“This signal’s weird. Must be some interference or something.”

HUCKS: “Fudson! What’s going on?”

FUDSON: “There’s movement all over the place, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

HUCKS: “Cut the commentary and talk to me!”

FUDSON: “Twenty meters. They’re all lined up. In rows. Eleven at a time. Looks like they’re marching to one side of the tracker, moving forward, then marching to the other side. Seventeen meters.”

RIPPLED: “They learned. They cut the power, avoided the guns. They’re playing with us. It’s a game to them.”

FUDSON: “You’re right! Gosh, I feel like I should say something here about being at the end of a video game, but I’m too freaked out! Twelve meters. Man, this is a big signal! And I think I just saw a UFO fly along the top of the tracker screen! Ten meters!”

RIPPLED: “Can’t be! That’s inside the room!”

FUDSON: “It’s reading right! Look!”

HUCKS: “OMG. They’re above us. THEY’RE ABOVE US!”

Wear this shirt: aboard the commercial towing vessel Nostromo

Don’t wear this shirt: if you’re Paul Reiser.

This shirt tells the world: “Drake, we are LEAVING (this particular arcade)!”

We call this color: In Space, No One Can Hear You Blip Black

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