In the ᴅᴇᴀᴅ stillness of an unknown evening, beneath the dim hum of artificial light, a man sits face-to-face with something not of this world. The setting is ordinary—folding chairs, a gravel lot, an old SUV idling in the background—but what unfolds is anything but. The being before him, gaunt and gray, with eyes vast as voids and limbs like reeds, leans forward. There is no fear, no struggle. Only a conversation that no one else hears.

Was this an exchange of knowledge? A warning? A reunion from another lifetime?

No one knows. But the silence between them echoes louder than words ever could.

In the second scene, the setting has shifted—wild and ancient, tangled in roots and mist. The same man now walks among towering figures, far larger than the one he once sat across from. Their limbs stretch like ᴅᴇᴀᴅ branches. Their heads tilt in solemn recognition. An arrow points him out, but he is not afraid. He belongs here.

Are these watchers his captors or his kin? Are they here to study or reclaim?

Some say this forest lies in the mind. Others say it is beneath the earth, in another dimension, or on a distant planet long forgotten by starlight.

But one truth remains: he was chosen.

What if aliens are not invaders, but memory-keepers?
What if the real abduction was into knowledge itself?
Would you sit down, as he did, if they offered you a chair?

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