(@Crimson Lionheart Here ya gu x3) 1997 A husband and wife were driving in the outskirts of Canterlot, California, their slightly battered cobalt blue 1982 Ford F-250 carrying firewood for their wood stove back home. The wife, slim, somewhat curvaceous yet very athletic looking, had vibrant pink skin with dark blue hair and eyes, while the husband, with a rather burly build, had purplish-grey skin, dull, multicolored hair, and yellow eyes. Both of them were as friendly and moral as you could find, even if they did have their disagreements, such as right now. "Are you sure you know where you're going?" asked Firefly with concern. Her husband was prone to forgetting how to get to his destination, even with a map. "No worries, honey, we'll be fine." Spectrum Burst replied reassuringly. "That's what you said last time, and then we ended up missing the turn at Alberquerque." "It was worth it though, getting to see Roswell..." Suddenly, a loud crashing noise could be heard next to them. "WHAT THE HELL--" shouted a startled Spectrum Burst as the vehicle rolled onto its side. Spoiler: Music for scene (Recommended) They got out to investigate what had caused them to flip over, to find a smoldering crater, inside of which was what appeared to be a small, round metal ball, about the size of a human child, with a small, circular window facing towards the sky. Looking through the window, one could see that there was indeed a child inside. An infant girl, in fact: sky blue skin with small amounts of bright, rainbow-colored hair on her head. "Speccy, dear... Is that... an alien?" asked Firefly nervously. "I'm not sure," replied Spectrum, "she looks just like you or me... might be some kind of Russian space baby." Firefly looked at her husband in confusion. He was somewhat intelligent, having obtained a degree in law at UCLA, but he was lacking in common sense. While he knew that the Soviets had disbanded only six years prior, he still didn't trust the Russians. "What do you mean? The Russians wouldn't just send a baby into space. That's dumb!" "Well, suppose she is an alien, then" replied her husband, "What if she's from one of them Klingon-type cultures?" "We can raise her properly, don't worry," said Firefly, "I'll just have a birth certificate forged and we'll be good to g-" At that moment, they were interrupted by the sound of metal and wood being moved slowly, but steadily. When they turned around, they saw the child had left the pod and somehow righted the truck. "Yep..." said Spectrum, "Definitely not Russian..."