There were about a dozen of them, standing perfectly still at odd intervals along the street. Not homeless, not drunks. A woman in a business suit, her briefcase dangling from a limp hand. A tattooed chef in stained whites, his eyes unfocused. A teenager with a septum piercing, drool sliding from the corner of her mouth.
Leo pressed his forehead against the cold mesh of his cage. Outside, the Standing Ones began to walk—not like zombies, but like sleepwalkers finally reaching their beds. They marched towards the crystalline ship, their faces softening into smiles. 80 hertz manchester
He unlatched the door.