PING
On the surface of the dark side of the Moon, a tremor resounds from an ancient city. Forgotten by time and covered in rock and dust, whatever was once important begins to shift. A tall spire stands out among the barren land. A green glow pours out, and as the city stirs, crashes and explosions ring out.
As the ground shifts after so long, the city seems to hum in anticipation. After a while, silence returns. At the base of the structure the ground lights up in an exotic pattern, followed by a tear in space. Obscured by light, two creatures, naked as babies and just as wrinkly appear.
A simple torso is walked out throught the tear on two legs. No bellybutton or any other noticeable features. They seemed almost skeletal, as if their muscles had shriveled up long ago. Their two long arms and strangely fat fingers hang lazily by their side, without swinging as they advance onto an abandoned landing.
With big, bulging eyes they take a look around. Incapable of speech but with slightly open mouths, the two seemingly simple creatures share a look and begin clearing the area around the structure. They must prepare everything. They are on a mission!
They dash around in a blur, and toss anything unimportant into the distance. Dust is cleared and rocks are destroyed or removed until the ancient city is revealed. They work tirelessly until every structure is uncovered. As they begin to digest the extensive repairs needed, they seemingly redouble their efforts and get to work. There is much to do.
The first stage of an invasion has failed. The setback will be managed and soon, the Eclipse Engine will be operational. Powered by nearby celestial bodies, the ancient city will serve as a battery and allow the spire to be used as an entry point for a distant race. The neglected systems in place failed but as soon as the nearest star aligns, and the shadow is cast on the planet below, the Engine will be powered on.
The two creatures, though alien in form, work with focused precision. They do not tire. They do not speak. They do not question. Every motion they make appears guided by ancient programming, as though their very flesh were merely extensions of the machinery now humming beneath the lunar surface.
Below the surface, in chambers vast and pitch-dark, mechanisms older than any civilization still standing begin to rotate. Some strain with effort, pushing against centuries of silence and stillness. Others engage smoothly, well-lubricated by automated preservation systems still loyal to their purpose. A ring of monoliths, buried beneath the spire, begins to glow with the same emerald hue as the beacon above. They hum faintly, each tone harmonizing with the next in eerie resonance.
The creatures descend a staircase formed of shifting stone that molds to their steps. They enter the control sanctum. Here, suspended in the center of the room, is the core of the Eclipse Engine: a sphere of liquid light, rotating slowly in place. Its surface reflects nothing, not even the creatures themselves. It is pure energy. Contained. Waiting.
One of them reaches toward it, and without touching, causes the sphere to throb. Patterns ripple outward across the control walls, forming symbols not seen by living eyes in ages. The patterns begin to fill with an incandescent glow.
Above, the spire grows brighter.