Dr. Lena Hanson stood amidst the carnage, the sterile white of the laboratory now stained crimson. The silence, heavy and absolute, was broken only by the frantic thumping of her own heart. Before her lay the alien, its iridescent blue skin now duller, the emerald fluid still oozing from its chest wound. Scattered around were the lifeless forms of her colleagues, their faces frozen in expressions of terror and disbelief.
A wave of nausea washed over her, but beneath the horror, a flicker of something else began to stir. Pity. Despite the violence, despite the fear it had instilled, the image of the restrained alien on the cold metal table flashed in her mind – the probes, the scanners, the blatant disregard for its being. They had treated it like a specimen, not a sentient creature.
A decision, impulsive yet resolute, formed in Lena's mind. She couldn't leave it here, to be dissected further, to become nothing more than a data point. Ignoring the tremor in her limbs and the screams echoing in her memory, she heaved the alien's surprisingly light form into her arms. Its elongated limbs dangled awkwardly as she stumbled towards the emergency exit, the weight of her burden and the enormity of her actions pressing down on her.
The corridors were deserted, the usual hum of activity replaced by an eerie stillness. Lena risked a glance back, half-expecting alarms to blare, but the facility remained silent, holding its breath. She made her way through the labyrinthine passages, her breath coming in ragged gasps, until she finally reached the outer perimeter and the relative cover of the desert night.
As she trudged through the uneven terrain, the alien in her arms shifted. Lena froze, her blood running cold. Then, with a weak groan, its large, black eyes fluttered open. This time, however, there was no violent surge of energy, no guttural roar. The alien's gaze, filled with pain and a strange sort of resignation, locked onto hers.
Then, impossibly, it spoke. The words were halting, the sounds alien yet undeniably forming into human language. "Why... why this?"
Lena stumbled backward, nearly dropping her burden. Her mind reeled. How? How could it speak? "You... you can talk?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
The alien's gaze flickered, its breathing shallow. "No... time... explain." Its voice was weak, each syllable an effort. "Listen... mission..."
Lena, still reeling from the shock, could only nod dumbly.
"Exterminate... deadly... species..." The alien's words were fragmented, punctuated by gasps of pain. "Neighboring... planet... injured... return... safe mode..."
It paused, its eyes clouding over for a moment before focusing on Lena again. "Radio... waves... nearby... land..." A flicker of something akin to bitterness crossed its alien features. "Not... expect... this..."
With a final, weak movement, the alien's hand, its long, delicate fingers now stained with its own blood, reached into a pouch at its side. It withdrew a small, intricately carved piece of metal, cool and smooth to the touch, and pressed it into Lena's hand.
"Mission... must... complete..." The alien's voice faded to a whisper, its eyes losing focus. A final, shuddering breath escaped its lips, and then it was still.
Lena stared down at the lifeless form in her arms, then at the strange metal object in her hand. Clueless and overwhelmed, she knew she couldn't stay here. The sounds of approaching vehicles, faint but growing louder, broke the silence. Panic surged through her.
With a heavy heart, Lena dug a shallow grave in the sandy earth, the alien's weight a final, poignant reminder of the unbelievable events that had transpired. She placed the alien within, the strange metal clutched in its hand, and covered it with the loose soil and rocks, a silent, makeshift burial under the vast, indifferent expanse of the desert sky. Then, clutching the alien's last gift, Dr. Lena Hanson turned and fled into the darkness, leaving the secrets of the night buried behind her.