Out steps the Visser. Walking with a sure, steady gait, the Andalite-Controller approaches the fallen warrior. He places one of his legs on his chest, pressing down.

<You will not win, Visser Three. There are more of us coming.>

The Visser only looks down on him. His four eyes stare at the bleeding, pathetic creature, lying there on foreign dirt.

Behind him follow his troops; some, looking like walking collections of knives. They resemble purple and green bipedal dinosaurs with blades projecting from most joints, as well as their tails and heads. Each of them carries a gun.

Crawling behind them are giant centipede-worms, thicker than an adult human. Their bodies end in toothy maws on one end, which faces the dying Andalite.

The aliens surround the Andalite and his ship, weapons pointing both inwards and outwards. The Visser remains silent.

<Hork-Bajir. They are naturally peaceful, but the Yeerks have taken what was left of them after a biological weapon nearly destroyed their species. The host of the Abomination was to blame for that one. The filthy creatures behind them- Taxxons. Vile, vicious cannibals. They chose to be enslaved so that they could have more plentiful food.>

The world just got a whole lot bigger real quick. He's not sure he approves of this development.

<You know, I always imagined crushing you under my heel would feel more satisfying. It's a shame, really.>

More powerful than the limited effects of tone of voice, it seems this mode of communication brings with it waves of emotion. Disdain, superiority, and confidence cling to the words as they reach their minds. Anyone listening to the Visser is tempted to cower, just a little.

<They will come for you. They will come for you, and no part of your little empire will survive when we've finished with you.>

But it's too late. The Visser is morphing now. It's an ugly process, body parts shifting and deforming as the Andalite body swells in size.

<Your ship has been shot down. Any survivors will fall Earth's wildlife. The closest Andalite ships will take months, if not years, to arrive, and by then I'll have already won.>

He has but one opportunity.

The Andalite's tail blade twitches while the Visser is morphing.

He slices into his own throat.

He sends a final message to the human observers: the sense of peace found in tending to his garibah. How he sung to it, silently, as his brother watched on, and he knows love and true happiness.

The Andalite dies. Allison cries, but she's not going to wait for whatever monstrosity the Visser has become to spot them.

"Let's go."

"That sounds like a good idea."

They go. Whatever else the aliens do is their business. Allison bore witness to the most important part of the night's events.

She doesn't much want to talk. She walks with Anna and Taylor, and then heads home. Her parents act suitably worried, an uncommon sight in the past few months. Now that Alsandor has given her an explanation, she almost wishes she didn't know. She deflects their concern, tossing her hair and smiling and they get back to ignoring her. She sleeps.

Anna calls Allison the next day.

"So. Uh. Last night, huh."

"Yeah, it was a lot to process. Are you? Processing?"

"Not. Not so much, no."

"We should talk about it more after school. It was- we should talk in person."

She does not want to go to school, but then her parents might try to act normal again, and she doesn't want that.

"After school. Yeah. Okay."

She goes to school. She pretends it's an ordinary day. The police don't show up trying to drag her off to get an alien, mind-controlling, parasitic slug installed in her head.

Stiles and Matt have an unpleasant conversation before school. Matt makes sure to meet up with Allan before homeroom.

"Hey. Sorry for how last night ended. Maybe get everyone together again tonight. I haven't talked to the girls yet, but I think everyone's on the same page here."

"Good idea. Clubroom?"

Nod.

"Should I talk to Allison, or do you want to reach out?"