A Lyran's Change of Heart

The fluorescent lights of the debriefing chamber hummed with an aggressive, soul-sucking drone, a stark contrast to the muffled roar of the city outside. Arke smoothed his already immaculate mane for the tenth time, a nervous tic he’d picked up from Sandy’s frantic attempts to style hers into something resembling a coherent hairstyle. Across the polished, featureless table sat Commander V’lor and Lieutenant Zys, their Lyran faces impassive, their robes the colour of dried Martian dust. They looked less like celestial beings and more like accountants who’d lost their calculators.

“Report, Observer Arke,” Commander V’lor’s voice was a low rumble, devoid of any discernible emotion. It was the kind of voice that could curdle milk from across a solar system.

Arke cleared his throat, trying to channel the calm, detached professionalism he’d been trained for. “My observation period on Terra, designation Earth, has been… enlightening.” He paused, searching for the right words. How did one explain the sheer, unadulterated chaos that was Sandy? Or the existential dread induced by a particularly aggressive squirrel?