The relocation began without struggle. Humanity did not march in chains, nor were they herded by force. Instead, the aliens opened corridors of light—doorways that shimmered in the air like rippling water. People stepped through, drawn by visions of safety and comfort.
Aisha clung to her brother's hand as the corridor enveloped them. For a moment, she felt weightless, suspended in a tunnel of stars. Then the light dissolved, and they stood inside a vast crystalline chamber. Walls of translucent blue curved upward into a dome, refracting light into rainbows that danced across the floor.
Beds shaped like petals unfolded from the walls. Streams of water flowed endlessly from invisible sources, pooling into clear basins. Food appeared at a thought—bowls of fruit, bread, and meats that tasted richer than anything she had known. Her brother laughed, stuffing his mouth with glowing berries. Aisha forced a smile, though unease gnawed at her.
In Geneva, Emil Weber stepped into his own habitat. It resembled a laboratory, though he had not asked for it. Shelves filled with alien instruments lined the walls, humming softly. He touched one, and it responded with a burst of light, projecting symbols he could not decipher. Emil's heart raced. He realized the aliens had tailored each habitat to its occupant, shaping comfort into control.
In Montana, Sergeant Hayes emerged into a chamber that mimicked the wilderness. Pines stretched toward a false sky, rivers cut through the land, and the air smelled of earth. For a moment, he felt at home. Then he saw the walls—smooth, crystalline barriers that enclosed the forest like glass. He struck one with his fist. It did not yield.
Everywhere, humans discovered the same truth: the habitats were cages disguised as paradise.
The aliens appeared only briefly, shimmering forms that drifted through walls without doors. They observed silently, their bodies shifting like liquid light. When they touched a human, warmth spread through the skin, soothing fear. Some people leaned into the touch, sighing with comfort. Others recoiled, unsettled by the intimacy.
That night, Aisha lay awake on her petal-shaped bed, listening to her brother's steady breathing. She stared at the dome above, where alien constellations glimmered. The habitat was beautiful, safe, abundant. Yet she felt like a bird in a gilded cage, wings clipped by kindness.
And somewhere beyond the crystalline walls, she knew the aliens were watching.
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