Exodus

Jen gets to the office early every day. She’s not an overachiever, quite far from it, in fact, but it’s the only way to make sure she gets the one good desk with the nice chair that doesn’t creak with every breath. All of the aspiring journalists with muddled titles that each boiled down to “associate copywriter” got to battle it out in a 30-way melee each day for the best spot, the most facetime with the senior editors, and the most cutting-edge story assignment. Today, Jen’s riveting story entails listing out the top ten reasons why millennial women should ditch their skinny jeans. 

Jen’s supervisor runs out of his office while she’s typing out the fourth reason: “Just lose them to find yourself, girl.” He nearly runs into her while yelling that she got the gig. She looks at him like he had grown a second head. 

“Jen, you got a letter granting you alone press access to Genesis Labs. You know they haven’t allowed any press… ever? Well, they want you to be the first. I don’t know what you did or which deity is watching over you, but you got it, kid.” 

Now, the other writers stare at her with poorly-masked scowls. A chorus of insincere, jealous congratulations rain on Jen. Everyone in the country wanted that opportunity. Clearly, this was not a merit-based decision. More realistically, she thought, this must be a strange PR move with a starry-eyed young journalist as a photoshoot prop. She doesn’t really care if she was chosen out of sheer luck or even pity. She feels lucky to be number one for a change and deep down, unlucky to have this pressure foisted on her after years of skating by on minimal effort. 

—

A week later, a black car with tinted windows drops Jen off at a massive set of titanium doors installed into the side of a mountain. She is quickly ushered in and patted down by armed soldiers. A fast-talking woman in a two-piece suit leads her and two of the soldiers through a maze of hallway tunnels. She hands Jen a heavy clipboard stacked with forms for Jen to legally confirm that she would keep her mouth shut regardless of anything she did or did not see today. Basically, this would just about all be off the record. 

Jen doesn’t care. This is probably as close to real journalism as she would ever get. She can’t help but be curious, though. What could this all be about? Supersonic aircraft? Cutting-edge spy technology that they were hiding from other countries? The cure for writer’s block? She hopes it’s the last one. It’s getting difficult to think of so many reasons to do so many meaningless things, but that’s what the SEO team demands. Jen signs the forms as the sharply-dressed lady babbles on about everything from the vague technological breakthroughs being made there each day to the new fridge in the break room. After a while, it’s clear she’s talking in circles to stall. Finally, one of the soldiers gets a message in his earpiece and nods to the woman. She spins on her heel and leads them into a new maze of hallways that seem to go in circles. It almost seems like this compound was designed to disorient and confuse.

They finally reach a large door guarded by a retinal scanner. The soldiers step toward it to scan their eyes and the door slowly opens. The lady gently pushes Jen in and the door closes behind her. She steps into an enormous lab that has whirring machines at one end and discarded drilling equipment at the other. This chamber appears to have been carved out of the mountain not too long ago. Several people in white lab coats are scattered across the room, with the majority of them swarming around what appears to be a large containment tube spanning all the way from the floor to the rocky ceiling. Jen can see bubbles in the clear solution drift up to the top of the tube.

One of the lab coats walks up to Jen and introduces himself as Dr. Nova, the lead scientist. He explains with calm words and panicked eyes that the government has captured an extraterrestrial being. It was in rough shape when the specimen was collected, but it has healed over time into the form before them today. What she will be shown today cannot be discussed outside of this room — not even to other Genesis Lab workers in the mountain. He starts trying to say something else but pauses and furrows his brow, looking deep in thought. He says that it’ll be easier if she just sees for herself. 

Jen looks at the containment tube and the sea of lab coats parts as she approaches. She sees… herself. A naked, dormant version, but certainly her. That’s her face, her body, the birthmark on her left shoulder, the scar on her hand from that time she accidentally burned herself baking a cake. She’s speechless. She stares for a while at the specimen and then turns back to Dr. Nova with confusion. 

He nods. “Yes, we see it, too.” 

Dr. Nova explains that they found this specimen at a crash site in the desert last year. It took dozens of doctors with top security clearances to treat the severely injured alien. They were eventually able to see the shape of a human female face. It took a dedicated team of experts several months to develop the right machine learning models to analyze live security camera footage around the world and track her down. 

They hear a gurgle come from the tube. The alien’s eyes — Jen’s eyes — open. Jen hears her own voice come from it now. 

“Thank you for meeting me here. Feeling the vibrations of your voice allowed me to replicate that as well.” It flashes a ghastly smile.

The scientists’ terrified reactions tell Jen that this was not exactly a common occurrence. Dr. Nova steps forward, mouth agape and eyes fixed on the creature. His trembling hands rise to remove his glasses. He gulps and manages to say in a near-whisper that they did not know it was capable of speech. The creature smiles, eyes still unblinking. It makes a terrible, haunting sound, like a broken doll trying to laugh. It coyly responds that they hadn’t asked the right questions. It attempts to laugh again, louder this time, as silence falls on the group. 

Jen asks it what its name is. It responds, “You.” It smiles and points at Dr. Nova. “And you. And you. All of you. I am no one and everyone. Anyone I want. Any time I need. I have always been here.” 

Its shape morphs into an astronaut putting man’s first steps on the moon. Then a TV reporter with a facelift and a dazzling, white smile. Then a particularly infamous German with a small mustache. Finally, it shifts back into Jen’s form. 

Jen asks, “Why me?” 

It gazes into Jen’s eyes. “I have gotten rather used to this comfortable suit, this pseudo-journalist costume you were born with and will die wearing. I might keep this around for a bit.”

All of the shock and horror had distracted the engineers in charge of monitoring the integrity of the containment tube. The temperature and chemical composition of the solution had become imbalanced within the glass. It doesn’t take much with equipment that’s this complex. The creature lifts a long finger up to the glass and it shatters. The liquid solution spills out and pools around Jen’s ankles. The imposter steps down as the biofilm changes structure to replicate Jen’s outfit.

It now turns its head to an unnatural degree to face the cowering lead scientist. “Dr. Nova, thank you for entertaining me this past year. You have been and will continue to make an excellent host. You have orchestrated the exact scenario I needed to exit this primitive yet highly-guarded prison.”

The lead scientist’s heart dropped along with his jaw. He had authorized the collection and analysis of the specimen rather than immediate destruction. What had he unknowingly unleashed on the world? The guards and the rest of the world were expecting Jen now. They would get some form of her, at least. The alien was giddy with delight, emanating that awful laugh as it mused about its next form on its way to the door. Who would it be next?

The alien had spent the past year watching, listening, and waiting. All those surveillance breaks and thoughtless moments between the scientists’ work added up to hours spent scanning the room. It calmly steps up to the door and presses the small red button it overheard the engineer bragging about a few months ago. This activates the emergency protocol for a subject containment breach scenario — top of the line, first in its class. The door opens and the alien walks through before it slams shut. The humans’ screaming protests at the other end of the room are drowned out by the roar of the incinerators kicking into gear. 

The two soldiers at the door greet the journalist. They ask her how she liked the tour. It responds nonchalantly that it wasn’t quite her thing. It lets out a warped giggle and says that she failed science class anyway. It winked. All is quickly ignored and forgotten on the soldiers’ side. They keep their eyes forward just as they had been trained. They hadn’t paid attention to anything she was saying anyway. They were both thinking about the sandwiches waiting for them in the big, new fridge in the break room.