Khrana

It's a late night crossing the vast desert, far between the bright specks of civilization somewhere between the blurry state lines of Nevada and California. Out here, the stars are bright enough you could turn off your lights and drive by starlight alone - the road has been empty for hours, now, long enough you'd almost be tempted to try it. As you stifle a yawn and wipe your eyes with the palm of one hand, a bright streak of light erupts across the sky. Fire! A dull, rumbling echo of an explosion follows a split second later, the windows in your car trembling and the vehicle shuddering with the sonic impact.

The plummeting fireball streaks overhead, and as you crane your neck to follow its screaming descent you see the outline of what looks like an aircraft with two large engines at its rear and winglets far more stubby than you've seen on any modern fighter. It pitches and struggles against gravity, then disappears over a ridge. Seconds later you hear a second colossal crash. There's no sign of a chute overhead - someone might need your help!

Gunning the engine, you haul your wheel to the right and chase the glow of fire over the ridge nearby, your suspension bouncing and groaning as you scream off-road toward the crash site. When you pull up to the top of the ridge and get out of the car, though, nothing would prepare you for the sight that unfolds. There's a craft there, yes, smouldering in a smashed crater of cactus chunks and scattered rocks, with flames licking along its gleaming surface. One figure staggers away from the crash coughing, doubled up and spitting a stream of what are unmistakably curses in a language you don't understand. But that figure... that pilot!

That isn't human.

When it stands up again, you see an outline female to your eyes, broad-shouldered and physically powerful. A towering stature, maybe even nine feet tall, thuds back toward the crashed ship as she surveys the damage. The firelight flickers along massive biceps and almost impossible curves, her exposed arms showing orange-coloured skin slashed with darker off-black stripes reminiscent of a tiger. Long, pointed ears flick through a head of black hair pulled into a rough ponytail. For all you can tell immediately she isn't human, there's something bizarrely familiar about her physique and her bearing. She's even wearing what looks like well-traveled cargo trousers festooned with pockets, and a tank top smeared with dirt and grime from the crash.

From one of those pockets she pulls a small, cylindrical device that she points at the crashed ship and presses down with her thumb. There's a faint popping sound of shifting air pressure, and the crash is... gone? You squint to see her kneel down, reaching out gingerly with her thumb and forefinger, picking up a tiny silver shape from the crater - her ship! The alien pilot purses her full lips and blows on the smouldering silver trinket, blowing out the fire as simply as extinguishing a match, before she tucks both the ship and the bizarre device that reduced it to a toy into her pocket.

With the fire out... your car's lights illuminate the scene. The towering creature rises, slitted pupils narrowing as she catches you outlined on the ridge. "Human!" she bellows in a deep, commanding voice that practically freezes you rigid. "What allegiance do you swear? Where have I crashed? Speak now! You had best be of use to me!"