They moved slowly, stumbling. Intoxicants blurred their minds; they took swigs of beer from metal cans. One of them carried a projectile weapon, one with a short, rifled barrel. We focused on it, could feel the scratched wooden stock, the patches of rust.

The fire had almost burned itself out. Blackened trees surrounded the mass of warped metal. The animals resumed their calls. The insects’ relentless music was no longer drowned out by the flames.

We moved away, heading through the trees, working our way around and then behind our prey.

One wore a hat with a fearsome animal on it. We recognized it as a symbol of a sports team. The other held the rifle, which he kept at his hip, barrel pointed into the darkness. Both were young, consumed by pride, lust, and a love of those substances which help to ease the mind and lift the veil. Despite this, they approached the wreck with short, light steps.

The one with the hat spoke, “Is it a plane crash?”

“That aint like no plane that I ever seen!”

“Could it be something experimental?” in his drunkenness the final word of his question came with a struggle.

They failed to hear us as we moved in close.

“Maybe,” the one with the rifle said flatly.

“You see that symbol there? A Russian letter? I wonder if the Reds are attacking!”

“No. Their attacks on us are more sub-”

He was cut off by the sudden pain. The arm made a terrible ripping noise as the muscles and tendons gave way. They turned, wide eyes locked open as we stood there, holding the man’s severed limb, the gun still held in a death grip.

The one with the hat turned to flee. Our swipe cleanly severed his legs just above the knees. He fell, began to scream as he crawled. The other one was still frozen in terror. We made short work of him, the sound of his end helped to push the other on.

We took our time, our feet leaving prints in the trail of blood he made as he crawled. Sadly, a kill for food cannot be used to advance our goal. He would have made a fine sacrifice.

Our first taste of this world’s people was done in haste. Tearing lumps of bloody meat from the bodies, we stuffed our mouth. Now the sounds of the living forest were concealed by wet ripping and fast chewing.

The twisted voice sounded very pleased, {They taste just as good as I had hoped!}

The calm voice also sounded satisfied, (Some of the best I’ve had yet.)

The charming voice stayed silent.

Our wounds healed. Dead skin fell away, replaced by new flesh. The missing arm grew back, starting as a malformed lump of slimy organic material. Virgin claws shown in the moonlight.

We examined the weapon. It was a primitive firearm. Chemical propellants caused small explosions, which were focused so that metal slugs were sent into targets at high speed. Primitive but effective. We assessed that such weapons could be a threat to us. We would need to be cautious.