The aliens are slowly making me lose

Okay, first, let’s ground this a little. After the microbes fled with the antibiotics from my body, my shoulders began to hurt. ( Again, this is in real time)

You’re sick, you’re tired, your shoulders hurt (probably from tension, awkward sleeping, or clutching imaginary spacecraft handles), and your brain is dramatizing because it’s exhausted. That doesn’t mean you’re “losing.” It means you’re uncomfortable and worn down.

Now. Let’s continue the story, but we’re not giving the aliens a win.

I tried hanging onto the UFO as it hovered above my bed, but apparently, interstellar travel has zero ergonomic consideration. My shoulders are now staging a protest.

The alien doctor sighs. “See? This is why we installed the anti-gravity harness.”
“You did not,” I mutter. “We mentioned it. Briefly. In your dreams.”

Another alien circles me slowly. “The human believes we are making them lose.”
The doctor tilts his large gray head. “Lose what?”
“Unclear. Possibly dignity. Possibly a battle that exists only in their overtired cortex.”

I attempt to sit up again.
“Ah,” the doctor says, tapping his tablet. “Shoulder pain. Classic Earth-side effect of gripping invisible spacecraft.”

He leans closer. “You are not losing,” he says dryly. “You are horizontal. There is a difference.”

The UFO flickers above the bed. “Next,” he continues, “you will hydrate. You will rest. You will not attempt heroics. Your species survives not by dominance, but by stubborn recovery.”

The other aliens nod. “You mistake fatigue for defeat,” one says. “And discomfort for doom,” adds another.

The doctor closes the tablet. “Next is boring,” he says. “Healing is profoundly uncinematic.”

The UFO powers down. “You recover,” he finishes. “Annoyingly.”

Real talk for a moment:
When you’re sick, your mind can spiral. Everything feels heavier. Even shoulder pain can feel symbolic. It isn’t. It’s just muscles being tight and tired.
What’s next?
Rest. Fluids. Small movements. Gentle stretching when you can. Five days is short in cosmic time, even alien time.

If you are sick in real life, do not give up...keep going, this too will pass.

You’re not losing.
You’re healing, which is inconvenient and deeply unglamorous. In the meantime, do go visit Area 52 and check on my aliens. They need to be fed and talked to. Or ice skate in the Basement Club, but make sure you clean up any marks it left behind, the janitor quit sometime ago. Send me your pictures, and I will feature them here.

“Is this normal or am I becoming furniture?”

GALACTIC COUNCIL INCIDENT REPORT #8841-HUM

Subject: One (1) Human, bedridden
Location: Primitive dwelling, “Bedroom.”
Reason for Observation: “Bacterial infection” (again)

Real life has once again confined me to bed rest due to a bacterial infection, which has now attracted the attention of Aliens from Somewhere Very Judgmental. I’ve been prescribed a five-day course of medication, and while Earth doctors say I’ll recover, the aliens have convened a floating council at the foot of my bed to observe.

They are unimpressed.

“This human has been immobilized by microscopic organisms,” one alien whispers, tapping a glowing clipboard.
“Pathetic,” another replies. “On Kepler-22B, we weaponize our bacteria.”

The medication kicks in, triggering side effects, and the aliens lean closer.
“Ah, yes,” says the tall one. “The Sacred Phase of Nausea and Confusion. This is normal for their species.”
I attempt to sit up. The aliens immediately mark something down.
“Subject tried to be productive. Failed.”

“Release the human in five days.
 Recommend blankets, water, and zero guilt.”

Now I lie here, wrapped in blankets like a specimen burrito, while the aliens debate whether my brain fog is a symptom or just who I am. They agree recovery is likely, but only if I continue to hydrate, rest, and stop apologizing for existing.

In five days, I may be released back into society.
Until then, the aliens will watch.
They always watch. 

Before leaving, one alien turns back and smirks.
“And tell your species we are tired of your bacteria.”

Ohhh yes. The aliens are thrilled.

After the interstellar wellness inspection, I will be able to visit Area 52 again and invent some more notable stories that can only happen in Second Life.

In the meantime, since that is all I have for now, you may leave comments in the designated section that says comments, or on Discord, or as a DM what to plan next for the alien. 

By the way, the bacterial infection is really happening...for reals.

Relax on Engine 229

Area 52 Mirror Basin

Engine 229 rests at the edge of the Mirror Basin, where water reflects more than the sky, and time slows just enough to notice your own breathing.

The engine no longer runs.
It hums.

Metal warm from imagined journeys. Windows catching violet light. A place to sit without needing to arrive anywhere.

Here, the Mirror Basin is quiet. The surface holds the sky, the moons, and sometimes a version of yourself that looks… rested.

No announcements.
No objectives.
Just the soft echo of a train that has already done enough.

If you’re carrying too much, set it down beside the rails.
If you’re lost, don’t worry, Engine 229 isn’t going anywhere.

Stay as long as you like. The Basin remembers how to be still.

The train at Area 52 isn’t from another world in the usual “crashed UFO” sense. According to SEGI files (the ones that keep re-locking themselves), it’s a transit artifact, something that exists between places rather than belonging to one.

The train is safe.
The train is not neutral.
The train knows when you’re ready to move on.

So yes, another world built it.
But tonight?

It’s stopping at Area 52 for the party, as passengers go down to the Basement Club and listen to some extraordinary music you do not hear anywhere else.

WTTQ ANOMALY LOG STATUS: CONFIRMED

SUBJECT: ⁂¤π∴
DURATION: One day only

No alarms sounded when ⁂¤π∴ AKA Mike returned. Remember, way back in June, Anjelikka married him (Mike), but he left the next day.

At first, it was just a change in the air around Mirror Basin; the water went perfectly still, even where the wind should have touched it. The Kraken did not surface. The lights dimmed. Aliens stopped mid-task, not in fear, but in recognition.

⁂¤π∴ does not arrive.
⁂¤π∴ reappears.

Witnesses describe the entity as present but unlocatable. Reflections showed too much and not enough at the same time. Some saw symbols rearrange themselves on nearby signs. Others swear their own reflections blinked first.
No message was broadcast. No demands were made.

Watching humans arrive, hesitate, and decide whether to step closer. Acknowledging the Aliens. Not greeting them, confirming them. One alien technician reportedly powered down their translator and whispered:

“We remembered correctly.”

Looking into the Basin longer than anyone else ever had.
The water did not reflect the sky during that time.

SEGI instruments recorded zero readings for six minutes straight.
The Kraken shifted deeper, as if making room.
Visitors reported a strange calm, followed later by clarity.

One person left Area 52 early without explanation.
Another stayed all night and finally slept.

At dusk, ⁂¤π∴ turned away from the water. No light. No sound.
Just absence, like a sentence ending cleanly. The Basin rippled once. That was all.

Will he return? We do not know, but he saw something, and he did not say.

The Truth About the Mirror Basin

The Basin doesn’t hide something; it hides when you notice it.

SEGI logs describe Mirror Basin as a reflective threshold, not a container. What lies beneath the water only becomes visible when three conditions quietly align:
Stillness – Movement disrupts it. Running past, camming wildly, or treating it like scenery keeps it dormant.
Witnessing – The Basin responds to being observed, not used. Aliens linger there without interacting for a reason.
Personal resonance – What surfaces is influenced by the viewer’s state, memory, or curiosity.

There is something under the lake, but what?

That’s why no two reports match.

What People Think Is Hidden: A submerged alien structure, a Kraken’s true body, a portal to Kepler-22B, evidence of SEGI manipulation?

All false, or at least incomplete. We don't really know. The Basin shows just enough to unsettle you. Some see movement beneath the surface. Some feel watched. Some suddenly understand why they came to Area 52 at all. The aliens didn’t build the Basin. They are getting ready for a mysterious hunt that will need your help, another SEGI? Perhaps, we are not certain yet.

“Are you ready to see, or just to look?”

Those who aren’t ready see water, trees, fog. Those who are… leave without saying much.

Nothing is hidden in the Mirror Basin that wasn’t already with you.

It simply knows when to reflect it back.

WTTQ BREAKING: The Aliens Demand a Renovation And They Want a Lake

It started, as these things often do at Area 52, with a hum.
Not an alarm. Not a threat. A request.

Late last night, SEGI translators picked up a unified transmission from the visiting aliens. The message was calm, polite, and non-negotiable:
“This place requires water. Still water. Reflective water. A lake.”

According to alien representatives, Area 52 is emotionally vibrant but hydrologically incomplete.

Their reasoning:
Water stabilizes memory. Reflections improve truth detection. Lakes reduce interspecies tension by 43%. Also, it looks nice
One alien reportedly added:
“You have clubs. You have art. You have mysteries. But no lake. This is… confusing.”

A central lake where the desert once was, and now soft bioluminescent reeds (safe for cats, aliens, and goth DJs).
A dock for quiet conversations and loud revelations, but no fishing (they are very clear about this)

Occasional fog “for atmosphere and narrative purposes”
The lake is to be called:
The Mirror Basin
Humans suggested “Lake Area 52.”
Aliens said no.

Area 52 is no longer just a place of arrival.
It is becoming a place of staying.

A lake is not a weapon.
It’s a sign of confidence.

And perhaps the aliens are planning to see themselves reflected here for a while.

WTTQ Channel 10 Unconfirmed Report

Subject: The Mother Road & Area 52
Status: Patterns Emerging

The stretch known as the Mother Road has always been good at hiding things.

Long before Area 52 was named, mapped, or softly lit at night, the road existed as a corridor not just for travelers, but for signals. Stories drift along it. Frequencies linger. Some places remember who passed through.

Recent observations suggest the Mother Road is not separate from Area 52, but connected to it. Not by distance. By intention.

Markers along the road align with anomalies detected at Area 52:
flickers in the sky
time behaving politely, but incorrectly
travelers arriving earlier or later than expected

Old diners. Empty motels. Roadside signs that seem to hum when no one is near.
These aren’t abandoned. They’re listening.

WTTQ analysts believe the Mother Road acts as a feeder line, a place where stories gather before converging on Area 52. Those who arrive at Area 52 often pass the road first, whether they remember it or not.

Some locals claim the road “chooses” who gets through.
Others say it simply waits.

What is clear is that if you’ve felt a pull toward Area 52, if the idea of it arrived before the invitation, the Mother Road may have already carried you part of the way.
Travelers are advised to notice what signs repeat, listen to what feels familiar, and not rush through places that feel empty. The Mother Road keeps secrets. Area 52 answers them.

Further connections under review.
WTTQ Channel 10 Stay curious. Protect your signal.