Area 52 : 2025 Between the Signals

2025 at Area 52 wasn’t about spectacle.
It was about showing up.

SEGI unfolded not as a perfect production, but as a living thing, spaces opening, trains running late, teleporters misbehaving, and venues revealing themselves piece by piece:

Dr. Parallax, the mastermind of functioning UFOs, the piano curves of J&R’s Ballroom, Moonshadow Motors opening the way to Mars, ED’s stretching from deep space to the moon to underwater worlds, Rachel's Biodome let us breathe in some cosmic air (was it air, actually, we never know), and all the others.

You stepped through gates not knowing exactly where you’d land. And somehow, that was the point.

There were nights filled with music, dancing, and laughter, and nights that felt quieter, heavier, and more honest. Moments when the sky turned violet, when the wolves stood watch, when aliens drank too much, cats weren’t really cats, and nothing felt scripted anymore.

I met people I will always be grateful for.
People who helped shape the experience just by being present. By asking questions. By bringing music. By watching, listening, dancing, and building. By staying kind when it would’ve been easier not to.

I also learned again that not every connection is safe.
That deception exists even in beautiful places.
That protecting your emotional self isn’t bitterness, it’s wisdom.

SEGI reminded me that worlds don’t have to be perfect to be meaningful.
They just have to be alive.

Area 52 in 2025 was a place where imagination and reality blurred, where people came curious and left changed, sometimes softly, sometimes sharply.
Where friendships were formed not because everything went right, but because people kept showing up anyway.

As the year closes, I’m not archiving 2025. I’m carrying it with me. And as SEGI winds down, I’m thankful for everyone who stepped through the gate, for everyone who stayed, and for everyone who helped make Area 52 feel like more than a place.

It was a moment.
And moments like that are rare.

“Zwischen den Jahren” is when time forgets to finish its sentence.”

The aliens noticed humans act differently during this period:
Nobody knows what day it is. Clocks technically work, but no one respects them. Emails become optional. Soup counts as a plan.

To the aliens, this is not laziness. It is a temporal thinning, a soft space where expectations lose their grip.
One alien researcher reported:
“Humans stop performing their identities and briefly become themselves.”

Zwischen den Jahren means between Christmas and New Years

Aliens live in cycles, not calendars. So the idea that humans invented a socially accepted pause fascinates them. They particularly admire that:
Resolutions haven’t started yet, so guilt is low. The year is over, but the next one hasn’t made demands. People wander around in sweaters, eating leftovers, asking, “Is it still a holiday?”
The aliens call this phase: “The Unassigned Time.”

The caribou with antennas noticed something else:
During Zwischen den Jahren, humans are easier to hear.
Less noise. Less urgency. More honesty.
One caribou adjusted its antenna and said:
“This is when humans transmit on their true frequency.”

Anjelikka summarized it perfectly:
“It’s the only time of year when nobody is supposed to be impressive.”

Because of this, Area 52 now honors Zwischen den Jahren by:
Dimming the sky lights. Suspending unnecessary announcements.Allowing naps without explanation

Letting even Rudolph be quiet (this was difficult)
Final Alien Verdict
The aliens believe Zwischen den Jahren is:
Necessary
Fragile
Not to be rushed
And possibly the most human tradition of all. They suggest you stay there as long as you’re allowed. After all, even the universe needs time between the years.

Thank you all for being part of this. The story will continue in the new year.

A Holiday Message from Area 52

From our strange little corner in Second Life, where the lights glow violet, the caribou listen to the stars, and the snow sometimes falls sideways, we wanted to say this:

You did enough this year.

The aliens have been watching (politely, from a distance).
They noticed how tired everyone is.
How much noise the world makes.
How often do people try anyway?

They want you to know:

Rest is not failure.
Quiet is not emptiness.
You don’t have to glow all the time to matter.

At Area 52, the holidays aren’t loud. They’re made of soft music drifting from the Basement Club,

warm mugs held with both hands,
and lights left on not to impress anyone, but so no one feels alone walking home.

The wolves patrol, not to frighten, but to guard. The caribou tune their antennas, not to escape, but to listen for laughter, for kindness, for the moments that don’t make headlines.

Anjelikka adjusted the sky earlier and said simply:
“Let it be gentle this year.”
So wherever you are, whether you’re celebrating, remembering, grieving, or just getting through, Area 52 wishes you warmth, safety, and at least one moment where nothing asks anything of you.

Happy holidays.
We’re glad you’re here. 

Naughty Rudolph Came to Visit Area 52

It started with a red glow over the perimeter fence.

Not an alarm.
Not an invasion.
Just… Rudolph, hovering awkwardly a few feet above the sand, nose blinking like it knew it was somewhere it probably shouldn’t be.

The caribou with antennas recognized him immediately.

He wanted to show off in front of Krampus

“Oh no,” one sighed. “That’s the one who asks questions.”

Rudolph had not come on official Santa business.
No sleigh.
No list.
No supervision.

Rudolph begged for forgiveness because, after all that eggnog.

He was drunk and said some bad things...even Minka blushed.

He had come because he had heard that Area 52 had experimental snow, aliens who didn’t judge, and excellent beverages labeled “Definitely Not Eggnog.”

Rudolph had unplugged the perimeter lights “just to see what would happen. Taught three aliens how to play reindeer games (they misunderstood and turned it into a strategy simulation) and convinced the caribou security team to compare antlers.

The wolves, unimpressed, watched silently.
Inside the Retreat, Anjelikka spotted him immediately.
“Why is Santa’s GPS blinking… sideways?”

Rudolph tried to explain: “I just wanted a night off. Everyone expects me to glow responsibly.”
An alien handed him a mug. Another adjusted the sky to a soft crimson hue. Someone put jingle bells on a synthesizer.

By the time WTTQ Channel 10 cut to live coverage, Rudolph was dancing poorly, apologizing to a potted plant, and promising to return before Santa noticed he was gone.

When he finally lifted off, nose glowing a little too brightly, the caribou waved.
“He’s naughty,” one said. “But not dangerous.”

The wolves resumed patrol.
The aliens filed the incident under “Festive Anomalies.”
And somewhere far above Area 52, Santa paused mid-flight and muttered:
“I knew it.”

What a "deer."

“Leise rieselt der Schnee” at Area 52

(WTTQ Channel 10 Night Broadcast)

Leise rieselt der Schnee…
Except at Area 52, where it doesn’t fall, it hovers.

Snowflakes drift sideways, pause mid-air, then politely ask for clearance before landing. One alien applauds. Another files a report.

The caribou with antennas hum along to the melody, antlers blinking softly in time. They don’t know the words, but they feel the mood. One whispers:
“This song smells like nostalgia and hot beverages.”

Inside the Retreat:
Aliens sway gently, unsure whether this is a lullaby or a weather warning.

Anjelikka adjusts the snowfall like a lighting designer

Someone adds Glühwein to a mug labeled NOT FOR NON-HUMANS (ignored immediately)

Outside, the wolves stop pacing. Even security feels calm.
For exactly three minutes, no alarms sound. No portals open. No postcards arrive.
An alien intern asks:
“Is this song summoning something?”

A caribou replies:
“No. It’s telling the universe to be quiet.”

The snow continues to fall.
Soft. Silver. Slightly radioactive.

And for one strange, peaceful moment at Area 52,
everyone agrees:

Nothing needs to happen next.

Leise rieselt der Schnee – Area 52 Edition 

Leise rieselt der Schnee,
Lichter tanzen im Weh’n,
UFOs glühen so kalt
Freu dich, das Fest kommt bald!
In den Sims wird es warm,
Stumm verweht jeder Harm,
Lachen hallt durch den Wald
Freu dich, das Fest kommt bald!
Bald ist heilige Zeit,
Aliens singen bereit,
Hör nur, wie freundlich es schallt
Freu dich, das Fest kommt bald!

“Do Aliens Celebrate Hanukkah? The Caribou Says Yes.”

Filed from Area 52, where the lights are already blinking.

It started when one of the antenna-caribou was overheard saying:
“We will require eight nights. Possibly nine, if the latkes are good.”

Naturally, WTTQ investigators stepped in.

Get your FREE Menorah Pillow

According to alien cultural experts (two cats, a jukebox, and someone named Dandy):
Aliens love the Festival of Lights, but for very alien reasons.
Aliens believe the menorah is: A multi-beam signaling device, a countdown clock to snacks

“The most polite laser array we’ve ever seen”

One alien attempted to dock a small shuttle with it.
Security intervened.

Aliens are OBSESSED with latkes. “Crispy gravity disks.Oil-based morale technology.”
“The reason the miracle happened,” Aramis Moonshadow ate an entire dozen once and then came back for another batch, claiming he was no Sprink Chicken (we are not sure what he meant by this, do you?)

An alien chef was heard whispering:
“Eight nights are insufficient for this food.”

The caribou with the strongest antenna has volunteered to:
Light the candles (with its antlers).
Recite blessings in a language that sounds like dial-up internet.
Enforce a strict no open flame near the Glühwein policy.

When asked if it understood Hanukkah, the caribou replied:
“No. But the vibes are immaculate.”

Do Aliens Actually Celebrate?
Yes, but differently.
Aliens observe Hanukkah by:

Turning on one additional light per night.
Telling the same story repeatedly, but with more lasers each time.
Arguing whether the miracle was divine, quantum, or “just very efficient oil.”
Anjelikka, adjusting the lights across Area 52, simply said:
“Any holiday that survives eight nights deserves respect.”

Do the Aliens and Caribou Believe in Santa or Krampus?

At Area 52, belief is… flexible. According to WTTQ field reports and several very opinionated alien sources.

The aliens absolutely believe in Santa, but not the way humans do. To them, Santa is:
A recurring cosmic delivery phenomenon, a red-clad time traveler who appears once per orbital cycle, a being powered by joy, logistics, and extreme sleep deprivation

Aliens at Area 52 refer to him as:
“The Generous Anomaly with the Laughing Signal”

They’ve been tracking his “Ho Ho Ho” frequency for decades and believe it’s a navigational beacon, not a catchphrase.

The antenna-caribou (reindeer with signal horns) are especially loyal. They recognize Santa’s energy signature immediately and will: Stand at attention when sleigh bells ring, glitch slightly when he’s late, become emotionally unavailable if he skips a year,

Krampus, however, is treated with respectful fear.
Aliens believe Krampus is: A cosmic auditor, the enforcer of balance, the being who arrives when joy exceeds safety limits.

Alien translations describe him as
“The Necessary Consequence with Chains”

The caribou do not like Krampus. One was overheard transmitting:
“He stares too long. He knows our secrets.”
Krampus once attempted to board a mothership and was politely but firmly asked to leave after bending a bulkhead with his glare alone.

Area 52 maintains a dual-belief system:
Santa represents hope, gifts, and dance breaks at the Basement Club
Krampus represents accountability, judgment, and why the Glühwein tap has a lock
Anjelikka herself summed it up best:
“Santa brings what you want. Krampus brings what you ignored. Both are necessary.”

Where the holiday spirit meets mild extraterrestrial chaos.

Area 52’s most unpredictable holiday event is officially scheduled for December 18, featuring none other than DJ Casey, who has promised:
Zero alien abductions during her set (probably). A playlist that mixes Earth classics with interstellar bops. A special “Santa-on-the-Moon Mashup” nobody asked for, but everyone will dance to.

Santa Watch 2.0
After the last Basement Club incident, Santa will be monitored.
He has promised to stay sober until at least 10 minutes into the party.
Krampus, however, made no promises.

“SANTA FOUND AND HE’S DRUNK AT THE BASEMENT CLUB”

Broadcast Live from the Basement Club Dancefloor

Dr. Paralax is practically shouting over the bassline:
“Ladies and gentlemen, avatars and extraterrestrials, we have located Santa. He is absolutely fine… and absolutely hammered on Glühwein.”

When WTTQ crews arrived, Santa was:
Still wearing his big red coat
Holding a half-empty mug of glowing purple alien-Glühwein
Dancing in a suspiciously accurate moonwalk
Shouting, “RUDOLPH, DROP THE BEAT!”

The DJ Casey immediately complied. She was also drunk from the Glühwein and announced that next week was Christmas (it wasn't true).

Santa attempted to become a backup dancer for DJ Casey.
Two aliens challenged him to a “Jingle Bell Rave-Off.”
He kept insisting someone needed to “install chimneys in Second Life homes again.”
He ordered the entire room a round of Glühwein “charged to the North Pole.”

Rachel was spotted cheering him on while showing him how to do the Happy Dance.

Krampus stomped in through the side entrance, chains clanking, shouting:
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I thought you were kidnapped! I polished my claws for nothing!”

Santa, swaying slightly, raised his mug and slurred:
“Krampy, my boooooy! Lighten up! Have a sip! It’s Christmas!”

Krampus looked like he had aged 200 years in one second.

An alien at the bar told WTTQ:
“This explains the missing caribou. They followed him here because he smelled like sugar wind.”

Glühwein is hot and sweet, and the alcohol will hit you like an atomic bomb

“Rudolph Claims Santa Is Missing - Krampus or Aliens Suspected!”

BREAKING NEWS FROM AREA 52

WTTQ Channel 10 interrupts your regularly scheduled programming with a developing holiday mystery. According to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer himself, Santa Claus has not shown up for his annual pre-flight warm-up checks at the North Pole.

Rudolph, glowing anxiously at 400 lumens, gave a brief but frantic statement:
“He should’ve been here five hours ago. The sleigh’s polished, the reindeer are stretched, and even the emergency cookie rations are loaded. Something’s wrong. REALLY wrong.


When asked who might be responsible, the red-nosed one wasted no time offering possibilities…

SUSPECT #1: KRAMPUS
Krampus has been “annoyingly smug” this week, according to reindeer reports.
He was last seen sharpening his birch bundle and muttering things like:
“We’ll see who gets the nice list this year.”
A classic Krampus power move.

SUSPECT #2: ALIENS FROM AREA 52

The aliens claim innocence, but their story keeps changing.

First, they said they saw nothing.
Then they said they saw a “jolly red heat signature.”
Then they insisted Santa “voluntarily boarded for research.”
Then they said they “do not know what a ‘Santa’ is.”

Security Caribou with Antennae are now sweeping the skies for unusual sleigh-shaped anomalies.

Rudolph urges everyone to stay alert:

“If you see a sleigh flying backwards, glowing purple, or emitting accordion music, do NOT approach. That’s not Santa. That’s… something else.”

After hours of panic, speculation, and one very dramatic reindeer revolt, new information is emerging about Santa’s disappearance.

According to a source close to the North Pole (an elf who spoke on condition of anonymity because, quote, “Mrs. Claus scares me more than Krampus does”), Santa might have simply overslept.
Apparently, the Big Man stayed up late last night double-checking the Naughty List, which grew by 7,000 names after Area 52 aliens discovered the existence of “Black Friday behavior footage.”

Then he helped himself to a midnight snack of:
12 gingerbread men
4 mugs of cocoa
1 entire pumpkin pie “for carb loading”

And promptly fell asleep on top of the Workshop’s Wi-Fi router, shutting down all elf communications and preventing Rudolph’s emergency alert system from working.

Krampus’s Deeply Unpopular Reindeer Opinion

A WTTQ Channel 10 Follow-Up Exclusive

KRAMPUS: “I’m going to say it. And Santa can clutch his peppermint pearls if he wants.”
1. “Reindeer are drama queens.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know they fly, they sparkle, they guide the sleigh. But have you ever lived with them? They act like they’re the only ones doing any work in December. Meanwhile, I’m hauling whole sacks of naughty mortals through slush with NOTHING but hoofpower and attitude.”

2. “Rudolph’s nose is not a blessing, it’s a hazard.”

“That glowing red orb? It blinds me every time I try to sneak up on someone who lied about doing their taxes. And guess what? It’s not magic. It’s a bio-reactive sinus flare. Don’t tell him I said that. He’s VERY sensitive about his mucus.”

3. “Reindeer eat like they’re trying to bankrupt Christmas.”

“You think cookies are expensive? You should see Santa’s hay budget. Comet and Cupid once ate an entire shipment meant for three planets. Blitzen will eat tinsel if no one stops him.
That’s why he sparkles from the inside out. Not magic, poor dietary boundaries.”

4. “They gossip. Constantly.”

“You think elves talk? Reindeer gossip like they’re hosting a celestial podcast. Last year, they had a five-hour argument over whether Santa’s beard was naturally curly or ‘holiday-permed.’
I had to leave the room.”

5. “Antlers are not weapons. Stop waving them at me.”

“Every December, Dasher threatens me with his antlers like he’s starring in a low-budget fantasy film. I tell him: ‘Put those down or I’ll boop your snoot into another dimension.’
But he never listens.”

“I’m not saying they’re bad creatures.
I’m saying they’re dramatic, sparkly, hay-devouring chaos muffins.”

“…but I still bring them treats on Krampusnacht. Don’t tell them. They’ll start a union.”

Krampus Explains Why Santa Says “Ho Ho Ho”

 A WTTQ Channel 10 Exclusive Interview

Most humans think Santa says “ho ho ho” because he’s jolly.
The aliens of Area 52 strongly disagree.
According to their research (which involved analyzing mall Santas, decoding holiday movies, and interrogating a blow-up Santa in front of Club Rapa Nui), they asked Krampus.

KRAMPUS:
“Oh, finally. Someone asks me instead of that red-suited sugar balloon. Sit down. Listen carefully. I’ll explain what the ho ho ho nonsense is really about.”

“Ho ho ho” is Santa mocking me.
“Yes. You heard me.
Every December, when I’m doing my job, dragging misbehaving folks through the snow, rattling chains, keeping the universe morally balanced, he flies overhead and bellows:”

“HO HO HO!” = ‘I’m popular, and you’re terrifying, deal with it.’
“Honestly? Rude.”

“Humans think it’s jolly.
Aliens think it’s a low-grade war cry.
But really it means:
‘Hide the cookies, Gary, I’m coming down the chimney.’”

“I tried teaching him.
We were on a mission together in 1348. Needed silence. Needed stealth.
He took one step in the snow and boomed:”

‘HO HO...’
“And the whole operation collapsed.”

Santa uses “ho ho ho” to confuse the reindeer.

“Yes. Yes, he does.
It’s code to make them think they’re going left when they’re supposed to go right.
Have you ever wondered why he sometimes ends up in Area 52 instead of Cleveland?
There you go.”

Santa says it because he can’t burp quietly.

“This one is embarrassing for him, but someone must speak the truth.
Milk + cookies + extreme altitude = pressure buildup.
‘Ho ho ho’ is just the polite version of what would happen otherwise.”

“And that’s it. The real story.
Not jolly. Not magical.
Just loud, mildly passive-aggressive, and terrible for stealth missions.”

“Also, tell him to stop calling me ‘Ho-Ho-Bro.’ I hate that.”

“Krampus Sighted Over Area 52!”

“Good evening. This is WTTQ Channel 10 with a Special Holiday Alert. 

Residents of Area 52 are advised to stay indoors, bring in their caribou, and avoid dangling candy canes from windows.”

At approximately 19:42 local time, multiple witnesses reported a large goat-like entity flying over Area 52.
Initial assumptions that it was an alien holiday guest were dismissed when sensors detected:
Iron chains
Hoof impacts on rooftops
A surprisingly judgmental aura

The aliens immediately identified it as Earth Entity KR-ΔMP-US, commonly known as Krampus.

“We expected Santa.
This is… not Santa.”
Anjelikka, Area 52 Resident
“He flew right past the landing pad. Even my cats hid, and they’re normally fine with interdimensional horrors.”

Alien Command activated Festive Containment Protocol 12, which includes:
Deploying wolves (wearing jingle collars for morale).
Switching the mood lights from purple to “protective green.”
Broadcasting a looping message:

“Attention, Krampus: All beings here have been moderately good.”

DJ Casey switched tonight’s playlist to “Run, Run, Rudolph But Faster.”

What Is Krampus Doing at Area 52?
Experts propose three possibilities:
He’s lost.
GPS does not function well around wormholes. He’s inspecting the aliens’ naughty/nice logs.
(The aliens strongly deny wrongdoing.)
He’s looking for someone who still hasn’t unpacked their inventory since 2017.

If that’s you… Good luck. He also advises people to buy at the UFOh my Gacha Store or else.

Meteorologist Trenton Glass says the storm front tonight may include:
Light snow swirling holiday particles and sporadic hooves from above.

Residents should remain calm and avoid feeding strange shadow-creatures.

“We will keep you updated throughout the night.
For now, this is Trenton for WTTQ Channel 10, reminding you:
If you hear chains, hide the gingerbread.”

"Stop, do not take the reporter!" Anjelikka is trying her best 011 power. (no luck)

The Newest Trend Sweeping Through Area 52 (and Possibly Time Itself)

Everyone at Area 52 has been talking about it: the aliens, the wolves, the caribou with antennas, even the janitor bot that isn’t supposed to speak.

They’re all buzzing about the same phenomenon:
Quantum Leaping Manifestation 

A technique so powerful, so unpredictable, and so confusing that even Dr. Parallax said:
“Please stop doing this near the reactor.”

Aliens at Area 52 claim they invented it after misinterpreting human motivational posters.
Their results so far:
One alien manifested “a bigger coffee mug.”
They leapt too hard and ended up in 1978 next to a disco ball.
Another wanted “a warmer winter outfit.”
They jumped timelines and found themselves wearing a full Krampus costume.
A third tried to manifest “a date.”
They ended up accidentally summoning three caribou and a confused delivery driver.

Progress? Maybe.

Anjelikka tried it once.
She leapt so gracefully that she briefly phased into a reality where:
The Retreat had perfect Wi-Fi
Black Friday actually existed
And all the gachas were sorted alphabetically, which feels unrealistic
She returned immediately because it “felt suspicious.”

It started, as these things usually do, with someone saying:
“How hard can quantum leaping really be?”

Her name was Zyn, one of the newer aliens at Area 52, bright turquoise, with three eyes, a good attitude, and questionable decision-making. She had been watching humans manifest things on TikTok and became convinced she could do it better.
So she tried Quantum Leaping Manifestation.

And leapt into the wrong timeline.

Zyn stood at the glowing teleport circle behind the Gacha Store, thinking very hard about her desire:
“I want a peaceful timeline! With warm weather! And snacks!”
She jumped.
There was a fizz.
A pop.
A sound like someone ripping open a bag of chips in slow motion.
And then she was gone.

P.S. Stop by and pick up some from another timeline gacha items for the price you could never get anywhere else.

Quantum Leaping Manifestation is fun and powerful, but please stop doing it near Area 52.

WTTQ CHANNEL 10 EXCLUSIVE “Astrid the Alien Catfished by a So-Called ‘Linden’”

ANCHOR DEVON (looking overly serious):
“Tonight at 10, an emotional scandal rocks Area 52. Astrid, the lavender-skinned alien with impeccable eyeliner and the patience of a cosmic monk, has been catfished.”

Krampus could be the imposter; we do not know.

DR. PARALLAX: “It was bound to happen. She’s too trusting. She believes anyone with a glowing badge is ‘official.’”

According to sources, Astrid believed she had been messaging a “Linden Liaison of Interspecies Social Integration,” who claimed: They could get her a premium parcel on Jupiter,
They were experts in alien-human romance, and they had “special permissions to boost her inventory limit to infinite.”

This last claim should have been a red flag. But Astrid has 29,000 outfits and dreams big.

The catfisher (username: TotallyRealLinden_42) sent suspicious lines such as:
“Hello, I’m from The Lab. Want to see my secret region?”
“Please give me your HUD settings so I can upgrade your cosmic experience.”
“I can turn your landing point into a wormhole.”
Astrid later admitted:
“Honestly, the wormhole part sounded legit.”

The wolves on duty sniffed the chat history and immediately declared the “Linden” to be:

“98% human, 2% nonsense, 0% official.”

One wolf added in a written statement:

“We could smell the deception. And the fear. And the microwaved lasagna.”

Astrid confessed she felt devastated, betrayed… and mildly insulted.

“They told me my avatar shape looked ‘default.’
I haven’t been this offended since the humans called my antenna earrings ‘quirky.’”

Investigators discovered that the catfisher didn’t work for the Lab at all. In fact, he worked in Second Life’s unofficial underground pillow-gacha resale market, notorious for lures, scams, and the occasional emotional support groundhog.

Astrid is now giving a TED Talk (Trans-Dimensional Extra-Dimensional Talk) titled:

“Don’t Get Catfished Across Dimensions:
Red Flags Even Aliens Shouldn’t Ignore.”
Her top tips include:
If someone says they can look inside your inventory “with their mind,” block them.
Never believe a stranger who claims the Region Restarts follows their personal schedule.
Real Lindens don’t flirt. The universe would implode.

“There Will Be NO Black Friday at the Retreat”

Residents of the Retreat woke up this morning to an official announcement from the Council of Dimensional Well-Being (and one extremely annoyed alien translator):
 “NO BLACK FRIDAY AT THE RETREAT.”

Why? Because last year’s attempt ended in:
Three wormholes caused by “doorbuster deals”.
A stampede of drunk alien-cats chasing half-priced gravity boots.
Dandy accidentally opened a portal to 1974, looking for a sale on lentils.
Anjelikka has bought a coat that contains a previous owner’s memories and refuses to return it.
Devon tries to livestream the chaos, only to get sucked into a clearance rack dimension.
And Rachel (the alien) insisted that “50% off” is a form of Earth trickery designed to summon capitalism demons.

“The Retreat is a sanctuary of calm, meditation, and questionable cosmic happenings.
We cannot risk destabilizing the timelines for discount toasters again.”

The alien wellness committee added: “If humans wish to participate in Black Friday, they may do so in Earth malls, provided they accept the risk of encountering unmasked shoppers and discounted microwaves.”

The caribou (with antennas) simply blinked twice, which experts translated as:
“Absolutely not.”
Instead of Black Friday, the Retreat will host:

Calm Friday, a quiet event involving tea, slow-floating, and no capitalism.

Dear Pixelette,

Why can’t I buy anything on Black Friday at the Retreat?
I woke up early, logged in, grabbed my Linden wallet, stretched my clicking finger, and strutted to the shops… only to find: signs that say “NO CAPITALISM TODAY,” a meditating alien-cat at the door chanting “ohmmm-but-no-sales-ohmmm,” and a caribou with antennas physically blocking the entrance like a fluffy bouncer.

One vendor told me the “fabric of consumer reality is unstable” and tried to sell me a rock instead. Another said they were “cleansing their chakras from last year’s coupon incident.”

PIXELLETTE, ALL I WANTED WAS A 50% OFF SWEATER THAT MAKES ME LOOK MILDLY MYSTERIOUS.

Is there any way to get deals here?
Or should I surrender and join Calm Friday?

Signed,
Sales-Blocked in the Stars

Dear Sales-Blocked,

First, breathe.
You cannot bargain with a caribou. Especially one wired directly to the mothership.
Here’s the truth: The Retreat does not allow Black Friday because last year, a single discounted crop-top ripped a hole in the sky big enough for three confused angels, two dimension-traveling wolves, and one very embarrassed Devon to fall through.
They still talk about that. This year, the aliens voted 13 to 2 (the two dissenting votes were from the alien-cats, who misunderstood and thought “Black Friday” meant “unlimited tuna”).

Your options now are:
Join Calm Friday
Drink tea. Float. Pretend you never loved coupons. Go to Area 52's Gacha Store.
Attempt to negotiate with the caribou. Good luck. They are immune to charm and coupons.
Wait until “Slightly Discounted Tuesday”
It’s the Retreat’s compromise holiday. Things are 7% off. No one knows why.
Let Anjelikka dress you. She doesn’t do discounts, but she does do destiny.

In any case, the universe has spoken:
No sweater is worth tearing open a rift again.

Luminously yours,
Pixelette

“ARE YOU SERIOUS? COVID HAS HIT AREA 52”

Filed by Trenton Glass, who is definitely wearing two masks and possibly a hazmat poncho.

Earlier today, health officials at Area 52 confirmed that COVID-19 has somehow, impossibly, reached the alien compound.
This immediately raised several questions: Can aliens even get Covid? Did the virus hitch a ride on someone’s teleport script? Who coughed in the wrong direction?
The answers are:
Yes, Maybe, and Devon. Probably Devon. We will just blame him anyway. Read about his rise to fame.

Reports from the Hangar Clinic describe alien patients experiencing:
Color shifts (green → teal → “distressed mauve”)
Random gravity fluctuations
Telepathic sneezing (which feels like someone yelling “ACHOO” inside your spine)
A strong craving for applesauce
One alien reportedly whispered, “My aura feels stuffy.”

Lockdown Measures

Area 52 has now been enacted:
Hovercraft distancing all ships must float 6 meters apart
Mandatory mask fields forcefields that smell faintly of lavender
No more communal saucer buffets
All mind-meld sessions postponed
Cats (alien or otherwise) must wear tiny face shields

Dandy attempted to make lentil soup for everyone, but the steam set off the hangar's biohazard alarms. Again.

Anjelikka:
“ABSOLUTELY NOT. I didn’t survive three timelines and fifteen bad teleport scripts to catch alien-Covid.” (In real life, Anjelikka has a bad case of Covid right now, send your well wishes via Discord or in the comments)
Rachel (the alien): “This is why we shouldn’t have shared straws with the caribou.”
Trenton: “I told you letting them lick the handrails was a bad idea.”

Good News?
Dr. Parallax claims the alien immune system works like a 1990s fax machine:
slow, loud, but eventually functional.
He also reports the virus appears less severe in extraterrestrial physiology, causing mostly:
Mild glowing
Temporary floating
Excessive politeness

WTTQ SPECIAL REPORT “When an Alien Is Summoned for Jury Duty”

 Filed by Trenton Glass, who swears this actually happened, and honestly… it might have.

An alien at Area 52 opens their mailbox (which they installed upside-down because that “felt correct”) and finds a letter addressed to:
“Z’NARLAX OF THE FOURTH SPIRAL, a.k.a. ‘Steve’.”
Confused, the alien scans the letter and concludes it must be: a threat, a party invitation, or a test of Earth loyalty, a punchline with no joke. They attend anyway.

The alien tries to fly their ship to the courthouse. This is immediately discouraged by local authorities. They attempt to park it in a normal parking spot. It hovers. It hums. It causes 12 car alarms and one fainting incident.

The judge asks if any potential jurors have conflicts of interest. The alien raises a hand:
“I once mind-melded with a suspect species in 2004.” The courtroom becomes very, very quiet. The alien clarifies: “Also, I cannot promise I won’t read everyone’s thoughts. It is a reflex. Like blinking.”
Dismissed.
Immediately dismissed.

The alien attempts to blend in by: Eating all the snacks, reading People Magazine with the intensity of someone studying a sacred scroll, asking strangers, “What is a Kardashian, and why is it multiplying?” People begin sitting farther away.

During orientation, the alien asks: “If the defendant lies, may I emit a corrective sound beam?”
Everyone assumes this is a joke. It is not. Later, the alien loudly whispers, “Why do humans trust their justice system?” An excellent question. Not helpful here.

The alien is officially excused from duty due to potential telepathic interference, electromagnetic interference, Social interference, and snack interference

They leave triumphantly, believing they have passed yet another Earth ritual.
They tell the other aliens at Area 52:
“I have completed Jury Duty. I am now qualified to judge all human behavior.”

PS: Nobody will judge you if you buy gifts from the UFOh my Gacha Shop.

WTTQ Channel 10 Holiday Special: Christmas Lights

“How the Aliens Interpret Earth Christmas Lights” 

(Filed by Trenton Glass, who insists this is all scientifically accurate even though it absolutely isn’t.)

Aliens believe Christmas lights are humanity’s dramatic way of saying:
“We are overwhelmed. Please send snacks.” The brighter the house, the more distressed the humans must be. Entire subdivisions look like they’re begging for intergalactic therapy.

To aliens, blinking patterns translate into short messages such as:

“Buy more presents.” “Help, my neighbor is competitive.” “The ladder is stuck. Send help.”
One alien swears a rooftop display in Sector B spelled:
“PLEASE MAKE MY FAMILY LEAVE BY 9PM.”

Aliens don’t understand inflatables.
They truly believe humans deploy giant balloon Santas as a soft defensive perimeter, guarding against Home invasion, door-to-door salespeople, and the HOA.

One alien tried to “communicate with” a 12-foot inflatable Rudolph.
The result: antler puncture, two hours of air deflation, three hours of confusion.

When aliens see an entire house glowing like a small sun, they assume humans are locked in a sacred holiday battle called “The Light-Off.” Winner: Whoever blinds the most aircraft.
Area 52 aliens tried to participate once. The power grid cried.

Aliens laugh every time they see a house with those spinning green dots.

They think humans are experimenting with beginner-level starfield tech and failing adorably. One alien said, “They’re trying so hard. Let’s clap.”

Aliens assume dangling white lights signal to predators, “Beware: we survived last winter.”
This has made at least 12 aliens deeply afraid of cul-de-sacs.

Aliens believe Christmas lights are humanity’s way of saying:

“We don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re festive about it.”

And honestly?
They respect that.