He was dying. Life slowly oozed from his body in dark venous streams, in uneven, increasingly rare bursts. Gnarled, gnarled fingers scraped along the dry earth. The damaged left eye seemed to be looking towards the setting sun, into the sky that was beginning to turn purple, and the right, alive, tearing, was painfully trying to make out the man sitting next to him on a curved tree trunk. When he managed to hold his gaze for a while, a hot wave washed over the seated person, knocking out his breath and thoughts. But his strength was already leaving him, and the last convulsions ran through his body. The gaze wavered for the last time and froze with an expression of unbearable torment. Death erased the anger and hatred from his face, softened his rough features, only his eyes remained the same, cold and bottomless... Alien.