Priscilla, while “Lara” turned back toward the saucer, stepping inside. The doors closed, and within moments, the saucer shot into the sky, vanishing in a flash of light.

Ivan stopped, panting, as Priscilla stared at him in shock. “I… I can’t believe you were telling the truth,” she whispered.

The next day, Ivan tried calling the real Lara one more time. This time, she answered, but her tone was icy. “Ivan, this isn’t working anymore,” she said curtly, hanging up before he could even begin to explain what had happened.

Sitting with the phone in his hand, Ivan knew that his relationship with Lara was over for good. At least now he understood—though in the strangest way possible—that the woman he encountered at Croft Manor last night was definitely not the real Lara.

Chapter 10

The tension between Ivan and Priscilla softened over time, and he found himself intrigued by her boldness. Over a casual lunch, Priscilla leaned back, sizing him up with a playful grin. "Ivan, you’ve got the taste of a grandpa," she teased, referring to his somber choice of clothes.

"Well, let’s see what you have to offer then, Miss Priscilla the Designer," Ivan retorted, trying to hide a smirk. But her curiosity soon took a more serious turn as she asked, "So… what were you like when you were young?"

Ivan froze. Memories he’d long buried rushed back: his father’s tragic end, his mother’s struggles, their losses… He took a deep breath, hesitating.

"I was born in the ČSSR. That’s the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic, but I’m sure that doesn’t mean much to a Yankee," he said, attempting to deflect.

Priscilla, however, was persistent, her gaze unwavering. After a moment of silence, Ivan continued, voice low, “I was born in 1950. Grew up in Prague. My father died when I was six, and my mother… when I was nineteen.” He clenched his fists, his voice barely a whisper. “After that, the army became my family. I served in the Czechoslovak People’s Army, then worked as a detective for the Public Security force.”

Priscilla’s eyes softened as she listened. Just as she was about to ask him more, her handbag began to vibrate strangely. Startled, she pulled out a sleek communicator she’d found abandoned on the beach a few days prior. She examined it, but before she could react, a strange voice crackled through.

“Evening, guests. We have a table ready for you,” the voice said, eerily calm, with a tone that sounded far too familiar to Ivan.

"Where is this from?" Ivan asked, alarm spreading across his face. Priscilla looked back, puzzled. "Some place near the shore. I think it’s… where you used to go with Lara."

Realizing the implications, Ivan didn’t waste another second. He grabbed Priscilla’s hand, and they rushed to the Chaika. Along the way, they swung by to pick up Adam, Ivan’s colleague and old friend, who barely looked fazed as Ivan hurriedly filled him in on the alien suspicions.

“Listen, I’m telling you, Ivan, these aliens aren’t just a figment of your paranoia,” Adam remarked dryly. "Last week, I barely avoided getting beamed up by one of those saucers myself.”

When they arrived at the dimly lit seaside restaurant, the atmosphere was hauntingly quiet, with just a handful of patrons scattered about. As they entered, Ivan immediately noticed two peculiar men at the far end of the bar. Both were stiffly hunched over plates of salad, and every few bites, they lifted tall glasses to their lips.

Ivan narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess,” he muttered to Priscilla and Adam, “they’re drinking sunflower oil.”

Adam stifled a laugh, while Priscilla looked horrified but intrigued. Ivan turned to the bartender, who seemed relieved to see him.

“Hey, those two in the corner—how long have they been here?” Ivan asked, nodding towards the pair.

The bartender leaned in, lowering his voice. “Hours. Just sitting there, eating salad and… yeah, you guessed it, drinking sunflower oil. I swear, they haven’t ordered anything else.”

Ivan’s eyes glinted with a knowing look. He straightened up and approached the two men, who glanced up at him with vacant stares, the kind that barely recognized humanity. With an air of confidence, Ivan folded his arms and smirked.

“What’s your drink of choice, gentlemen?” he asked in a low voice.

The two looked at each other, unsure how to respond. But Ivan didn’t wait for an answer. With a pointed nod, he replied on their behalf, “Sunflower oil. I knew it.”

The men exchanged nervous glances, and one of them cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to mask his discomfort. Ivan’s eyes darted back to the bartender, who looked both relieved and mildly disturbed as if Ivan’s strange deduction had confirmed all his fears.

Chapter 11

The two men at the bar sprang to their feet, backing against the wall as Ivan, Adam, and Priscilla closed in like a makeshift tactical unit. Ivan felt a surge of triumph—until one of the men turned, his eyes blazing with beams of light that shot directly at Priscilla, searing her prized North Face jacket. Frozen in shock, she gasped, staring at the smoldering remains of her coat. Meanwhile, the other stranger casually ignited a grill in front of Adam with a flick of his hand. Adam stumbled back, his face pale with terror.

Just then, the restaurant owner burst in, ready to demand answers. But before he could say a word, one of the men shot a beam toward the wall, knocking loose a set of ornate cuckoo clocks. The clocks came crashing down, and one bonked the bartender on the head, knocking him unconscious.

But Ivan remained unshaken. Calmly, he stepped behind the bar and retrieved an old double-barrel shotgun, giving a grim nod to Adam and Priscilla, who watched in horror as he cocked the gun and aimed it at the two men. Just as he squeezed the trigger, one of the men unleashed another beam, bending the barrels upward in a grotesque arc, and the blast shot straight into the chandelier above, sending shards of glass raining down.

Determined, Ivan fired the second barrel, aiming at an aquarium over the men. The glass shattered, and water cascaded down onto one of them, soaking him. The drenched man scrambled back, disoriented, giving Adam the chance to lunge forward and tackle him. The other man, however, made a break for it, diving out the window with a crash.

As they dragged the remaining man toward the door, he twisted around, pulling out a small device resembling a flashlight. He held it up, a cold, menacing smile on his face. “Touch me, and I’ll erase you from existence,” he warned. To demonstrate, he aimed the device at the restaurant and pressed a button. In an instant, the entire building vanished, leaving only an empty patch of ground.

“Your time has not yet come,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Stay out of our affairs.” Then, with a final wrench, he broke free and darted into the night, disappearing without a trace.

Lara arrived moments later, confusion and fury etched on her face as she took in the strange trio standing on what used to be the restaurant’s floor. “Ivan,” she demanded, “what are you doing here with Adam and… and that girl in this restaurant?”

Ivan raised his hands defensively. “What restaurant?” he asked, feigning innocence. “There wasn’t one here.”

They locked eyes, and an argument ensued. “Don’t play dumb, Ivan! This restaurant was right here. We came here every Saturday night. Are you really going to stand there and tell me it never existed?”

Ivan shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Maybe someone thinks they saw a restaurant disappear, and maybe someone else thinks they saw aliens. Who’s to say who’s right?” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to argue.

Lara narrowed her eyes, her anger barely contained. “Are you even listening to yourself?” she snapped.

Unbothered, Ivan waved to Adam and Priscilla, signaling that it was time to leave. The three got back into the Chaika and drove off, leaving Lara standing alone on the empty lot, staring at the barren ground, her mind reeling.

Meanwhile, the bartender, who had been knocked out cold, stirred and slowly sat up, groggy but alert. Spotting Lara, he scrambled to his feet and rushed over, his face filled with panic. “Miss!” he gasped, pointing to the empty ground. “Someone stole my restaurant!”

Lara could only blink at him, too stunned to respond, as if reality itself was beginning to unravel. Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of it all. Then, out of the silence, a strange creaking noise drifted from the direction of the shore. Her pulse quickened as she followed the sound.

There, in the shadows, a figure was shuffling toward the water, moving with an odd, jerky gait. As she watched, the figure’s arms abruptly detached and fell to the ground with a soft thud, sending a chill down her spine. Then, as if in slow motion, the rest of the body collapsed, revealing an eerie metallic skeleton glinting under the moonlight.

Heart pounding, Lara stepped closer, barely daring to breathe. The last remnants of what appeared to be human skin crumbled away, leaving only a cold, skeletal frame. With a shiver, she realized, in that moment, that Ivan hadn’t been lying.

Chapter 12

And so, with a plan equal parts absurd and daring, the school staff embarked on their mission of interstellar pest control, beginning at the very heart of their own institution. Wielding spray bottles, garden hoses, and even buckets filled to the brim, they doused every student and staff member they encountered. Students shrieked as they scurried down the halls, and some teachers looked on in bewilderment, unsure if this was a new form of discipline or some bizarre experimental project.

But the staff weren’t satisfied with just soaking the school. Principal Burkov’s enthusiasm for water-wielding alien-hunting tactics was contagious, and soon, they were looking to spread their campaign beyond the campus walls. With a shared glance of mischievous determination, they decided they needed a bigger splash—literally.

Before long, they had “borrowed” a fire truck from the local fire department under dubious circumstances, piling into it with uncontainable glee. Adam took his place at the wheel, gripping it with a look of wild excitement, while Ivan, Lara, Principal Burkov, and Priscilla positioned themselves on the back, all clutching the hose as if it were the staff of some mythical hydrous weapon. The sight of the four of them, dressed in soaking-wet clothes and sporting expressions of gleeful mischief, was enough to turn heads as they drove down the streets of the quiet town.

“Full pressure!” Burkov bellowed as they approached the first crowd of unsuspecting citizens. They trained the hose on a group of newlyweds taking photos in front of a local monument. A blast of water drenched the bride’s pristine white dress, and the crowd scattered in shock. Next, they turned their aim toward a group of tourists, huddled together, consulting a map. The water sent the map flying and the tourists shrieking, desperately running for cover.

From weddings to birthday parties, no one was safe from the impromptu drenching. Teenagers, fashion-conscious walkers, and even little old ladies out for a casual stroll became their targets. Chaos erupted as people fled every which way, slipping, sliding, and scrambling to escape the fire hose’s relentless torrent. The laughter from the fire truck was raucous and uninhibited—Burkov’s hearty guffaws, Priscilla’s giggles, Ivan’s wheezy chuckles, and Lara’s uncontrollable cackling. To anyone watching, it was unclear if this was a public safety stunt or the actions of madmen, but one thing was certain: they were having the time of their lives.

After hours of mayhem, the laughter began to die down, and the group finally decided to take a breather. But just as they were savoring the afterglow of their chaotic adventure, an official-looking car pulled up alongside them, its lights flashing. From the vehicle emerged a stiff, unsmiling man—the inspector from the School Inspection Office.

Within minutes, the inspector had rounded them up, bringing Ivan, Adam, Priscilla, Lara, and Burkov into his office. He looked over the soaked, somewhat disheveled group with utter disdain.

“You’re all a bunch of lunatics,” he declared, shaking his head. “An entire city block has been turned into a soaked mess because of you people. This isn’t just misconduct—it’s complete degeneracy!”

Principal Burkov, however, was undeterred. He stepped forward with an expression of righteous indignation, crossing his arms defiantly. “You don’t understand!” he proclaimed. “We’re not degenerates—we’re defending humanity! The aliens are hiding among us, disguised as humans. But they can’t hide from us if we keep them wet. We have irrefutable evidence that their weakness is water!”

The inspector’s stern face softened slightly, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “Aliens? You’re serious?” he asked, eyeing Burkov as if assessing whether he’d lost his mind. “And what exactly is this ‘evidence’ you claim to have?”

Ivan took a step forward, hoisting the corroded skeleton into the light. The rusted remains, barely holding together, cast an eerie, unnatural gleam, and the inspector’s face paled as he took in the bizarre artifact. He reached out, barely daring to touch it, his hand trembling with a mixture of fear and fascination.

“This,” Ivan said, pride lacing his voice, “is one of them. Water is their undoing—it corrodes them to their core.”

The inspector’s jaw dropped as he examined the rusted figure in stunned silence. “This… this is extraordinary,” he muttered. “Do you have any idea what this means? If we could capture one alive… this could change everything. I could send it to the Institute of Sciences, make an international breakthrough. This discovery could make history!”

Burkov’s eyes lit up with a sudden idea. “Exactly! That’s why we need to go on the offensive. We’ll lure them in and study them on our own terms.”

The inspector frowned. “And how do you propose to do that?”

A mischievous grin spread across Burkov’s face. “Simple. We’ll build an exact replica of their spacecraft—a saucer, down to the finest detail—and we’ll place it right in the middle of town as bait. The aliens won’t be able to resist.”

The inspector, now fully drawn into the scheme, nodded thoughtfully. “And you think they’ll fall for it?”

Ivan’s grin matched Burkov’s. “Oh, they’ll fall for it. We’ll set a trap so irresistible that they’ll come flocking to it.”

The inspector, swept up by the audacious plan, finally nodded. “Alright,” he said, barely containing his excitement. “Do what you need to. But you’d better catch one of these creatures. For science.”

With newfound resolve, the team of misfits set off, determined to bring their plan to life.

Chapter 13

With the expert backing of BAE, the team managed to construct an exact replica of the alien flying saucer in record time. It gleamed in the sunlight, every rivet, bolt, and seam meticulously designed to match the real thing. They transported it to a remote clearing on the edge of town, camouflaging themselves in dense bushes nearby, each armed with a pest-control sprayer and specialized tanks filled with destilled water.

Burkov, his voice low but charged with excitement, went over the plan once more. "Alright, everyone. When they come out, hold your fire until I give the order. And then—no mercy. We're drenching them."

As the minutes ticked by, the group’s initial anticipation gave way to idle banter. They shared stories and jokes, exchanging laughs and whispers to pass the time. Then, after nearly two hours of tense waiting, the silence was broken by the low hum of something approaching from above.

The group squinted at the sky as a gleaming saucer appeared, slowly descending with a soft metallic whir. Ivan, Adam, and Priscilla were prepared, their faces serious and focused. But Burkov and Lara’s jaws dropped in awe as they witnessed the massive craft land just meters from their hiding spot, the shock and thrill unmistakable in their wide eyes.

The saucer touched down, its metal gleaming under the sun. The tension was electric as the group watched the door slowly hiss open. A foggy mist poured out, obscuring the figures within—until the mist cleared, revealing five familiar forms stepping out.

Ivan’s eyes widened as he realized who he was looking at. “Lara,” he whispered, nudging her. “Look at that one. It’s… you.”

Lara’s brows knit in confusion until she saw what he was pointing at. The figure, identical to herself in every detail, stood with her exact stance and expression. She blinked, her gaze shifting to the others stepping out, and froze when she spotted the alien Ivan, who looked precisely like her friend crouched beside her in the bushes.

“Ivan,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “That’s… that’s us.”

Ivan grinned, his gaze darting back and forth. “No, Lara. We’re here, in the bushes. That’s them—the aliens.”

Burkov and Priscilla were utterly speechless, their jaws hanging open as they watched their own doppelgängers emerge from the saucer. Each double looked around, their expressions disturbingly blank and calculated. They didn’t speak but began inspecting the replica ship with clinical detachment. One of them—a copy of Priscilla—raised her hand, making a simple motion to fan out and survey the area.

The real Burkov took a deep breath, his face a mask of determination. He whispered with fierce conviction, “Now! Attack!”

With a battle cry that was more determined than intimidating, the team leaped from the bushes, their sprayers primed and ready. They unleashed a torrent of water and chemicals on their alien counterparts. The extraterrestrials flinched, recoiling in disgust as the spray splattered across their synthetic human faces.

For a moment, it seemed the surprise attack might succeed. But then, as if snapping back to reality, the aliens raised their heads, their eyes glinting ominously. Without warning, beams of light shot from their eyes, disabling the sprayers in the team’s hands. With a series of hisses and pops, each weapon was knocked clean out of their grip, leaving them defenseless.

Adam’s voice trembled as he muttered, “Uh… maybe it’s time to run?”

The group took a cautious step back, ready to bolt. But Ivan stepped forward, fists clenched, his voice defiant. “Hold on! Remember the words of the last great civilization that fell—sometimes all you’ve got is your fists!”

Lifting his hands, Ivan gestured for a full-on fistfight. “Hand-to-hand, comrades!” he declared, and with a mighty yell, he charged.

In perfect sync, the team followed Ivan’s lead, launching themselves at their alien duplicates with all the zeal of a last stand. Lara sprang forward, her acrobatic skills on full display as she spun, kicked, and dodged with fluid grace. Her doppelgänger met her movements, mirroring each action with mechanical precision. The two locked in a chaotic dance of punches and dodges, each trying to outmaneuver the other.

Meanwhile, Burkov, Adam, and Ivan threw themselves at their alien doubles, their fists swinging wildly. Each hit landed with a resounding clang, echoing across the clearing. The aliens staggered back slightly, their faux-human exteriors denting with each impact. For Ivan, the sound was exhilarating—proof that the aliens were, after all, vulnerable to brute force.

Priscilla’s punches, though slightly less thunderous, made their mark, a smaller but steady rhythm of smacks and thuds. Her alien self looked mildly irritated, clearly unprepared for the tenacity of its human twin.

The brawl continued, the sounds of fists against metal filling the air. Just when it seemed they might be gaining the upper hand, the aliens regrouped, their eyes beginning to glow with a telltale menace. Recognizing the danger, Ivan yelled, “Retreat to the saucer!”

Without wasting a second, the team scrambled for the aliens’ real spacecraft, tumbling through the hatch just as another round of beams fired off, narrowly missing them. The interior of the saucer hummed with an otherworldly energy, the walls adorned with sleek panels and blinking lights. Ivan slammed his hand on what he hoped was the “close” button, and the hatch sealed shut behind them.

Burkov, panting but grinning, slapped Ivan on the back. “Well done, my friend! Now, let’s see if this thing can fly!”

Adam, ever the tinkerer, found what appeared to be the control panel. With a grin, he started pressing buttons at random. The saucer jolted, vibrating as the engine hummed to life.

As the ship lifted off, they looked out the window to see their alien counterparts watching from the ground, their faces twisted in a mixture of anger and confusion. Ivan, Adam, Burkov, Priscilla, and Lara each waved down at them, reveling in their victory.

With a triumphant cheer, they soared off into the night, leaving the aliens—and their doubles—far behind.

Chapter 14

The alien quintet, blissfully unaware of the chaos left behind in the woods, vanished into the forest depths. Meanwhile, news of the human quintet’s supposed heroic encounter with extraterrestrials spread like wildfire across the media landscape. Headlines proclaimed Ivan, Lara, Adam, Burkov, and Priscilla as champions of Earth, hailed as brave defenders who had faced off against otherworldly invaders. The city of London prepared a grand parade in their honor, with citizens gathering in droves to cheer and celebrate their “heroes.”

As the festivities were planned, the real quintet was aboard the actual alien craft, desperately trying to figure out how to pilot it. It quickly became clear that the ship had a mind of its own; every time they pulled a lever or pushed a button, it bucked, twisted, and veered off course. Ivan shouted instructions at Adam, who was frantically trying to make sense of the control panel, while Lara attempted to keep everyone calm, her voice rising above the cacophony of alarms and flashing lights. The ship seemed to relish their confusion, twisting and turning as if in mockery of their efforts.

Meanwhile, on the streets of London, the human doppelgängers paraded through the throngs of adoring fans. Clapping and shouting, citizens reached out for high-fives and greetings, wanting to touch the heroes they believed had saved the world. The imposters awkwardly mimicked human gestures, each time followed by strange squeaks and mechanical whirs that only added to the absurdity of the scene. In a disastrous turn of events, just as the crowd began to cheer louder, the doppelgängers malfunctioned, their limbs jerking uncontrollably before they began to topple over, one after another, like poorly made marionettes losing their strings. Gasps and laughter erupted from the crowd, who initially thought it was part of the show, only to realize the truth as the last of the imposters crumpled to the ground.

Above, the real saucer finally broke through the clouds, gliding into view. A mixture of awe and panic swept through the crowd as they watched the true quintet struggle to regain control of their erratic flight path. Ivan and Lara exchanged a glance filled with both resignation and determination. “Well, if we’re going to go down, let’s do it with style,” Ivan declared, and together they began singing “Ave Maria,” their voices rising in a shaky harmony that echoed through the cockpit. Priscilla and Adam joined in, transforming their panic into a strangely beautiful moment of camaraderie amid chaos.

As the song reached its crescendo, the vessel began to dip dangerously low. “Brace yourselves!” Ivan shouted as the ship descended faster and faster, until it finally crashed into the Thames with a resounding splash that sent waves crashing over the riverbank. The crowd stood in stunned silence, holding their breath as they awaited the outcome.

Moments later, the hatch of the saucer creaked open, and the drenched quintet emerged, spluttering and laughing, completely soaked but alive. Cheers erupted from the crowd, a tidal wave of applause and shouts welcoming them back to solid ground. As the quintet waded through the water, Londoners rushed forward, sweeping them up in a joyful frenzy, lifting them onto their shoulders as if they were gladiators returning from battle.

“Look! It’s really them!” a voice shouted, and suddenly everyone was chanting their names. Ivan, Lara, Adam, Burkov, and Priscilla were paraded through the streets of London, surrounded by an adoring throng, who celebrated them as the true defenders of Earth. Banners waved, confetti rained down, and laughter filled the air, creating a carnival atmosphere.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the city, the alien quintet had been apprehended by local authorities and was being transported to the Academy of Sciences. Researchers eagerly awaited their chance to study the peculiar beings, captivated by their strange features and odd behaviors. Each alien was placed under close scrutiny, prodded and poked, subjected to extensive tests that would keep scientists busy for months, if not years. Meanwhile, the imposters continued to malfunction, revealing their mechanical flaws as they were examined under bright lab lights.

Back in the ordinary world, life began to return to its routine. Lara dove back into her work at Cambridge, finding solace in her research and the company of her colleagues. Ivan returned to his classroom, where he found an unexpected camaraderie with his students and fellow teachers, including the proud and eccentric Burkov, who relished in sharing tales of their adventures.

Priscilla, choosing to stay in Britain, embarked on a new journey as an editor at British Vogue, where her unique perspective and fearless attitude quickly caught the attention of her peers. She maintained close friendships with Lara and Ivan, often sharing stories over coffee about their respective worlds.

As the days rolled into a familiar rhythm, the trio exchanged knowing glances and chuckled at their shared memories of the wild encounter. Each day felt like a new adventure, filled with mundane realities that suddenly seemed extraordinary in the light of their recent escapades. They became a tight-knit circle, often reminiscing about the alien experience while basking in the comfort of their ordinary lives.

Yet, amid the routine, a sense of camaraderie lingered in the air. The quintet had not only faced extraordinary challenges together but had forged unbreakable bonds that would last a lifetime. The echoes of laughter, the cheers of the crowd, and the thrill of their adventure remained etched in their hearts as they navigated their newfound normalcy, proud of their past and eager for whatever bizarre future awaited them.