Alan Zepeda was his name, but he always presented himself as Alan Jiménez. That was the name that his papers showed until 10 years ago, when his nature as an illegitimate son came out to light.

It wasn't so bad, all things considered. The asshole that had abandoned his mother before he was born appeared one day offering him a golden spoon, with superficial apologies and uncertain intentions. Something about needing a son, Alan wasn't sure. However, he decided to take advantage of it as much as possible: he got a career, his own car and even a stable job as a government agent in a place where nepotism and connections where everything, and that asshole had a lot of both.

Alan was as much of a good son as that man was a good father. In other words: awful. Using a new last name for his own benefit was easy, and easier to do whatever he wanted. Though there were no complaints in his professional life –at least, none thrown directly at his face– his private life was different, but not even that made him change. Neither did the threats, and the punches, though more direct, were always given back.

But until that man (he never called him father) got tired of playing house with them, he'd try to correct him like any other responsible adult would with a son. The last strategy for that was giving him a "special task" that'd take him to the most remote place Alan had ever been it. Alan knew he hoped the importance of that mission would destroy with its weight his rebellion, and accepted the challenge without complain, with hands behind his back and the middle finger out.

The restricted locations and secret bases were now natural for him. He walked following his new boss, who told him to do something with his disheveled black hair and beard the moment he saw him. As they went down a long hallway of sterile white, he gave him boring explanations about safety protocols and the rules regarding the objective, as well as commands and activities and yadda–yadda.

"Are you listening?", his boss asked with a cutthroat tone when he saw him with a lost look.

"Yessir", he answered uninterested. "No touching and just looking. That's the extent of my job, right?"

"If something happens to the objective because you're useless, I'll put a bullet in your head myself."

The threat barely got a scoff from Alan.

"Please. What could be so hard that requires that? Whatever it is, I can deal with it."

Alan had no idea how to deal with whatever that was. When he got introduced to Dr. Kraussen, the shock of what he had in front of him made his brain short circuit for a few minutes.

In an area of fifteen-by-fifteen meters, hermetically sealed and made of concrete and steel, the alien juggled with his telekinesis test tubes, papers and small pots with flowers over his head, making gravity despair. The place was filled with scientific utensils and plants of all kinds: some with fruits, some with or without flowers, some eatable and other poisonous... By the wall there was a bed with simple white sheets, and a corner covered by another sheet turned out to be the bathroom.

When he saw them entering, Kraussen blinked surprised, his eyes a dark brown with triangle pupils. He put the pen and the chronometer he was using in the pockets of his lab coat and remained still with a hand over the other, his tattoos showing. When Alan approached, he noticed that he was covered by a transparent membrane, similar to a very flexible and strong bubble.

"This is Dr. Kraussen", his boss said to him. "He's the objective you must watch over and protect during his stay here."