#Vaporize

“Damn it, Tara! You can’t keep screwing up customer orders and coming in late! We’re too damn busy at this location. You have to get your head in the game, or I’m going to have to let you go. I like you, but we’ve had this conversation too many times,” the red-faced Starbucks manager said forcefully, one abnormally large vein on his forehead pulsating like it was at a night club.

Tara blushed, averting her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time this week.

“Look, Mike, I’m sorry. I know. I’m trying. I really am. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“You have to, Tara. I don’t want to let you go, but the next closed-door conversation we have will be the last. You get that, right?”

“I do. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to screw up, I promise. I just get… distracted.”

“I understand. You know I hate this stuff, too. Now, get out of here and go home and relax. Come back tomorrow with a new attitude, OK?”

“OK, boss. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she replied, standing and turning to face the door.

As she ambled her way out of her manager’s office, a growing unease began to fill her. Her palms oozed sweat, and her cheeks became red with frustration. I’m never going to fit in anywhere. Why can’t I just do the same shit other normal people can? Damn it, Tara… she thought as she reached her car and slammed the door closed behind her.

Squealing her bald tires as she ripped her 1989 Honda Civic hatchback out of the parking spot in reverse, her eyes began to water.

No one’s ever going to accept me. I wish I could just jump in a spaceship and fly away from this dumbass planet…

***

Tara Hannigar’s purple dreadlocks flowed defiantly in the evening breeze at Gas Works Park in Seattle. Juxtaposed with her dark skin, strong features, and piercing green eyes, her features gave her an intoxicating, feral look. A wild woman. Wild and free. Given to wanderlust and obsession with exploring the lonely places around the city. Places where “KEEP OUT” was always conspicuously posted. Standing as she was, in the fading light on Lake Union, she could have been a monument to chaos.

After the earlier dressing-down by her boss Mike, however, she could feel it again—the need to move, to leave, to be free. Even though she finally had an awesome apartment in the Freemont neighborhood, shrouded within the verdant greenery that blanketed the Pacific Northwest. And although her roommates, Steve and Dan, who preferred to be called by their online handles, “DragonLore” and “BroNey666,” respectively, were awesome guys who loved cats, video games, and cosplay—just like Tara did—they weren’t wild like she was.

They may not have been wild like her, but they were cool. And cool still meant something to Tara Hannigar.

Tara, who also preferred to be called by her online handle “kitsune,” liked her job at Starbucks… enough. She got a decent wage and free drinks, and, in her words, “it was a pretty chill place to work.” Except when her manager Mike had to get on her when she screwed up. And she screwed up a lot. Her mind was never on work but always on what she could explore next. She knew she was a shit barista, but Starbucks was a filler. It worked. For now, anyway.

And in the dark hours when she didn’t have to concentrate on the yuppie scum, as she called them, who overpaid for their “fancy Pumpkin-Spiced-bullshit” (another thing her boss had constantly ripped her for) she could sneak around the ruins of Seattle. Alone. Just the way she liked it.

Her roommate DragonLore was an overweight, 30-something, aspiring fantasy writer with a greasy brown mane pulled back in a ponytail. Neither she nor DragonLore knew exactly what BroNey—they always left the “666” off—did, or wanted to do, for that matter. Kitsune knew that he was a trust fund baby. Rich parents from the Bay Area had squandered their chance to raise a well-adjusted child, opting instead for what amounted to parenting by proxy. As a likely consequence, the co-conspirators theorized, Dan got into playing with costumes for attention–specifically pony costumes with fake hooves and horns.

Other than that, however, Dan’s life goals were a mystery.

It was kind of bad. She knew. But they were good to her, and they paid rent on time. After her broken childhood, she finally felt at home with them. Safe. They were a unit, a team. But she needed more. They weren’t wild like her.

DragonLore was a real-life version of Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons. More at home in a comfy chair, bloviating about some obscure roleplaying game–currently, some pre-production, post-apocalyptic RPG called The After was his obsession–than in an abandoned building with the real possibility of danger. BroNey was hot, but if she was honest with herself, kind of stupid. Ripped abs, blonde hair, blue eyes. But with an IQ that made most Marines seem like candidates for Harvard by comparison. But he had a good heart. She knew that.

As Tara watched the sunset over Queen Anne Hill, the deep pinks and purples playing off the skyscrapers of downtown Seattle, she knew this life was never for her. She knew she didn’t belong here. Not just in Seattle, but on Earth.

Dejected, she took a deep breath. She wished she could be just like Naruto, her favorite Japanese manga character. As she exhaled, her face unconsciously softening with disappointment, she bent her lips in a crooked frown. She was no fictional ninja. She was a real human woman who just needed to be free.

She closed her eyes, imagining her escape. Then she opened them wide—as wide as they would go—and smiled to herself.

Fuck that, she thought. I am a fucking ninja!

Without warning, she turned on her heels, tucking her head and sticking her arms out behind her in a flying V. She let out a feral scream that pierced the quiet of the dark, tranquil park, and ran as fast as she could, legs churning in the manicured grass…

She didn’t care where. She was free. She was a goddamn ninja. And no one was going to hold her back.

***

            DragonLore sat in his room at his computer, deftly pumping out pages for his newest book The Last Dragonball Samurai: Threat Level Midnite, which he was just sure was going to rocket him to the celebrity stratosphere. Both his desk and room were littered with the fallen remains of Mountain Dew bottles, frozen burritos, and Moon Pies. Christmas lights and a lava lamp coated his room in a deep, rich purple that helped hide the massif of dirty clothes stalking the corners of his room like a hungry lion. Near his nightstand lay his Piers Anthony paperbacks… and an atypically crusty tube sock.

“Hey guys, I’m home!” someone yelled from the front of the apartment, followed by a door slamming.

“Damn it, Tara! Quit slamming the damn door! We’re going to have to pay for that shit when we move out if you break it!” yelled DragonLore from over his shoulder, his eyes and hands still at the computer.

Kitsune strode into his room, throwing her messenger bag on the floor. She flicked off her rainbow-colored Converse and flopped irreverently on DragonLore’s bed. Instantly her lips curled, face contorting in a strange mask of disbelief as her eyes found DragonLore’s nightstand.

“Dude, what the fuck is that sock up there, bro? That’s gross. And when are you going to do your laundry? It smells like Satan’s asshole in here. Have you even showered this week? You need to take care of yourself, old man.”

DragonLore stopped typing, swiveling his chair to regard his sarcastic interloper. “Nice to see you too, shitwagon. For your information, I’ve been working hard as balls on Dragon Samurai all week. I’m up to 80,000 words. I just know this is going to be the one, and I’m not stopping until I’m finished. So there.

“…Shitwagon.”

Kitsune’s mouth formed a lopsided smile, and her eyes softened at the realization of her surprise attack on her roommate.

“You’re right. Sorry to bust your balls the second I walk in. I had a shitty day. Mike yelled at me again for screwing up another order. Told me that’s the last time. Next one is ix-nay on the ob-jay for me. Fired. I was really pissed after I left work and went down to Gas Works to watch the sunset.”

“You should have invited me! I love sunsets at Gas Works! We only get like two days a year here where it’s not cloudy as shit. I can’t believe you didn’t Snapchat me at least!”

She nodded her head slowly in understanding. “Sorry, DragonLore. I really needed to be alone for a while. I’m feeling trapped again. Needed time to think.”

“It’s cool,” he replied, winking, knowing he had hooked her. “I was fucking with you. You know I got your back. I’m sorry about your day. Anything I can do to make it better?”

“Nah, I’m good. I watched the sunset and then Naruto-ran all the way from the top of the hill back to my car, screaming like a fucking moron! People probably thought I was some meth head from Florida about to eat people’s faces!” she said, cracking an ear-to-ear smile and waggling both her eyebrows up and down like the millennial version of Groucho Marx.

Both kitsune and DragonLore shared a hearty belly laugh at the thought of all the “Florida Man” memes they’d been seeing lately.

“Where’s BroNey?” said kitsune.

“I think he had that interpretive dance class today. Should be home soon. I hope he didn’t wear his damn hooves again,” he replied, his eyebrows furrowed in mock disgust.

Kitsune chuckled at the thought of her roommate dancing with his fake hooves on.

“Oh, right. I forgot. How much did that cost again? I mean, his parents can’t be excited about paying for that. Especially because he doesn’t have a job… right?”

“Beats me. I wouldn’t be, though,” replied DragonLore through a mask of disbelief.

A barely audible jiggling sound came from the deadbolt. A second later BroNey flung the door open and came charging through it, slamming it against the wall.

“Damn it, BroNey!” shouted both kitsune and DragonLore in unison, eyes wide in anger.

“Sorry, darlings!” he yelled as he came prancing into DragonLore’s room, throwing down his bohemian satchel on the floor and then unceremoniously tackling kitsune on the bed.

“I missed you so much today!” he exclaimed, his face centimeters from hers.

“Dude! Personal space!” she fired back, laughing out loud at her roommate’s absurd behavior.

BroNey freed her from his embrace and sat up on the bed. His face contorting in discomfort, he slowly rolled his eyes toward DragonLore. “Steve, seriously, that sock absolutely has to go. At least hide the damn thing. Ain’t none of us trying to see where you put your dead DragonLore babies, ‘aight honey?”

DragonLore shook his head in disbelief.

“You two idiots know this is my room, right? So, if I leave my dead baby socks around, that’s my prerogative. Get it, assbags? Don’t come in here flopping on my bed and complain about my filthy habits. They’re mine, and I happen to like them.”

BroNey raised one eyebrow playfully. “How’s your girlfriend like that policy?” he said, dripping with sarcasm.

“Ha ha, dick. Very funny. You know Megan was a psycho. Hence, the sock!” he replied with mock indignance.

Both kitsune and BroNey let out raucous laughs. Megan had been a psycho. They all agreed on that. [VB4] In fact, if she were serious with herself, kitsune thought the sock was a far better girlfriend than Megan ever had been.

After the mutual laugh subsided, kitsune’s face became serious. “Hey, can I talk something out with you guys for real, though?”

Both DragonLore and BroNey could see that playtime was over. Both roommates shifted their posture, coming to a state of attention.

“Yeah, go ahead, girl,” replied BroNey tenderly.

“Of course,” said DragonLore. “You know we’re here for you, kid.”

She nodded slowly and seriously. “Thanks guys. Listen, I’m feeling trapped again. I feel like I’m going to explode and do something crazy. This whole Seattle-working-at-Starbucks-life-going-nowhere thing is kind of grating on me. I know I’m only 25, but I need something more. Some more adventure…”

Both roommates gave the problem serious thought. A few seconds of silence hung in the air as kitsune looked from DragonLore to BroNey and back again.

“New job?” said DragonLore first.

“I’ve thought about that. I may get fired here soon anyway, so that may be a reality whether I want it or not.”

“How about a quick vacation? Get out of town? Maybe a road trip? We can take the Party Bus! I can pay for gas!” said BroNey, a devilish smile playing across his lips as he offered his brand-new, parent-financed Porsche Cayenne turbo and high-limit credit card up for grabs.

Kitsune turned to him, aghast. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course I would, darling! You two are my best friends! And it’s Mommy and Daddy’s money. What’s the use of being a trust fund kid if you can’t spread the fun around sometimes? Ya know, put the ol’ F-U-N back in trust F-U-N-D?”

Kitsune turned to DragonLore. “Steve?”

“Sure. I have time saved up at work. I could take some days as long as I have some notice. Maybe over a long weekend? What about you, though? You’re on thin ice with Mike.”

“I know, but if it’s a ways out, I could request it off easily enough—assuming I’m still working there by then…” she replied with a smirk.

“Great! It’s final!” shouted a wide-eyed BroNey with a flutter of hand claps.

“How far can we go in five or six days?” asked DragonLore.

“With three drivers? Anywhere on the West Coast,” replied Kitsune.

“Let’s do something positively crrrraaaaazzzy!” said an overly dramatic BroNey as he held up his hands, shaking them frantically.

Kitsune perked up with the addition of her roommate’s flamboyant antics. She liked crazy. She also liked stupid. Dumb. Idiotic. Death-defying. Illegal. This discussion was cranking the crazy knob to full blast, the possibilities swirling in her head like an arctic blizzard.

“I’m good, so long as we don’t die before I get famous from Dragonball Samurai. What do you guys have in mind?” said DragonLore.

Kitsune pulled a marijuana vaporizer from her pocket, taking a deep pull like some New-Age Hemingway —a feisty Hemingway with purple dreadlocks and a neck tattoo. Passing it to her left, a grateful DragonLore nodded at her in thanks as he took a hit.

Kitsune exhaled, coughing a bit as she did so. “What about Area 51?” she said, her eyes beginning to space out a bit already.

“Oh honey,” said a shocked BroNey. “You’re going to have to feed me the brownies before I sign off on that crazy shit. That whole meme is bullshit anyway. No one’s going. You do know that, right?”

DragonLore passed the vaporizer to BroNey, who greedily snapped it up with a roguish smile and a wink. “Why thank you very much, kind sir. Don’t mind if I do!”

“No, I get that no one’s going. But what if we went down there on our road trip? We just have to stay outside the gates. I’ve seen it online. And we can hit Vegas, too!” said a red-eyed kitsune.

“I’m game. Area 51 is kind of meh, but Vegas? I’ve got some money saved up that I was going to give to the guild treasury for my D&D club, but Vegas is much better,” replied DragonLore as he leaned back a bit in his chair, relaxing after writing all day.

“OK, it’s settled then, bitches. Area 51 it is!” said BroNey before taking another hit.

“Wait, seriously?” said a wide-eyed kitsune.

“Sure, why not?” BroNey said as he exhaled a cloud of weed vapor.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t think it would be that easy, I guess. I really appreciate it. This is perfect. Just what I need. Thanks guys, this is really thoughtful of you.”

Kitsune willed her body up—albeit with considerably more energy than it should have taken—and thought, This must be what real friends are like, as she gave each roommate a hug.

Later that night, alone with her thoughts in her own room, kitsune salivated at the idea of a road trip to Area 51. Her head swam with all the possible things they could see on the way down—lost places they could explore. She liked the lost places. That was why she explored abandoned buildings and other mysterious sites around Seattle. She knew it was dangerous, but something about those places was so thrilling to her. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was, but she knew she needed more of it.

As she lay on her bed, still blisteringly high from the earlier session, she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep for the first time in months.

She just knew this would be the best trip of her life. Knew it in her bones.

***

“Who do you work for?” came a gruff voice from the void.

There was authority in the male tone—and urgency. This was someone used to being in control. Kitsune could hear it as if she was underwater—distant, like a dream.

“Who sent you?” said the voice again, this time with more force.

Her head was so foggy. Was she sleeping? Was the TV going in the background? Was she still stoned?

“You will tell us. You know that, don’t you?” said the mysterious wraith. “She seems a tad sleepy still. Push five milligrams of the reversal agent, would you please, 32?”

“Yes, sir. Pushing.”

“Excellent, thank you.”

All at once it seemed as if kitsune were coming up for air from a deep-ocean free dive. Her lungs heaved, her eyes slammed open, pupils dilated. The searing lights filled her head with pain. Her eyes watering, she closed and opened them part of the way in an attempt to make it go away. She blinked multiple times while she came back to reality.

“Well, that certainly seems to have worked. Welcome back to reality, Miss Hannigar—or whatever your real name is. It seems as if we’d given you a bit too much of our little handy-dandy talking potion over there. But you’re all right now. Glad to see it. Shall we continue?”

“Wha-what? Continue what?” she replied, now fully lucid.

“My questioning, of course.”

“What questioning? Where am I? Who the fuck are you, old man? And why can’t I move!?”

“It seems as if you’ve forgotten quite a bit. Oh, poor girl. Quite a bit indeed, I’m afraid. Would you like me to fill you in on the events of the last 24 hours?”

“Do I have a choice?” Kitsune replied, her flight-or-flight reflexes starting to kick in. What had she done this time? Why couldn’t she remember anything? She knew this was bad immediately upon being woken up. She just needed to know how bad.

The room around her looked like a standard police interrogation room with a one-way mirror, table, and bright lights. Two heavily armed guards stood in the corner. They looked military, though, not like police. They wore all black, with face masks hiding their identity and no logos or other identifying marks on them anywhere that she could see…other than the M-4s on slings held at the ready and pistols in drop holsters on their thighs.

She was no gun nut, but she’d watched enough of the show 24 back in the day to know these guards weren’t cops. Neither was the presence behind her that had pushed the “reversal agent,” whatever the hell that meant.

The gray-haired man across the table from her was dressed in a dark suit. Another bad sign. The shot caller. His thick white beard and round glasses gave him the look of some type of scientist, save the white coat. She also noticed his overly formal English. Had to have been educated. Monied. Pedigreed. Yes, he was definitely the one in charge.

“As a matter of fact, you do not have a choice. As you have no doubt been able to ascertain via your current situation, you are fully under my control. And, of course, there is a reason for that.

“I can refresh your failing memory of the events that transpired, and then I will allow you to tell me everything you know, or we can do things the… well, the proverbial hard way.

“Which would you like, young lady?”

Kitsune looked around the room one more time, taking in the imposing figures in the corner and catching a glimpse of the worm behind her that had given her the reversal agent.

Sucking in a deep breath and then letting it out with a deep sigh, she tried to speak, but her throat was a desert. All that came out was white noise.

“Ah, yes. The inducing agent can have that effect. 32, would you be so kind as to get the young lady some water, please?”

“Yes, sir,” said the strange little man behind her with an enthusiastic nod.

Kitsune heard pouring and the clink of a glass, and then a glass of water appeared on the table in front of her. She greedily tried to snatch up the glass but found that, try as she might, she couldn’t move anything but her fingers.

“Oh, right. I must have forgotten to mention that as well. There is also that unfortunate side effect. It should wear off in…” The shot-caller checked what looked like a very old analog pocket watch. “Roughly 30 seconds.”

“Until that happens, why don’t I refresh you on exactly why you’re here. Then, and only then, will I give you the privilege of answering me with the full truth and nothing else. You will have one shot at the easy way, my dear. From that point on, things get much harder.

“Nod once if you understand.”

Kitsune eyed the man sitting across from her warily. She couldn’t remember anything, and she was at a very obvious—and very dangerous—disadvantage. She made the decision to play along. She had no other choice.

 She nodded her head once, indicating the easy way.

“Excellent! I much prefer the easy way, but I have to tell you, some people do not. Or, it seems they believe that I am joking when I say that the hard way is, well, hard. Something in their constitution seems to render them incapable of believing that I am, indeed, serious about the hard way. I assure you, however, the hard way is most certainly an option. I may look disarming, but do not be deceived. I have never shied away from the ‘wet work,’ as we call it.”

Kitsune suddenly felt her body come alive. Every nerve ending seemed to buzz like an arm or leg that had fallen asleep. Uncomfortable, to say the least, but not outright torturous. She began to move her fingers, then her arms, neck, and back as she shifted in the chair.

“Ah, splendid! I see I was correct! That potion we’ve concocted sure is a humdinger, isn’t it? Honestly, sometimes the reversal agent doesn’t work for hours, or even days. In one case, the subject never did regain body function. Died in a few days. Very unfortunate! What a mess of paperwork that was!”

The suit rolled his eyes at the comment, gently patting one knee of his crossed legs. His feigned hardship at the mention of the paperwork made kitsune recoil internally. These were bad men who did bad things. She was way out of her league here. Best to play this safe.

Hand shaking, kitsune reached for the glass of water on the table. She carefully brought the glass to her dry lips and took a sip. It was like drinking life. Her parched throat soaked up the liquid like a sponge.

“At any rate, no bother. Let’s continue with your story so that we can get the messy part out of the way, shall we? It seems, Miss Hannigar—if that is in fact your real name?—that you have been apprehended while attempting to break into arguably the world’s most secure and secretive military installation. Currently, you are in a secure holding cell deep underground in the area the government calls Groom Lake. You know it as Area 51.

“You and your two little friends—both of whom I have a hard time believing are anything but cover for you—were apprehended yesterday evening attempting to, and I quote you here, ‘Hop the fence and see them aliens!’”

The shot caller’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a patronizing grin as he acted out the scene with mock enthusiasm.

“Unfortunately, however, we here at the top-secret Groom Lake facility are not generally given to tours for the public. And most certainly not to… ‘see them aliens!’” he declared, each of his hands making air quotes after he paused dramatically.

“I have to be honest. Whether this was supposed to be some new type of lo-fi, avant-garde site infiltration plan designed to, as they say, ‘dazzle us with bullshit’, or not, it did manage to get you inside of our facility. Quite ingenious, actually!

“Yet, here you are, caught. But technically, you did infiltrate the facility! Bravo! Unfortunately for you, this area is completely hardened from electromagnetic signals of all types. As well as a direct nuclear strike. There is no commando team on Earth that could possibly aid in your rescue.

“So, let’s dispense with the unpleasantness, shall we, and get on to the truth: Who do you work for? Who sent you? China? Russia? Rogue actors within our own government?  Oh, I can’t wait to hear your story.”

Just then, a cacophony of pain sounded over the holding cell’s internal communication system. Kitsune shuddered from the sudden, violent assault on her senses. She instantly attempted to cover her ears, handcuffed arms stopping mid-way with an aggressive thump as the chain tethering them to the floor slammed into the concrete anchor holding it.

“Oh, yes. Just a formality. As you may remember, you and two other friends attempted the infiltration. One of them is a big boy, certainly not military. He certainly can take an interrogation quite well, though. He hasn’t given us anything as of yet. Both he and the other one—I believe his name is Dan—keep giving us the same story. You have all been well trained.

“But I believe that you are the key. You can see reason. Stop all this senseless violence, would you? Simply answer my questions, and then it’s off to a cushy life in one of our many black sites around the globe! No muss, no fuss!” said the gray-haired sociopath, making a waving motion with his hand as if wiping chess pieces onto the floor.

He continued, “All gone. Just like that. Just tell me why you’re here and for whom you work, and you can save your colleagues from any further harm. What do you say?”

Kitsune was having a hard time comprehending all this. How the hell did she end up here? Chinese spy? Russian operative? No rescue? What the fuck was this guy on about? She simply couldn’t remember. The last thing she remembered was the road trip. Vegas. How they had ended up in here was beyond her.

Her friends, however, were being tortured in another holding cell. And, from the screams of pain over the communication system, she didn’t think they’d make it much longer. She knew them both. They were not specimens of human endurance or mental toughness. There was no way DragonLore or BroNey would live through this. Not sane, anyway.

But the assholes were torturing them for an answer that didn’t exist. They’d just keep torturing them, never knowing that there was nothing to give them.

Kitsune didn’t know what to do, but she knew she’d be goddamned if she gave the bastard across from her the satisfaction of her acquiescing to his bullshit. She waxed defiantly in her head yet had few direct options. So, she did the only thing she could. Raising her head and looking the shot caller in his dead, lifeless eyes, she spat directly in his face.

The suit glared at her like a predator eying its prey, but he didn’t move. He just stared at her coldly. He flicked his eyes to one of the monsters in the corner. An instant later, kitsune felt a painful crack in her temple. Her world began to narrow, stars filling her vision. She floated in a netherworld of quasi-consciousness, trying to regain control.

The old man took out a monogrammed hanky from his internal suit pocket and removed his round, wire-rimmed glasses, careful not to get her saliva on him. As he began to wipe the spit from his mouth and nose, a rumbling explosion rocked the holding cell. She couldn’t tell where they came from, but she knew it couldn’t be good.

Klaxons began blaring somewhere outside the interrogation room. A look of confusion flashed over the shot caller as the gorillas in the corner stabilized themselves, readying their rifles.

“73, would you please go figure out what happened? I’ll stay here with our guest, 32, and your partner. 74, be ready to escort us to the escape corridor without delay if I give the order.”

Both thugs nodded, one quickly making his way to the holding cell door where he brought his rifle to the ready, sighting down the barrel at the still-closed door. The door slid open with a hiss, and 73 moved cautiously through the portal, scanning the outer hallway before finally taking a left and disappearing down the corridor. The door hissed shut, a bolt clanking as it locked.

“Well, this certainly is an interesting turn of events, isn’t it?” said the spymaster, with a cool, practiced smile that hid what Tara could sense was his growing discomfort.

Kitsune glared at him, mentally running a marathon trying to figure out just what the hell was happening. Just as she had assured herself that it had to be a gas line or some other operational accident, another, even larger explosion rocked the cell. This time, however, a small crack appeared in the ceiling, bits of concrete dust floating away from the trauma and filling the room.

“74, 32, prepare for immediate exfil to the escape corridor. Prep the prisoner for transport.”

32 gave an effusive series of quick nods as he moved his cuckolded form from behind her. Gorilla Man—74—took a series of steps forward, saying nothing and pulling out an electronic device from one of the pockets on his load-bearing vest. He punched in a code and held it to her ankles first. Something beeped. Then he stood.

From his imposing position, he took one huge paw and grabbed kitsune’s chin, wrenching her head to meet what should have been his gaze, had his identity not been fully obscured by his uniform.

He jiggled the chain that was permanently attached to her handcuffs and the floor. “I’m going to open these restraints to stand you up. Then I’m going to put this pair on.” He held up another, smaller pair in his hand. “You give me trouble, I break your neck, meat. We clear?”

Kitsune tried to nod, but his firm grip held her from doing so.

“Say yes if you understand,” came the ghostly voice from behind the balaclava.

A muffled “Yes” came from kitsune’s squished face.

He held the electronic device to her wrists, and the restraints popped open with a beep, dropping to the floor with a metallic clank as he did so. Her wrists had marks from where the cuffs had dug into her. He then took a smaller pair without the chain from behind him, clamping them around her wrists, and locked them again with the mysterious, smartphone-sized electronic device.

“Up, meat. Now. Let’s go.”

Kitsune stood, the guard helping wrench her up by her bicep. She wanted to smash his hidden face with her head or kick him in the crotch but decided against it. Sometimes she could keep her shit in check. This was one of those times. He was almost two heads taller and easily one hundred pounds more than she was, so she decided that an act of revenge could come later. Best to play it smart now and keep all her options on the table.

Before the group could finish the transport preparation, sounds of combat began to permeate the passageway outside the holding cell. Kitsune could hear the sharp staccato of automatic weapon fire, as well as more explosions—closer this time.

74 lifted his free hand to his left ear, listening with prejudice.

“Sir, the interrogation block has been breached by an unknown force. Above-ground security forces have been effectively neutralized. Alpha and bravo are total team kill. Delta and gamma teams are attempting to hold the block until reinforcements arrive. 353-command says it won’t work. We have to go now.”

“Well, then, let’s get while the getting’s good, number 74. Would you please lead us?” said the man in charge with an anomalous level of detachment.

Without a word, 74 released his iron grip on kitsune’s arm, switched his gaze to focus on the holding cell door, and began moving toward it like a ghost. How such a big man could move so quietly, kitsune didn’t know. He was highly trained, for sure.

“Get behind me. Let me go first. Don’t move through the door until I give you the all clear,” he said.

“Thank you, 74,” was all the shot caller said. “Miss Hannigar, 32, do as the man says. Miss Hannigar, disobey or try to run, and I will shoot you,” he said, pulling a pistol from a concealed shoulder holster. “It’s that simple. Say yes if you understand.”

“Yes. I understand,” replied kitsune.

“Excellent.”

Both kitsune and 32, the man who had administered the “handy-dandy talking potion,” did as the spymaster said. The suit fell into line behind them, pistol pointed directly at their backs. She knew right then that she would never make it out of here alive. The asshole behind her would murder her and his evil little toady as soon as let them talk. She was in an epically bad position, but what could a Starbucks barista with a wild streak do against an evil spy from the bowels of the American intelligence system?

“Get lucky” was all that came to mind.

As the trio stacked up behind the safety of the holding cell wall, 74 stood at the door, ready to sweep and clear the hallway. The shot-caller looked at 74 and nodded. The door hissed open again. 74 swept to his left, then back to the right, and in one quick motion he was out the door.

He never got the chance to make it any farther.

A flash of green light in the passageway accompanied by a strange whizzing sound, not unlike a kazoo, were the last things 74 saw and heard before his left leg simply vanished from the hip down. He had no choice but to tumble down, his bloody stump hitting the floor as he screamed in pain. His finger clamped down on the trigger of his M-4, spraying hot lead in all directions. A second later came another green flash and whizzing sound. 74 exploded in a shower of gore, coating the hallway and spraying the holding cell in Jackson Pollock-red.

Tiny footsteps reverberated in the hallway. Not the kind of boots-on-the-ground military footsteps like soldiers. No, these were lighter, smaller, with far less urgency. Almost like what she thought a drunken child would sound like.

Why would there be a drunken child in here? kitsune thought to herself. Wow, that’s an odd thought to have right now.

Exactly then, the suit did two things. First, he shoved his creepy little henchman 32 out the door. As the shot caller pushed his bleating protege past kitsune into the hallway, he barely had time to scream. A sudden whizzing sound and flash of green light turned 32 into his very own goo-grenade, adding to the modern art masterpiece now covering both the hallway and holding cell.

Second, directly after pushing 32 out the door, the gray-haired spymaster attempted to use his colleague’s unfortunate demise as a ruse, quickly moving through the doorway, pistol at the ready. To his credit, the old man was himself ready and did get a few shots off. None found home, however, before the death kazoo and blinding green light turned his arm into vapor. The suit roared in pain, gripping his stump with his other hand in a misguided attempt to stop the bleeding.

“Terrance! Why?” he shouted, blood pouring from his wound.

“Whyyyy? Whyyyyyyyy?” said a strange, somewhat high-pitched voice, mocking the dying man. “Whhhhh–yyyyyyy? Are you fucking with me right now, Donald? Really? You’re doing this right now? You’re asking me why?” came the voice, dripping with condescension and a noticeable lisp.

“Terrance, I’m your friend. I’ve helped you. Why are you doing this?”

“Well, old man, let me run down the reasons. First, you’ve held me captive here since 1947. Second, you’ve tortured me for the last 30 years. Third, I hate the desert! Just look at what’s done to my beautiful complexion! Last—and this is the most important part—you’re a dick. I’ve never liked you.”

The shot caller—Donald according to the other voice—attempted to raise his hand, his mouth opening to say something, anything, that he must have thought might get him out of this predicament. He never got the chance before the evil kazoo sounded, etching him forever on the walls of the underground prison.

“Oh, what was that, Donald?” said the voice. “I couldn’t hear you. Maybe because I hashtag vaporized your stupid head! Oops! My bad! Dick…” said the unknown assailant with more mock emotion.

Just then, as kitsune had taken to cowering in the corner, hoping to make it through the coming moments, the drunken child’s small footsteps resumed. As they closed in on her spot in the holding cell, she wondered if she had any chance.

Fuck it, she thought, might as well try…

“Help!” she called out from her corner. “Help!”

The footsteps reached the door, stopping short of her field of vision.

“Okayyyyy… now if I help you, you have to promise me that you won’t shoot me? You’re not lying, are you? You wouldn’t be one of Donald’s little window-lickers pretending to need saving, right?” said the apprehensive voice. “You did see what happened to your friends. Just saying. Hashtag vaporized. That’s what happened.”

“No! I’m a prisoner! I promise! My hands are cuffed! Please, just help me get out of here! Please!”

From the edge of the doorway, a little over a meter from the ground, came the tip of a very odd-looking… pistol? She had never seen a pistol in real life, but this one was completely unlike anything kitsune had ever seen in the movies she watched. It looked like a pistol in form, but it had glowing blue veins throughout its barrel and was made of some substance that seemed to shimmer in the light. The barrel crept slowly around the corner. As it reached the trigger, a tiny green hand and then an arm followed it around the corner.

Kitsune froze. Jesus-tap-dancing-Christ… a fucking alien? she thought in amazement, eyes wide as flying saucers.

“Just so you know, one shot from this thing anywhere in that room will fry you. Not that I care, but I’m telling you so that if you’re lying to me, you won’t be upset when I turn you into a bowl of human pho. Mmmm, tasty!”

Kitsune wasn’t sure whether she was hallucinating from the drugs they’d given her or already dead. How does an alien know what pho is? was all she could think.

Then her world went black.

***

“Hey, kid! Wake up! Come on, seriously! I didn’t even hashtag vaporize you. You just fainted. Come on.”

 “Hey!” shouted the extraterrestrial with more than a hint of annoyance. “Humans are so fragile. One of them sees an alien and just faints. No wonder they had to fake a moon landing. I’ll bet they don’t even know 2-Pac is down here.”

Her eyes moved a bit under her eyelids.

Without warning, she felt the sharp crack of a slap across her cheek. That was definitely not a dream! Suddenly rocketed back to consciousness, she realized that she hadn’t, in fact, been dreaming about meeting an alien.

“Holy fuckballs!” she shouted in amazement.

“Calm down, kid. Just because I’m short doesn’t mean you can make fun of me.”

“No, not sh-short,” she said, getting a hold of herself. “Just…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an alien, I know. Little green man and all that stuff. Name’s Terrance, kid. No need to insult me.”

“Right. Yeah. Little green man. Sorry, I just didn’t know you guys actually existed.”

Terrance gave a deathly stare to his new human companion, “Existed!? HA! You humans. Think you’re so smart, huh? Fermi’s paradox, my little green ass. Just letting your government lie to you, believing whatever they tell you, blah, blah, blah. Listen, kid, let’s not start off on the wrong foot here. I’m saving you. I’m an alien. My name is Terrance. Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

Kitsune just stared in disbelief as her jaw grew closer to the floor. She had wondered about this for years! Since she was a kid, in fact. She wouldn’t have believed it had she not been directly experiencing it right now, however. She tried to think of something to say that would convey all of this in one sentence. All those years of wondering coming to an end, finally, despite her having just been drugged and tortured.

 “Your head is huge.”

“My head? My head? Seriously? How about ‘What other secrets should I know about the galaxy, Mr. Green-Alien-Man-With-A-Big-Head?’”

Terrance shook his objectively huge green head in disbelief as his tiny, almond-shaped cat-eyes rolled like a battleship capsizing. Kitsune swore she heard him muttering something about an evolutionary screw-up that created humanity.

“OK,” offered kitsune inquisitively, “Mr. Green-Alien-Man-With-A-Big-Head, fill me in on the short version. How did you end up here on Earth?”

“That’s easy, kid. Ever hear of a little place called R-O-S-W-E-L-L? As in New Mexico?” he replied, spelling each letter out like she was a child.

“Of course! But I did—”

Terrance cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, you didn’t think it was real. Again, you stupid mammals will believe anything anyone in authority tells you, huh? Listen, the crash landing was real. Me and my buddy—we’ll call him Frank because you can’t pronounce his name—were cruising this sector of the galaxy, checking out a little science experiment called humanity when we ran into trouble with our ship.

“We crashed. Frank died. He’s the one in all the ‘alien autopsy’ stories. I lived. They put me in here and have been alternating between interrogation and torture to various degrees ever since. Your little buddies out there—well, they’re all kind of one ‘little buddy’ now—were the worst of the worst. And your friend Donald with the glasses and beard was the worst of them. I’ll spare you the details, but he mos def deserved much worse than being turned into a dipshit smoothie…”

Terrance paused, looking toward the ceiling at nothing in particular while huffing in a large breath. He then continued, “Anyyyyyy-wayyyy, I’m from a planet in a different sector of your little home, the Milky Way. On my planet—we’ll call it Not-Earth so I don’t confuse you—I was actually a scientist that worked for the government and advised our leader.

“Frank and I were cruising around out here to check on you. Just two scientists enjoying the galactic drama that is humanity. We’ve been watching humanity for a pretty long time. Waiting to see whether you destroy yourselves, mainly. I mean, you weren’t exhibiting an awful lot of particularly good traits or anything. Frankly, we don’t have that much faith that you’ll survive much longer anyway. But we’d been checking in on you, nevertheless. Hence the science experiment part.

“That’s when we had the ship trouble. We landed in Roswell, Frank died, and I got put in prison. I’ve been hoping my people would come for me. Looks like they finally have. So, I’m leaving, and you can come with me, or not. Either way, I get to shoot people with the death kazoo!”

Kitsune wasn’t quite sure whether this was some drug hallucination aftereffect or not, but she figured it was a better option than dying in the holding cell.

“Okayyyy. Well, as crazy as that sounds, you’re here vaporizing people in front of me, so I suppose it’s got to be true. Well, true enough. But there’s one thing…”

“What’s that, kid?”

“My friends. Two of them. They’re my best friends in the world. We were all caught at the same time.” She pointed toward the pile of goo in the hallway. “At least, that’s what he said.

“Anyway, we need to get my friends DragonL—I mean, Steve and Dan. They’re somewhere around here too. Will you please help me?”

A hint of what kitsune thought might be a smile played across the small green alien’s— were they lips? She wondered if aliens even had facial expressions that meant the same things. Maybe a smile meant it was about to vaporize her? She didn’t know. Hope was all she had at this point. Hope that she could save DragonLore and BroNey before something bad happened to them.

“Fineeee, kid. I’ll help you find your friends. But, when we’re done, you’ve got a big choice to make. Because I’m leaving as soon as we get out of this shithole. So, you can either all come with me and my people or stay here and hope you don’t get put back in prison again.

“Just FYI, we don’t actually anal probe humans. That’s a myth. Hope that helps your decision.”

Kitsune thought about Terrance’s ultimatum—its offer, really. She just had a bona fide space alien tell her they could come with it to its home planet if she wanted. How would that not be the most awesome adventure she could think of?

“Deal!” she shouted.

“OK, let’s get going, kid.” The large-headed alien motioned with one hand to the door. “Time to vaporize some more of these jackbooted pricks!” said Terrance, the joy radiating from him like heat on a desert highway. Kitsune wondered whether Terrance’s race was normally this delighted by violence and revenge. No matter. She’d have time to ask him all this later, once they were free.

Right now, more things needed to be vaporized, and she couldn’t say she disagreed.

***

“What the fuuuuuuck!? An ay-lee-annn! Let’s see them aliens! Wooooo! Area 51, baby! Hell yeah! ‘Murica!” shouted DragonLore, raising one free fist like he was at a rock concert, obviously still high from whatever interrogation drugs they’d given him earlier. Kitsune, Terrance, and BroNey stood in front of and adjacent to him, attempting to free him from the restraints the torturers had used.

Kitsune raised an eyebrow at the strange display. Under different circumstances—say, a Caribbean cruise where you only drank from beer bongs, maybe—she would be recording this for Instagram for sure. Currently, however, there were more pressing issues.

“Terrance, how far do we have left to go?” asked BroNey, who had been so impressed by the little green guy when they first met that he actually hugged him in his quasi-inebriated state. Terrance had to threaten him again—twice—with the death kazoo just on the fifteen-minute trip through the underground prison to reach DragonLore.

“Not far now.” said Terrance. “Get Ghetto-Comic-Book-Guy up and ready to rock. Make sure he doesn’t hug me, too. He’s sweaty. Blech.”

BroNey and kitsune followed Terrance’s orders dutifully, freeing DragonLore fully from the torture table.

“Okay, let’s get while the getting’s good. You humans love that saying. Don’t know what you’re getting, but you might as well just get it anyway,” said Terrance, unwantedly pontificating on human inconsistencies again.

The group followed Terrance out the door of the room and down a long, narrow corridor, where they eventually came to a guard station after another series of turns. As they got within 20 meters of the station, they saw two guards of the same style as 74 pop up from inside the station, M-4s raised.

“Stop right there!” shouted the one on the left.

The geek squad all put their hands up, secretly hoping Terrance had a plan.

Terrance muttered something as he began the ruse of putting his little green hands up as well. They never made it above his head, though. As his right hand, the hand holding the death kazoo, came above his pear-shaped bottom, he pulled the trigger, aiming the famous hipshot directly into the guard station. The guards had simply stood there, wondering what the odd whizzing noise was that was coming from the hallway. Too bad for them.

The guard station was instantly blown into a bright green ball of destruction. This was far more power than kitsune had ever seen from the evil kazoo. It simply blew the guard station apart from the inside out, taking soulless thugs with it.

Terrance looked back at the stunned group, now cowering behind him. “High power…” he said, then began walking down the hallway toward the guard station as if nothing had happened. The roommates exchanged amazed glances at one another, shook their individual heads, and began the journey once more.

As the quartet moved through the guard station, they began to hear more signs of combat down the warren of halls and passageways that made up the top-secret facility. In defiance of Terrance’s continuous stream of mindless tirades about how dumb humans were and how his people should have never expected much, the crew tread quietly as if in a spy movie.

Regardless of Terrance’s flippant behavior, something about the situation felt like it required some manner of discretion to kitsune. They were, after all, deep underground in a top-secret government facility that shouldn’t exist. The whole situation had a bit of inherent gravitas. Maybe Terrance felt confident enough in the evil kazoo and his people that he didn’t feel quite the same urgency that kitsune and the rest of the squad did.

Terrance motioned with his stubby little arm, “This way. I can feel my people up ahead.”

The group exchanged questioning glances.

“Yeah, we’re sort of telepathic, too. Forgot about that part. Come on…” he said, motioning forward again with his arm, this time in a more exaggerated manner.

The three roommates did as Terrance said, following it again through what seemed to be an endless maze of tunnels. The noises—shots being fired, more whizzing sounds, strange chittering noises—were getting louder with each step. Finally, after a short five-minute walk toward the source of fire, they reached a large atrium containing only a single steel security door.   

Terrance turned to the group following him. “Okay, so, here’s how we’re going to do this,” he said, gesticulating wildly as he waved the evil kazoo’s business end around, not caring where it pointed.

“You guys are going to get behind me and duck. I’m going to turn this door into a ball of slag with the heater in my hand like the real OG that I am. Then, I’m going to go into the next room and hashtag vaporize as many douchebags as possible. Basically, anything not four feet tall and green gets two to the chest. Face gets the rest, if you know what I mean!”

Terrance winked at the group, who, despite the innuendo, did not know what he meant. Confused human faces stared at him.

“I’m gonna’ get some! Murderball. Go crazy-crazy on you. Spread some freedom. You know, get some payback. Chrome to the dome… that type of stuff.”

The group just nodded at him and began to silently move to his rear.

Kitsune gave Terrance the side eye, then turned to DragonLore, whispering, “Great! Trapped in a top-secret prison with a homicidal, four-foot-tall alien! What could possibly go wrong!?”

DragonLore just raised his hands, shrugging in defeat. “Not sure what to tell you. This was your plan, not mine!” he whispered back in desperation.

BroNey shushed them both with a violent burst of air and one prominent, wagging finger. “Get moving! I don’t want to be vaporized, bitches!” he said, admonishing the pair sternly.

Just then, a different sound materialized without warning. Not a whizzing exactly, but more like a jet engine spooling up.

Is THAT coming from the evil kazoo? kitsune thought. Sneaking a glance from her duck-and-cover position, she saw her little green friend holding the pistol squarely on the thick, steel security door.

“Cover your eyes, kids!” the extraterrestrial shouted with an ear-to-ear grin.

Just as kitsune did as Terrance had ordered, she heard a deafening zzzzzhhhhhhoooooommmmm! Then the area where the security door had been was nothing more than a smoking remnant of its prior self. Only a strange vapor covered the area, obscuring the still-glowing edges of the blast zone.

“Watch out, kids, gonna be hot! Don’t touch anything with your delicate little selves on the way through! In fact, why don’t you wait here until I call for you. I’ll be back!” Terrance shouted, evil kazoo raised in the air with one hand like a drunken cowboy.

And then he was gone, his unnecessarily large backside bouncing side-to-side as he sauntered through the blown-open security door.

Kitsune moved to the side of the post-security-door area for a better vantage point on whatever was going on in the next room. What she saw amazed her. In the middle of the heated battle between Area 51’s thug security and Terrance’s rescue party stood Terrance, all alone as if it were standing on a beautiful mountaintop, not a care in the world. A huge smile on his fat head, moving as if he were a prima ballerina while squeezing off gleeful shots from the evil kazoo in his hand. Whizzing sounds and bright green flashes were everywhere.

The Area 51 guards were in a position of cover on one side of the large warehouse-type room. What was left of a sizable number of guards was now pinned down by a far superior force of alien invaders who had left a trail of black-clad bodies in their wake and now closed in on them. The fully armored rescue team was having their way with the human guards. They didn’t have evil kazoos, but instead their weapons were far sleeker, made for accuracy as opposed to mass destruction. They were trained, and their tactics illustrated that.

Kitsune was impressed. Those little green dudes could seriously move. Maybe not Terrance—he was a little big on the back end, if she was honest, but definitely the armored force that was bouncing around the room like BBs in a blender. They were strong little guys, too, she thought as one snuck up behind an unwitting guard and then jumped on his back and snapped his neck.

After a few quick minutes of watching from behind the cooling slag of the security door, the group finally heard the last shot. It was a whizzing sound from Terrance’s evil kazoo as he executed a coup de grâce on a masked security guard. A fitting end to what had been a seventy-plus-year ordeal for the scientist.

From afar, the group watched as Terrance, channeling Rick Flair, let out a “Woooooohh!!” as if he’d watched too much WWE as a kid.

I never actually thought aliens would be this weird, kitsune thought.

***

After the battle in the warehouse had subsided, the aliens the obvious victors, Terrance’s rescuers had ushered them all to the topside exit of the facility as quickly as they could go. Time was of the essence. While this force had been sent in to rescue Terrance specifically, they knew the humans would send a sizable reaction force once word got out.

Finally stopping near what was obviously the extraterrestrial’s ride to Earth—a sleek, 35-meter-wide disc, coated in matte black with no obvious openings—Terrance turned to regard the new squad of humans he’d picked up as a souvenir.

“Okay, humans. I’d like to introduce you to my people. Humans, these are my people. People”—he gestured to the five, tiny, armor-clad figures standing behind him in a wedge—“meet my humans.”

They weren’t particularly imposing, but in their armor any one of them could have been a tiny, fat-headed, Master Chief from Halo, just out saving the world from an advanced alien threat. Except that they were the advanced alien threat. Kitsune guessed it was a good thing they didn’t seem to hold grudges.

BroNey held up a tentative hand. “Hi… um… people,” he said, his voice broadcasting his trepidation like a movie screen.

DragonLore and kitsune exchanged a hurried glance, then slowly raised their own hands in cautious greetings of their own.

“Pretty badass, huh?” said Terrance, beaming at his armored, meter-and-a-half-tall rescue squad standing behind him. “No, not all my species is like this. You’ll be happy to know that most of us are far more peaceful—and way less homicidal!”

“W-well, that is a good thing?” offered kitsune, her face a mask of confusion and still amazed by the performance the dwarf aliens had put on. “So, not that we’re not grateful, Terrance, but what do we do now?”

“Ha! What do you do? Now that we’ve killed all the bad men in here and freed you from your inevitable life of slavery and torture? Anything you want, stupid humans!”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly what I meant. You said we could come with you or stay. Is that offer still open? If we stay here, they’ll just put us back in prison. They’ll never let us leave after seeing all this. Not that they would have anyway…” She trailed off, shoulders hunched and visibly dejected at that thought.

“I was serious about that!” shouted Terrance, like a kid on Christmas morning. “You humans want to get in my six-four Impala flying saucer over there and see what a real civilization looks like, be my guest! You’ll be the only humans outside of this planet, though. It’ll be a huge culture shock. And we’re not bringing you back. This is a one-way trip. That’s all you get.”

Terrance crossed his arms and puffed out his chest, “Think you bums can handle galactic society?”

So many questions ran through kitsune’s head. The squad had talked amongst themselves on the journey through the underground prison that was Area 51. They had decided that if Terrance was serious, then they would all go. They knew they were screwed on Earth. And Earth hadn’t been doing any one of them any favors lately, anyway.

But they’d be the only humans to get to experience what Terrance was offering! Just to see the things he spoke of—galactic civilization, faster-than-light travel, other species—was a gift that they all relished with little thought about the consequences. DragonLore’s book wasn’t going anywhere. Who was he kidding? BroNey’s parents probably weren’t helping by enabling his derelict ways, and kitsune had no reason to hang around Seattle.

What? Just to hang out and get fired by Mike in a few weeks? she thought, scoffing internally.

No, the geek squad had made their choice. For better or for worse, they would go with their new friend Terrance. He’d proven to be more than trustworthy so far, and he obviously didn’t seem to mind their company. Yes. This was the only real decision. Now, they just had to own it.

The dwarf soldiers behind Terrance began to file into the ship through a ramp that had opened slowly from the belly of the craft. A few of them waved at the humans, but none spoke. Terrance looked over his shoulder at his departing ride as the last soldier disappeared into the ship. He then turned back to his new friends. “Time’s up, kids. You coming or not?” he said, quickly jerking a thumb in the direction of the open ramp. Then he turned and began to strut toward the waiting craft.

The roommates looked at one another.

“Well, now or never, I guess. I’ll see you guys on board.” said DragonLore as he turned to follow Terrance.

“Me too. Going to piss myself, I’m so excited!” came the reply from a beaming BroNey as he skipped to catch up to DragonLore, clapping his hands excitedly.

Kitsune looked at the craft in front of her and thought back to the last few days. She had gone from being a rebel without a clue, prospects dim, existential angst high, a few days ago, to having an entire galaxy to explore now. She inhaled deeply, taking in a breath of cool night air from the desert.

For just a split second, she wanted to go back. Back to her job. Back to their apartment in Freemont. Back to the warm summer nights in Gas Works Park. But she knew she was never meant for that life. Neither were DragonLore or BroNey, if she was totally honest with herself. No, this was the best thing for all of them. She knew.

Without warning, she turned on her heels, tucking her head and sticking her arms out behind her in a flying V. She let out a feral scream that pierced the quiet of the placid desert night. Then she ran as fast as she could, legs churning on the dry bed of Groom Lake…

She didn’t care where the flying saucer was taking her. She was wild. And now she was free.

I’m a goddamned space ninja! she thought as she ran toward her friends, enchanted by the thoughts of all the amazing and wondrous places she could explore… in an entire galaxy.

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