Set the scene: galactic-scale society. Somehow, we managed to get faster-than-light (FTL) travel working, and as a species got it together enough to actually get out into galactic society. For some reason or another, we haven’t yet hit the singularity, and so we’re still running around in our hundreds-of-thousands-of-years-old meat shells.

It’s at this point that we start imagining all the horrible aliens running around out there. Blob monsters. Things with tentacles, oh god the tentacles. Sharp teeth, claws, wings. Nightmares given shape by the infinite variety of life on a galactic scale. Continue reading

It's pronounced "Grey two-eighty."