July 1978, Japan.

I am the Crab Space Invader.

Not the one from the arcade cabinet. The real one.

When my scout ship descended through the summer clouds above Japan, I expected panic. Instead, I discovered something far more dangerous: humans were becoming fascinated with electronic entertainment.

To avoid detection, I changed my appearance repeatedly. First I disguised myself as a businessman in Tokyo. Then as a university student. Then as a salaryman carrying a briefcase full of completely ordinary Earth documents and definitely not extraterrestrial navigation charts.

The disguises worked.

What surprised me was that everywhere I went, humans were gathering around glowing screens.

In 1978, arcades were transforming. The phenomenon known as Space Invaders was spreading across Japan. I found it amusing that humans were spending their coins shooting creatures that looked suspiciously like distant relatives of mine.

One evening I stood among a crowd watching a young player achieve a remarkable score.

"Those invaders are relentless," he said.

I nodded thoughtfully.

"If only you knew," I replied.

The humans believed we had little in common. They worried about work, school, and the future. We worried about interstellar navigation, asteroid storms, and avoiding detection by primitive civilizations.

Yet when a new game appeared, all differences vanished.

A human and a hidden alien could stand shoulder to shoulder in an arcade, studying patterns, chasing high scores, and feeling the same excitement when a difficult level was finally conquered.

That was when I realised my mission had changed.

I had come to observe humanity.

Instead, I became a gamer.

And somewhere in a crowded Japanese arcade during the summer of 1978, a disguised Crab Invader quietly inserted another coin and prepared for one more game.