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Vesuvianite hummed a bit at the question. "Yeah. You could say that. I've made a pretty shitty habit of running into a lot of them," they said wryly. "Lot of them smell Chaos and just... lose their minds. A few times, I've been able to convince them to talk. Or read the intel people have put into the database. All their stories corroborate: something happened a thousand years ago, they either stay awake or go into some stasis for the next thousand years, and they wake up on a planet where Chaos is everywhere, everyone and everything is dead, and they get some kind of chance to somehow teleport here to Earth, where we're still alive—thriving, even, despite climate change and all of that—and.... Well, it all ends there, as far as intelligence gathering goes. They try to stay alive."

They sighed, rubbing their face. "I still don't think Chaos is why their planets are dying, because Earth being the only one unaffected doesn't make any sense—look at us, after all. We're here trying to fix s**t. Nuclear fallout, crazy climate change s**t, whatever, my theory is some s**t like that happened and the only thing that keeps, uh... living, other than them, is Chaos. Like the cockroach in Wall-E or something. Not to say we're cockroaches, either... ugh, not the best metaphor, but please tell me you get what I'm getting at," they finished with a half-laugh.

"I wish you luck with that plan," Vesuvianite said dryly. They'd had the same plan, once. Didn't really work out, but hey. They could hope.

"Exactly," they nodded, pleased with Prismatine. "That, and trauma just... does really ******** up things to the brain. Like, none of them seem... like some hyper-intelligent, Star Trek slash Doctor Who alien race that's above s**t like PTSD or whatever."

They shrugged. "I certainly can't imagine what it would be like being awake and alone for a thousand years. Frankly, I'm surprised any of them are as sane as they are. It doesn't give them any right to attack us, I just... I guess I'm more forgiving. My day job is a groundskeeper at a graveyard—which is the funniest way to put it, because I'm actually working the, uh, graveyard shift—"

They snickered at their own joke. "So I see grief in a lot of different ways. Especially at night when people think there's nobody to see them. I just wish it was easier to get some of them to understand we're not.... whatever ******** things up for them. That we don't have to fight. Right now, if Earth is the only place anyone can live, isn't it better if we all got along?" They sighed. "But not a lot of people share that view anyway. Sorry for uh, rambling. I don't... really talk to anyone that often. My 'day job' and this one kind of leave me without a lot of time to socialize."

"We can only do our best to try and recruit them to the cause, or at least get them to leave us alone," Vesuvianite said.

"A band's pretty cool. As for my job..." They hummed. "It's quiet, peaceful, and creepy. I mean, s**t, dude, sometimes walking the streets like this you gotta worry about freaky chickens that smell like s**t and can teleport. Or gigantic frogs that want to drown you. Destiny City is a weird place to live. But you learn to understand if a sound came from a squirrel or from something you need to look out for. Or if a shadow is just someone from day shift leaving a goddamn shovel where they shouldn't, or a rabbit moving carefully because it thinks there's a predator nearby, or if that shadow is a youma you'll need to chase off. Mostly, though, I get through a lot of books and it's nice making things good for people missing their family members."