I watch the blossom fall away,
Like snowflakes in the wind.
This is the beauty of today
And the sorrow that it brings.
2030 AD, Listening post bravek, SOL System, Pvt Arkhan
"Sir, we are unprepared to uplift a species such as this. They are far too primitive - even the scientist Salarians would struggle to make this species space worthy."
"Very well. We will take a few of these... humans... and they will be brought to the hegemony within the week for closer analysis. This species could do well in the slave trade of Khar'shan. Do not fail us."
These were the final words spoken aboard the listening post before the alarm rang clear through the space station, all hands reporting to the armoury and then heading to the small 'invasion' fleet, which consisted of several undersized frigates and a single dreadnaught, which was the smallest ship with a brig large enough for slaving. Before long, the tiny fleet had departed and spread across several continents, deploying shuttles where they went so the alien force could gather humans without drawing attention to the vanishing of an entire settlement. In the end, spreading out benefitted them as they gathered a variety, as though they were kids collecting trading cards.
They came down from the skies under cover of darkness, and stole men and women and children alike. By the end of the night, the population of the world had fallen by over a thousand. There were many humans in the dreadnaught's cage - and Arkhan saw them all. Their skin was soft and supple, different from the coarse, hard Batarian skin, though it varied greatly in colour - from the deepest of blacks, to the purest of whites, though most of the primitives gathered were of a middle ground, a light golden colour, reddened by the colour of their blood. Then they all had some form of headdress, long and wavy, short and spiky, but strangest of all, the colour changed with each person. Each one looked oddly different, as though they were all a different race of their own.
By this time most, if not all, of the humans had woken to find themselves held captive, widespread panic storming the brig. But for every human panicking, there seemed to be three that were either staring down the guards at the edge of the cage or screaming at the top of their lungs, rattling the cage, obviously challenging the mighty Batarian guards to a fight as they spoke in their musical language that hit the ears like the snapping of a klixen's claws or a varren's jaws snapping the bones of his prey.
"Arkhan, we're approaching the relay. Get these pathetic creatures ready to be presented to the hegemony." A voice called on the comms, an officer from the bridge most likely - Arkhan didn't know their names as he'd never had permission to rise that high up the ship.
"Yes, Sir!" Arkhan said with enthusiasm. This task, although mind numbingly repetitive, would guarantee him a promotion. And so he set to work, taking the humans out one by one, armed guards training their weapons on each human who was scanned and tagged before being placed back in the cage. This process went on for the best part of ten minutes before the Batarian guards had to go into the crowd of human prisoners. Arkhan stared in astonishment as the humans overwhelmed the guards, rendering them unconscious as the sea of angry, defiant humans beat his comrades into oblivion. In less than two minutes the twenty Batarian guards had been either rendered unconscious or killed outright by the relentless pummelling that the humans had brought down to bear on their armoured bodies. In the next few seconds the humans tore the guards weapons from their corpses and begun to hand them out to members of the crowd.
Arkhan saw that in the centre of the mob was a single human wielding a revenant support weapon. This man obviously had military training if he was able to carry it with a degree of professionalism. In his strange language he saw that it was giving commands to the others around him. Realisation dawning upon him, Arkhan fumbled momentarily for his pistol, which he drew, aimed and shouted "NOBODY MOVE!"
2030, unknown location, SSgt Anderson.
Staff sergeant Anderson was making the return journey home from a local bar that he'd spent the evening at, celebrating the end of his tour of duty. Anderson had returned home last week from deployment in Somalia, where pirates were taking hostages regularly, disrupting trade routes and being enough of a nuisance for the Somali government to ask for outside help from NATO. The last thing that Anderson remembers from last night though was hearing a strange noise, as though there was a giant humming bird flying above his head. That was just before he'd spotted several burly looking men, who redefined the phrase "butt ugly". These men had proceeded to assault him, and despite his training, there were too many of them for him to counter, and he was knocked out cold.
Upon waking up, he immediately noticed that he wasn't alone, and though it was highly overcrowded, the air was slightly too fresh, despite the immediate smell of sweat and panic that permeated the air around him. It seemed like he was on an overcrowded airplane, with the air conditioning on throughout the aircraft.
His misconception about his location however was soon revealed as, when he stood up, his head slightly above the majority of the frightened population of the crowd, he saw many more of the disgusting looking men. They had a sickly yellow skin colour, as though they had missed a dialysis treatment session, which varied only slightly from a strong yellow ochre, to a slightly more natural, yellowy orange colour. But their skin was the least grotesque thing about them. Each one of these "men" had four eyes, complemented with eight nostrils that seemed to be constantly flared so you could right up their noses. Then they had bulbous lines of flesh that crossed their cheeks and faded onto their necks, which made their mouths appear to be inset slightly, as though they were completely separate from the rest of their faces. Anderson noted the sheer volume of teeth that they had, all of which pointed in different directions, as though the words "dental hygiene" meant nothing to these people. Finally, Anderson saw the strange, patterned, indentations that went from their brow to the back of their heads, making them seem as alien as possible. The only thing that he couldn't see about the aliens, was that although they were not much taller than he, if they were taller, but they were slightly stockier, which conveyed their physiological difference.
Anderson's scrutiny was interrupted suddenly when a deep, almost gurgling voice came through a loudspeaker "Arkhan, nest volan gokolu nilan. Juthul kana barbanos murikolon distu daterios." All of the humans looked in confusion at what the voice had said, but Anderson already knew that they were dealing with extraterrestrials. "Gran, obika!" One of the aliens in the room shouted back. That was when Anderson noticed him. He was slightly smaller than the rest, and it became apparent that he was one of the lowest on the ship when the bigger ones would grab someone and thrust them in front of him so he could use an orange, glowing wrist tool for a few seconds - what he did, Anderson knew not - before he forcibly placed a collar onto each person before they were returned to the cage. Before long, one of the guards had come in far enough, and went to grab Anderson. But he was too quick, deflecting the alien's hand and thrusting his own fist into its throat, causing it to choke and sputter, partly in shock but mostly in the pain of being hit so forcefully. In tandem, the people in captivity overthrew their alien overlords and Anderson grabbed the large weapon that his would be attacker had in its unconscious hands, before stripping it of the other weapons that it had and passing them to the nearest people around him. "Ok, step one on the return journey home is to get rid of the guards. The gate is open, and there's enough of us here to surprise the rest of the cre-
"OORST VAS MILEK!" He heard and the crowd turned angry mob spun to face the oppressor. It was a lone alien, the grunt, the lowlife of the ship that was aiming his pistol at Anderson, attempting to stop any form of revolt against his commanders. That was before someone opened fire on him and after several shots appeared to be ineffective, the rest tore through his body and ripping it to shreds. There was a moment's silence in the hold of the ship before over a thousand people starting cheering, unanimous cries of "freedom" echoed through the oversized room.
Before everyone could rush out of the cages and swarm the aliens above them, Anderson ran out to the door in front of everyone. "Who has military training?" He shouted over the cheering and rushing of the crowd. About a dozen hands shot into the air, in the part of the group that had heard him. "I want anyone with training to lead the way with me. These alien bastards picked the wrong damn race to screw with!" He roared as those who'd put their hands up appeared, alien weapons in hand, to cheers from the crowd as the exodus began.