Mutual Aversion
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Something has entered my domain. I can see it from afar; beams of light, cutting through the darkness. The light is cold, the spectrum narrow; clearly an artificial, electrical light source. Whoever came to visit me is civilized, or at least wielding considerable amounts of technology. Interesting. I uncurl and sliver myself to approach the invader. What might have driven it to seek me out in my isolation?

I'm being shaken by faint vibrations. Not the tremors of the rumbling rock, but something different … sound. My visitor is communicating through sound, speaking in alien voices. But wait. Speaking to me, or to something else? I'm drawing closer, keeping close to the high ceiling, where the light cones don't reach. Not one guest, but five. Each of them has a small lamp, and another light fixed to some objects they're holding. Perhaps a tool of sorts. But something about them is … off.

I billow until I can discern what is wrong. These creatures are wrapped into dense fabric, but some parts of them are exposed. They are … pulsing. It is barely noticeable, but their surfaces are shifting, both in structure and hue. It's like the tides of a small oceans were changing inside of them. I'm feeling uneasy. But my curiosity is beating my inclination for caution and I part even closer.

"I'm feeling we're being watched, Cap."
They are exuding stale air, even more so when they make those sounds. It is uncomfortably moist. Moist … are they really filled with a liquid? Some fluid gushing, bubbling through a sentient, thinking being … imagining this makes my vertices shrink. I can't but rush back.
"Shit. Have you seen that?""What?""Something moved.""Careful now."
They must have spotted me. The lights are now frantically moving over the area where I've just been. Then, suddenly, I am blinded by a bright white flash. I need a moment to adjust to what appears to be chemical flare. They are igniting more of them and throw them to pierce the darkness. One of them is landing close to a streak of mine, illuminating segments of my shell.

"What in heaven's name is this?"
The light bearers are spreading out into formation and carefully closing in on that place. I can spot tiny mote of powder falling off them like snow against the bright shine of their flares. Some of it is landing on my farthest spurs. It is too soft to be sand. Too lightweight. Too sticky. I instinctively withdraw that segment.

Their attention instantly snaps to the ground beneath them.
"It's everywhere!""Shit.""Everybody get their act together. It hasn't attacked yet. Check your positions.""Roger."
They back up a bit, trying not to tread on any more of me. The spots where I was touched by that … grime of theirs feels weirdly sizzly.

Meanwhile the quintet is still trying to grasp my true dimensions. In vain, of course. All that whilst emanating more damp waste air and spreading more of that detritus across my clean floors. Their insides sloshing through their throbbing bodies. Exhale. Shed. Swash. It's nauseating. I try to focus my thoughts on something else; why they are here for example. But I can't suppress the nascent feeling of disgust they are causing. This is sick.
"This must go on for kilometres. No way we're getting past it.""Fuck. Turn back already? Cap?""No, let's try if we can climb over it. It's been pretty docile so far."
One of them is splitting off the group and advancing towards me again. I don't want it to. These things are abhorrent. Shoo, go away, little one. It's body is crooking, and it tries to rest its limb one one of my angles. I try to keep calm, but it's just a tepid tickling sensation that occludes my rational side. The revulsion is taking me over. I panic and sprawl reflexively.

The entirety of me shudders as I cut into the waxy mass. Something gunky trickles out of the entity. They are actually filled up with some liquid. It sprinkles all over me and seeps into the floor. Loud noises come from the rest of its group. They are griping their tools, pointing them at me. Cracking, little metal shards speeding at me. Just what I need. I grasp for them, melt them into a long tendril to cauterize the mess I created.
"Back out! Back out!"
They are racing for where they came from.

Everything is nauseating. I try to somehow stop the icky fluid from dripping out. Make it stop. I can feel some hard pieces inside the beings' malleable body. I hastily withdraw out of it. The pieces I cut off thud into the puddle forming below. The panic won't subside. Everything is terrible. I need to wash myself. Clean this place.

Wait. There are still four more of those messy things. I need to get rid of them. Before they spoil more of my home. I have to remove them. Remove them without touching them. I roar and break a ground wave lose, sending them tumbling over each other. They smack together like bags of water. Fire. I need fire. Turn them to ashes, then the ashes to glass, and dispose of it somewhere far, far away. But there is nothing to burn. Except…

I reach for the flares they spread out. Magnesium. Burning bright and white and most of all, hot. I rip the flares apart and strew the metal powder over the four near the exit and the one that decided to remain close to me. They're not catching fire as hoped, but it is burning deep holes. I haphazardly flail with my new tendril at them. Go away. Please go away. But they don't. They refuse to leave. They won't move a bit. Massive stains in my formerly tidy home.

After a long while I find my calm again. They haven't moved since I tried to incinerate them. That probably means I can push them around safely. I grip the cold metal of one of their tools with some of my most remote angles and poke one of them with it. Into the clothed parts. Even though the tides inside them have waned, I couldn't stand seeing their surfaces deform under impact. No reaction. That's probably good. I slowly push them as far away as I can using their tools to keep a distance.

As I'm done moving them, all the lights have burnt out already. I take a moment to reconsider how to get rid of their remaining detritus. I can't just cut of the angles covered in it, as much as I wish I could. I could really need some rag to wipe them clean now. And running water.

But fate isn't done with me, it seems. I can hear sounds in the distance. Steps, many of them, approaching me fast. More lights.
"Confirming Bravo Squad complete wipe-out. Requesting back-up."
No. Not more of them. Please have mercy on me.

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