Thomas pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and studied the landscape beyond the dusty cracked pane. Something out there moved. Waves of fear and nervousness cascaded into his body. He trembled. Thomas’ ring finger remained glued to his specs and to the bridge of his nose; he swept his eyes across the blasted rubble searching for the interloper. He was the last, of that he was sure. The sunless red sky was giving way to deep purple. The ruined gate stood in the violet haze like an arch of classic architecture. Thomas froze; the crimson eyes of a thin form looked back at him from the wrecked gate. Thomas had always wanted to see what others had not already beheld. He was a revered explorer. When he was offered the opportunity to pass through the gate he excitedly volunteered. The strange world beyond the gate had breathable air, strange rocks and stranger skies. A small compound was built. His colleagues studied this new realm and discovered something ominous. In a small crater near the camp, something stared back at them. Thomas fled. His original plan was to ready the gate and return home, he hoped his team would follow him. In his haste Thomas slipped; he fell badly. When he woke, the gate was destroyed, the compound shouldering, his team reduced to smears and lurid pools. There would be no escape. Now the shape glided towards the door of his ruined bunker; its eyes fixed on Thomas.