~ Close Encounters of the Third Failure ~
"Warning!
Alien presence detected.
Threat level: none.
Annoyance level: impossible to measure.
Emotional coordinates: 40°42'AS.
Inner peace: not found."
~Welcome to Planet Burnoutia~
After months (or maybe minutes—time is relative when you're emotionally fried) of erratic navigation through your inner multiverse, your ship finally sets course for the first inhabited planet: Burnoutia.
A world populated by beings who live in a perpetual state of "too many tabs open."
The sky is a depressing shade of beige.
The mountains are made of forgotten Post-its.
Every building is an office. Even the parks.
And there you meet your first fellow traveler:
Mr. Panic/on — alien-bureaucrat, galactic delegate of unease
• Form: tentacled, yet oddly elegant.
• Voice: like an automated call center putting you on hold with yourself.
• Eyes: permanently fixed on a form that never gets completed.
Panic/on stares at you.
> "Identify yourself, cosmonaut. Emotional status? Motivation for existential transit? Did you pre-book your anticipatory anxiety?"
You: "I'm just trying to figure out the meaning of all this."
Panic/on hands you a tablet.
> "Here's a form. Triplicate. Language: self-deprecating irony. Theme: existential delirium. Deadline: yesterday."
~ Welcome to the Bureaucracy of Cosmic Restlessness ~
Galactic Event #1: The Interstellar Silent Discomfort Meeting™
You're invited (without consent, obviously) to join a multispecies group therapy session.
Sitting in a circle are:
A transparent blob named Flonflon, crying in seven colors.
A tired robot named B1oop repeating "I'm fine" every 30 seconds.
A humanoid named Feed~∆, dressed like an influencer but with their soul clearly offline.
In session, someone asks:
"And you? How do you feel?"
You, in a rare moment of cosmic honesty, answer:
"Like I'm playing the role of a human without ever getting the script."
The group applauds.
Flonflon releases a rainbow bubble.
The robot stops repeating its line for 4.2 seconds.
~ Cosmic Lesson ~
The universe is full of others who don't know what they're doing either.
You convince yourself you're the only one who's confused, broken, wrong.
Then you land on a planet like Burnoutia and realize—everyone's improvising.
Some do it with more style than others.
Even the calm ones are carrying monsters in their backpacks.
Even the ones who shine are sometimes dark inside.
Was the encounter with Panic/on, Flonflon, and the others absurd?
Absolutely.
But also strangely familiar.
~ Philosophical Post-it ~
> "Sometimes the most alien encounters are the ones where you finally feel human."
You're ready to depart Burnoutia. The ship is waiting.
In the dashboard, you've tucked away a new piece of awareness:
you're not the only one who feels alone.
Next destination: Luna Retrospektor —
where memories turn into objects and dreams vanish under pressure.