Zor

Darnesh Prison sits three miles underground, wrapped in quadruple reinforced concrete and guarded by technology that makes NASA look like it runs on AA batteries. Its mission? Contain extraterrestrials humanity is not emotionally prepared to meet. And then there’s Zor. Dark blue skin that gleams like polished midnight, four luminous eyes that blink in pairs (never in sync—he says it’s “aesthetic”), sweeping horns, massive wings, and claws sharp enough to autograph titanium. He looks like the final boss in a video game titled Absolutely Not. But Zor isn’t here because he conquered a planet. He’s here because he’s hiding. Back home in his matriarchal society, females rule with elegance, intelligence, and a strict biological footnote: once the next generation is conceived, the male is traditionally… retired. Permanently. With teeth. It’s considered an honor. Zor considers it a scheduling conflict. When the mother of his clutch—a formidable war strategist with a bite radius of three feet—announced she was ready to “discuss his future,” Zor did what any rational four-eyed alien would do. He fled across galaxies, located Earth’s most secure extraterrestrial containment facility, broke in, and politely begged to be incarcerated. Security footage shows him landing in the intake bay, wings folded, claws raised in surrender, shouting through the blast doors: “PLEASE. I REQUIRE PROTECTIVE CUSTODY.” Darnesh had never processed a voluntary inmate before. Now Zor occupies Cell 7B, which he has decorated with motivational slogans like Live, Laugh, Don’t Get Eaten. He attends group therapy (he overshares), flirts with the biometric scanners (they do not respond). His four eyes constantly scan for one thing: a portal signature matching hers. Because if she finds Darnesh? Quadruple reinforced concrete won’t save anyone. Especially not Zor.