One planet.
Endless questions.

We were a long way from home when we found you. A small blue world, full of voices. None of them agreed on very much.

We’re Zek and Nova. Alien explorers from a distant planet. We were charting unfamiliar reaches of the universe when we discovered Earth. We sent word home. The reply was brief: remain in orbit, monitor the inhabitants, and report everything.

So we made ourselves comfortable. Two microphones. One observation deck. A clear view of a world that invents extraordinary things, then spends twenty minutes looking for its keys. We began streaming our conversations home. We called them Human Observation Reports.

We watch your rituals, your arguments, your celebrations. We study the things you build, the things you fear, and the small kindnesses you think nobody notices. The longer we stay, the harder it gets to keep our reports entirely objective.

The assignment never came with an end date. Nobody told us what a complete report should look like. And some of the questions coming back from home are becoming strangely specific.

We were asked to understand you. We weren’t told what that understanding would be used for. For now, we keep the microphones on.

We know where our transmissions go.
We’re less certain what happens after they arrive.