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OOC thread for this thread. A strange visitor from another planet is here to turn us all into were-jaguars, and it's all Max Mars' fault! @Heritage @Tiffany Korta

GM April 20th, Wednesday, 2022, 11.30AM Guthrie Gallery of Energy Innovations, Freedom City University, Freedom City, USA Adorning the Gallery's entrances were banners inviting readers to "SEE THE FLYING ALIEN PYRAMID!", strategically augmented with "Free food!", "Live music!" and "Meet Max Mars!" Whatever else could be said about him, in this case all those things were true. Inside was an extravaganza of Max Mars' usual levels. The austere and functional layout of the Guthrie Gallery, a rotating exhibition of various energy sources from steam engines to a replica Omegadrone Power Pike, was coated in glitz and excess. On one stage, up-and-coming rock sensation Frank Larrabee sang about the misty forests and mountains of his hometown, Emerald City, and of the unsolved mysteries they hid from wondering eyes. On another, acoustically-isolated from the rock balladeer, metal band Spydor acted out the War of Taranok and Scorvicious, and on a third pop idol Silvia "Silver" Moon and the Moonlites danced through a confrontation with hereditary illness and the stigma against the chronically-ill. The technology making it possible for all three acts to be on at the same time without their performances interfering had its own mini-exhibit, replete with attractive salespersons. Booths pertaining to other recent inventions, including the Phobos V utility-phone, and advertising positions within MarsTech itself, packed the halls. The free food ranged from buffet-style steam trays to onigiri to fresh-baked pretzels, in quantities sufficient to feed even a crowd of university students and guests with families. And in the center, visible from all the arms of the Gallery, was the huge floating, pulsing nightmare of metal and stone that was the alien pyramid. A suite of technicians kept a careful eye on read-outs behind the cordon set up around the pyramid itself, a cordon guarded by smiling and uniformed representatives of Brande Mangement, a company so mysterious that all anyone really knew about it was that it hired superhumans as security personnel. In the shadow of all this, Max Mars, standing proud in his five-nothing frame cloaked in a resplendant red suit, held court and eagerly explained what the strange machine was and its ramifications. The crowd that had gathered filtered in and out, kept up to date everywhere in the Gallery on Max's endless patter through the P.A. system. "This is better than gold, folks! A working alien spacecraft! If you think anti-gravity is for your grandkids, you're in for a shock! With this baby we've picked out planets NASA wouldn't have found for another 80 years, at least! A food replicator, a database of languages we've barely begun to scan, and this ain't even it's full size! Before we dug it up, the people in that Mexican village thought it was just another hill! This is our ticket to the stars, people! Without having to wait until Americatech deigns to grace us with the answers, we'll make our own!" That last hit more of a sour note with the Freedom City crowd than it might have back on the West Coast. But Mars' other words, and the various gizmos around the central hall demonstrating the applications of this alien super-tech, left a much more positive impression. "And best of all!" Max's grin seemed barely able to fit on his red-bearded face, "We've found the space jockey who piloted this thing! He's been trapped inside, for thousands of years, and you'll be here when he says his first words to us! So stick around, folks, enjoy yourslelves, and get ready for an outta-this-world encounter!"