Alien Friends

Humanity had ten thousand years to prepare.

It won't help.

You are the alien. Your flying saucer drops you into a field, and Earth throws everything it has at you: spears, arrows, cavalry, muskets, tanks, drones. The crowd never stops coming and never stops growing. Every human is a handful of pixels, every pixel is biomass, and your saucer beams it up while you work.

Die. Grow. Land again.

Death is just a ride back to orbit. There the biomass buys upgrades on one sprawling grid: more damage, more reach, more guns, more of everything. Almost every landing buys you something.

Sleep through the centuries

Buy the gate to the next era and your saucer powers down while the planet spins beneath it. You wake up to a new Earth: pyramids, legions, longships, samurai, trenches, tanks, neon megacities, machines. They have new weapons. So do you.

Every gun has a chain reaction

Eight alien weapons, each strongest in its own age, each with its own way of turning one kill into ten:

Tentacle lash flings the dead into the crowd like bowling balls
Tesla coil forks lightning from body to body
Disintegrator leaves acid pools that run together and eat whoever steps in
Singularity collapses the dead into small dark stars that merge and swallow the crowd
Plus scatter, laser, plasma cannon, and a nanite swarm that breeds on every kill

Famous faces

Cleopatra, Caesar, Napoleon and others hide at the edges of the fight. They don't shoot back. They run, and curse at you in comic-strip symbols. Catch every one for your trophy wall.