He always started his day with a cup of coffee, delicious liquid addiction. He cleaned his home, a simple one-store house with two rooms; then he wore and adjusted his watch and went out once more into the world. Three hours was the maximum that he could be outside, time that had increased considerably in comparison with those poor 10 minutes with 42 seconds he had when he arrived. 

People that knew Dr. Kraussen thought of him as a recluse that was nice...when he'd let himself be seen. He always said "please" and "thank you", and spoke with a cute accent that mixed the round sounds of British English and the strong r's of Russian. He helped when asked, dressed simple, and was always interested in what others might say, whether it was a fun fact or the latest neighborhood gossip.

The doctor lead a good life. He adored strong flavors, rarely present in his native country's gastronomy. Coffee, mustard, spices, chili and certain types of cheese were his favorites. Sometimes he'd mix them all in a bowl and eat it with a spoon, laying in his bed while watching TV, lazy tradition of the people in that place that he had adopted.

Three hours to be outside and complete his list of activities wasn't a lot, but Kraussen made them count. Get water and food, pay taxes, take out the trash... The sun was strong even in cloudy days, but the protection he'd acquired was more than enough. For three hours, of course.

Two hours with 59 minutes and 59 seconds later, he crossed again the front door of his house. He was about to leave the food over the table, when the noise of his door being banged, and then broken down, surprised him.

"Hands up! Nobody move!" yelled the first armed person that entered, followed by other two.

Kraussen let go of the food, threw down the table and took cover with it from the bullets that were indiscriminately shot at him. He adjusted his glasses so they didn't fall, took a big breath and, with a kick, sent the table flying through the air and towards his attackers to knock them down.

He ran to the second of the rooms and teared down the false wall to the left, to go down the stairs and guard himself there. He had protection against the sun but not against bullets; even a scratch was dangerous. He went down two steps at a time. Forgot to close the door. Came back to do it. Before he reached it, more people with weapons appeared in the entrance.

"Hands up!" they yelled.

The doctor stopped midway upstairs. His breathing was agitated by adrenaline and his mind worked at full steam. He slowly raised his hands... And with a gesture, stole the weapon of one of them, which flew towards his hand, and Kraussen shot with it. He managed to get his attackers to retreat and take cover behind the wall, but Kraussen wasn't a soldier, so the result was obvious. One bullet to his leg was enough to take him down. Pain expanded through his entire limb, making him close his eyes as his blood dripped. He had suffered a lot in his life, but this was the first time he was shot.

"Take off your mask, doctor." The soldier that seemed to be the leader of the squad dangerously approached him. "We know what you are. Save us the work of taking it off ourselves."

Kraussen thought about it. Certainly, in that moment the most logical thing was to give up, be captured and wait for a chance to ran away. To be discovered made his blood boil, but he couldn't allow himself to die. Slowly, without breaking eye contact with his captors, he took off his watch and the mask fell. Then came out to light his green skin, his hands with three fingers and tattoos, his tentacles, the golden symbols in his face and his eyes with triangle pupils, which irises shone in a mix of brown, orange and yellow.