I Am The Alien Writing
America's favorite meaningless doodles finally get the attention they deserve.
What's up? I'm the mysterious alien writing from this season of Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm made up of these cool lines and circles and diamonds, like a circuit diagram drawn by someone who doesn't know a lot about actual circuits. And I have been waiting patiently to get the spotlight I deserve.
I'm glad to see that everybody's finally paying some proper attention to me. What does a cryptic doodle have to do to inspire curiosity and awe around here? I thought, when I started making Agent Coulson carve me into cement, that that would bring me to the forefront of every storyline. Apparently not! I've had to work overtime here. I'm on paintings, on walls, even tattooed all over random bad guys. And even with all that, I keep getting described in shockingly vague terms like "the hacker's worst nightmare" or "the everlasting gobstopper of firewalls." I don't even know what that means, but I'm pretty sure I'm not one of them.
I had to get myself carved into people's flesh before I could get taken seriously. And listen, I understand that the team has other things on their schedule. They have to spend some time following Ward until they lose track of him. And that's fine. But it should not have taken this long for Coulson to decide to torture information out of his own head. Where I come from, if you have a machine behind a secret wall that can advance the plot at the cost of some minor pain, you use it. To be fair, I come from a place where you probably use the pain machine even without advancing the plot. It's just for fun sometimes. But to say more would be to reveal where I'm really from. Which obviously isn't going to happen.
But here's the deal. I'm happy that everyone's learned some things about me. Essentially, when Agents died in the past, S.H.I.E.L.D. used to fill them up with alien blood, and that would bring them back. Except they'd have an uncontrollable passion to draw me. So naturally, the reanimated Agents would have much of their memories wiped, which had the convenient side effect of letting them forget important plot details. But eventually, everyone would start drawing me again.
Look, I'm not just a riff on Devil's Tower from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I'm important. I mean something! In fact, it turns out that I'm not a language at all. I'm really a three-dimensional map! And now everybody has to find out exactly where I am, sort of like a particular tower in a particular movie about encounters of a particular kind.
And here's the secret: that's going to be really difficult. Right? All you know is that alien blood makes people try to find this place, so it might not even be on Earth at all. So what's the solution? That's right: lots of scenes where people study me. Look at me. Argue about me. Even get mad at me. As long as I'm on screen, I don't mind. Drink it in, folks. I'm the alien language. And I'm about to be everywhere.
I'm going to be a star.