My name is Audrey. I won't tell you my last name. I cannot even confirm that Audrey is my real first name. They're everywhere now; they wanted you to believe the fight was over, that humanity had finally won the war. But they lied. Thousands, perhaps even millions, of humans are now slaves to them. We lost the war, and now Earth is almost overrun with Human-Controllers, humans that are slaves to the Yeerks in their heads. I would know. I was one of them.
Yeerks. The slave masters of the universe. They could be anyone: your teacher, your brother. Your president. They could even be you. And they were once me. The Yeerks aren't like any extra-terrestrials you would expect—because they're slugs. Overgrown slugs with an acute intelligence. They cannot see; they cannot feel as we can. Some advanced alien species found them on their home world and took pity on them. They gave them space travel. They unleashed this plague upon the universe. And now the threat to Earth is even more dire.
I cannot remember much of my life before my once dear older sister took me to the Sharing and an alien slug was placed inside my ear. That is how they control. They crawl through your ear canal, coming to your brain and extending themselves into every crevice, attaching to every function of your body. And then suddenly you cannot move. You cannot talk. Your eyes focus, but you are not in control. You are locked inside a part of your mind as the Yeerk goes through every memory, playing them back so they are able to mimic your every move, every quirk. That is why no one knows. The Human-Controllers don't look different. They can pass as normal human beings until the time comes that they have no need to hide. And by then, it will be far too late for our planet. We will have lost.
The first Yeerk who came into my mind was cruel, ruthless. He crushed my will until I barely had the strength for conscious thought. But then he left for the Yeerk Pool, where they soak up their nutrients under the light of the Kandrona rays. I was suddenly myself. I screamed and struggled, but the Hork-Bajir were too strong. Standing seven feet tall, they were a walking set of razor blades. I learned later they were once a peaceful species, living off the bark of the strange trees upon their home world. But it was hard to imagine. Blades grew from their wrists, their elbows, their knees. Three horns rose, sharp and deadly, from their head. Their feet ended in talons, much akin to a bird of prey, and each mouth formed a cruel, curved beak. It was all too easy for the Yeerks to make these peaceful creatures the front lines for their empire.
Every three days, they feed. I remember when I finally broke. I let the Hork-Bajir drag me into the cages, packed full of human slaves. They dropped me harshly to the ground, and I curled into a ball, heaving dry sobs. Someone knelt down beside me, placing hands lightly upon my shoulders. I shrank back from the touch, whimpering slightly. I was in a fragile state of mind—waiting for the Hork-Bajir to return, and desperately hoping they would never come. I was foolish. They always came.
"It's okay," a voice murmured soothingly. "I'm human. I won't hurt you."
I glanced up warily. The youth kneeling beside me was around my age, perhaps nineteen as opposed to my seventeen. He had light brown hair, tinted slightly bronze. It was cut short, like most male Controllers. His body was of a slightly athletic build—compact yet muscular. His legs were long and toned, as those of a runner, or perhaps a basketball player. I finally looked into his eyes. They were a bright blue. He smiled lightly, holding his hand down to me. I took it, and he gently pulled me into a sitting position.
"Don't give up yet," he whispered, shaking his head. "Not yet."
I leaned my head against his shoulder, in need of some humanly comfort. He put his arm around my form, and together we waited for the Hork-Bajir—two humans with a dull sense of hope, wading in a sea of chaos.