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The motorcycle made no sound as it sped along the surface of the road. Shaped like the round head of an irregular mushroom, an immense cloud of dusty sand followed seamlessly along with the violent trajectory of the vehicle. From a bird’s-eye view, the scene truly resembled the likes of a small nuclear explosion.
Peering closer still, one would note our primary organism of interest, contained tightly within a womb of dry dispersion.
UOnce the picture had successfully been zoomed in by a 1000%, it became clear that the creature was in fact the Alien Babe.
Despite her unfortunate circumstances, the extraterrestrial appeared unfazed. This overhand benefit was most definitely attributable to the combination of her jet-black Adidas one-piece suit as well as to the fervent force and ferocity of her vehicle.
On the subject of speed, the Alien Babe’s transport was now well beyond traversing any sort of legalities in the domain of acceleration. Indeed, if any allocated mechanism had been implanted on the side of the road, it would have revealed her mode of movement to be travelling at about 20 times above any Erfian – and approximately three times over any interplanetary – restraint.
The dust-mite halo that had currently attached itself to her was unavoidably, yet the shielding power it brought about was relatively minimal, allowing the slivers of sun-beams that radiated down from the fiery orb above to burn straight through the thin fabric of her wonderful getup.
The gas-stations on both sides of the motorway were left standing open mouthed in her dust-filled wake.
“Who is this badass chick?” asked one of these petrol pump places of its closest neighbour.
“Bro it’s obviously Alien Babe. You know, the life-form whose entire society got killed in that crash just North of here. Don’t you remember the Systems Announcement they made about the whole thing a couple weeks back?” replied the other.
Following this beginning, the gears in most readers’ minds’ would have begun to grind, producing something to this effect:
“Wait, wait, wait, just hold on a sec. What is this ‘Erf’ place. Sounds really weird and fake. Also, I hope I read wrong; there’s no way gas-stations can be talking to each other?”
Well, to answer these questions, we may turn to the E-resource known as Mind Net – a future platform where one can reliably find a recount of all events occurring from 2025 onwards. For those who have not yet been gifted with this tool and do not have the opportunity to check for themselves, the gist of the important background information is this:
The Alien Babe was riding along the surface of Erf, a planet located along the Interplanetary Graphical Matrix System at the same longitude, but two squares away in terms of latitude, from planet Earth[1]. This signifies Erf to be incredibly similar to Earth in terms of its culture, history, and scientific facets, but to differ in one physics related respect: the wave types known as Infrared Radiation (IR) of Earth exist as slightly divergent variety known as Rotiferran Adinida (RA) on Erf.
Moreover, Erf had recently been subject to a wicked detonation that had resulted in the demise of most of its inhabiting life-forms, meaning that the Alien Babe was the sole surfer along this terrain. The reason for the absence of company could all be tied back to the same RA waves mentioned a few lines above…
It had begun many years before when a certain Erfrian had considered a massive accumulation of RA energy suitable for underground enclosure. But this had only been the preluding mistake: the trigger puller had been a bumbling intern, unfortunately tasked with the maintenance of this terror-inducing thing. In what would have been the intern’s recollection of the events – exploding into a million bits had failed to have an advancing impact on his mental capacity – he would have told:
“Yeah, I was just like finishing up for the day and of course doing a final system check on the that bomb thing. So as I leant over to get a better look at the control panel, my Juul XVI slid out of the front shirt pocket into the biggest crack on the surface of the explosive. I of course tried sticking my hand in to retrieve it, but then, my pinky ring got stuck in one of the cables and just like that…’BAM!’…”
It was due to this that all flora and fauna residing on that globe had been obliterated.
Every last news reporter around the Universes had spotted the dollar signs scattered among the rubble and remain. Dashing feverishly across the barren wasteland, they had pressed to come up with the freshest images of the aftermath. It was no surprise that this happening had made the front page on most planets in this Solar System as well as many of those adjacent.
While the ‘Erf Catastrophe’ she-bang was overall infamous, there was also another, much less well reported occurrence that had taken place simultaneously: every hospital, railway station, post office and gas-station that had been before then been constructed on the planet had been graced with the endowment of consciousnesses.
The first to figure this out had been Jackson P:!// of ‘Asteroid News’, the primary reporter to land in the notorious location following the historic happening. Just as Jackson had parked his ship and was about to jump down from his sick space-whip onto the planet, one of the shacks surrounding the football field had found its voice:
“Could you not tread on the grass please, we work hard to keep it looking 💯🔥,” it had said.
Jackson knew his imagination to be a bit strange, but was certain that the existence of speaking buildings was far from normal. Thus, he rapidly proceeded to pick up his emergency reader and to tap the illuminated side icon that got him into contact with his boss, Mr. Sir. Dr. Patrick Camoney.
Mr. Sir. Dr. Patrick Camoney had wordlessly received the news. With his left ear still stuck to the receiver, he had manoeuvred his butterfingers to punch the main bits of the new onto his Ipad Generation 457.
Like the knights of the round table, the 12 executives of the Space Commission [2] had swivelled their chairs to face the facts.
A thick musk of desicion sucked out every last inch of air from the room.
The public was to remain in the dark and the construction of a zoneifying preventative tape around the planet was to begin as soon as possible.
A Saturnal rotation following the initial imposition of the ban, Mr. Sir. Dr. Patrick Camoney and the executives of the Space Commission had observed in petrified silence as the ‘Society Ship’ of the Alien Babe had descended towards the blue hued bounds of Erf.
Blissfully unaware of the wakeful gas-stations or of being on the Space Commission watchlist, the Alien Babe rode on.
“Vroom vroom motherfucker,” she whispered, turning the handle of her motorcycle ever so slightly clockwise.
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Alien Babe’s journey continued for about another quarter Earth-rotation. By this time, an uncomfortable sensation was settling within her.
The feeling was at first a jumbled coil, maybe better described as a sort of coagulated network of confusion. It remained at the periphery of her cortical structure, but soon became greedy and decided to embark on the journey along her stringy neural tracts towards her frontal lobe.
Bit by bit and evolution by evolution, abstracted extremities inched outwards from the midst of the moving mass. It took almost no time at all for five weighty appendages to swing down from the central position. The limbs – one head, two arms and two legs – acquired appropriate details. The thing was delicate, yet still blurry and pixelated.
But of course! This was not just any muddled round blob. Composed of the heads and tails of her thoughts, the familiar figure was Anxiety. Having undertaken its destined identity, Anxiety had been sent to chill in decision-making region of Alien Babe’s cortical structure.
Suddenly, a bush, and woah, a jolt. The Alien Babe nearly fell from atop her two-wheeled wagon.
Still in shock, it took her a moment to compose herself. As her recently crafted inherent acquaintance constructed a comfortable cavern within her, the Alien Babe focused on the rapid rotations of her cycling wheels in the hot air.
“Why would anyone want to use a version of this thing that has wheels that hit the ground,” she thought.
The Alien Babe now imagined the movements of such a terrain-trapped vehicle, imagined in absolute unmoving horror the sensation of its flimsy and jolty wheels catching onto every rock and pothole.
“What a strange concept to be stuck in a lurching machine at the mercy of the environment,” she thought.
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A few hours later, a rumbling sound seeped out from her tummy.
Licking her lips, Alien Babe remembered herself to be quite a fan of the cuisine present on this planet. Excerpts from past plates consumed appeared and were released to cloud her visual field. Unable to remove these from her consciousness, she steered towards a gas-station.
The illusion of the mushroom-dust cloud described at length at the very beginning was utterly shattered, leaving the sand-mites to roam free amidst the dry drops of sunbeams.
Alien Babe halted her vehicle underneath a neon yellow framing the outside of the establishment. She disembarked her chariot by peeling the sweaty suit from the seat.
“Thank God there’s no one around to see these wicked stains. It looks like I’ve pissed myself,” she thought.
The set-up she now found herself in was odd, but was in fact not so very diverse from the physical landscape on the rest of this planet. The most notable was this: on the outside, this gas-station sported only cool hues. Seriously, it was no exaggeration to argue that the establishment looked as if someone had poorly edited the scene by turning down the warmth by slightly too much. The vibe given off by this compositional was correspondingly unnatural and unwelcoming.
Once the Alien Babe had made her way inside, she noted that it was as if this effect had been reversed. The colour scheme in here was by contrast much too warm.
“Maybe the architects on this planet designed the interior of this building to be warmer and more welcoming on the inside as a preventative measure to deter the resident life-forms from becoming depressed by the chillingly decorated exterior,” she speculated.
The shelves lining the walls were laden full of shapes, demonstrating the various increments of nutritive sustenance the residents of this planet had chosen to ingest.
A red abrasion occupying the central position along the third row of one of the shelves stood out from the rest. A bottle of Siracha! Alien Babe felt akin to a traveller discovering a mirage within a steaming desert.
Having swiped the sauce from the shelf, she shuffled over to inspect the selection of protein. Choosing to ignore the fact that the depths of the freezer aisle were disgustingly icy, she pulled from within it a formerly squishy piece of white meat that had been carefully packaged to be contained in a shield of transparent plastic.
Now for the extras. Inspired by the warm colour scheme, Alien Babe selected a set of fresher produce to liven up the dullness of the imminent feast.
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As the satisfied cradled the burnt pit of faded fire between the scaly skin of her inner thighs, she also eyed the plastic cutlery propped atop the greasy metal. It was sad but true that these would remain unwashed for the rest of eternity[3].
With stomach and Anxiety quiet for now, Alien Babe shifted her attention towards the constellations above.
This Solar System had existed for many thousands of years. How could it be then, that the sky above was an exact replica of the bright and spotty mess of the swarms of mechanical buggos – sorts of automatic fireflies – that had been released to roam free around her home planet so many years before?
How was it that the lights she was currently witnessing were not really bugs at all, but genuine collections of societies, each housing filament upon filament of resting chambers, road upon road of travellers, and extraterrestrial upon extraterrestrial of residents?
Thoughts of what life was like on each of these planets weighed down her eye-protector muscles. Meanwhile, the old guidebook she had acquired from the previous pit stop was also taking time to unwind.
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Approximately a tenth of a Mercurial rotation following her arrival on Erf, Alien Babe was finally free from the powdery terrain.
In moments, 10,000 square feet of bland greyness shielded her vehicle from the water and wind that would otherwise have the power to knock it over from its floating position.
Beneath the conscious awareness of our protagonist, the houses began to gossip.
“Guys, are we sure that this is not Mr. Stewart’s mistress?” asked the house of its companion to the left.
“No Sharon, it’s obliviously another sort of alien from a different planet entirely. Didn’t you catch onto the part about all life-forms on this place having been wiped out by that improbable explosion?” answered the home in front of which Alien Babe’s motorbike was slopingly stood.
Inspecting the structure, the Alien Babe found its most impressive accomplishment to be the mesmerising way the glass glinted sharply and softly, shattering into a million pieces within the bundles and mounds of minuscule beach rocks that had been tightly interspersed by granulars of gold. It was certain that this prosperous impression was one that had encroached itself upon the Alien Babe – of the objective truth we cannot be sure. In any case, she knew she would definitely have paid good money to live in a household decorated by this wealth of optical riches.
To Alien Babe’s great disappointment, the rest of the home was alarmingly ordinary. There were windows, there were doors. There were floorboards, there was furniture. Attached to the back there was even a patio, finely fitted with a pool and a white wooden springboard.
As a matter of fact, the accumulation of chlorinated freshwater associated with the home had played an important role in the existence of one particular beast who had occasionally dwelled here. The reason: Dorito’s Cool Ranch Tortilla Chips. It had, for some unspecified reason, been a necessity for the father of the family to consume at least three additional packs of these a day in addition to his ulterior nutrition.
Not wanting to add on any fat-cells reminiscent of this habit, the indulgent daddy had been confined to circulating his body within this very solvent for approximately 95 Plutonial vibrations on a sunly – or more realistically a bisunly – basis.
Unbeknownst of this fact, the Alien Babe also felt a sort of pull to go explore the fake pond.
Ah, but the he pang of hunger emanating from her empty stomach was simply too intense. Indeed, the primary stage of arrest on this mountain of discovery would need to be the fridge.
Alien Babe’s sweaty palms soon clenched the door handle on the outside of the building, yanking it from its hinges.
“Ahhh, right in the opening!” complained the property.
The scaly and now also sweaty female was momentarily struck by a slap of confusion.
“Don’t get confused Babe, you know I’m out here creating additional input in the absence of real stimuli to focus on,” explained Anxiety.
To blunt the jarring unease created by this overly accurate analysis provided by her only friend, she set out to have some fun.
This linoleum was incredibly slippery.
“Wohoo,” thought the Alien Babe as she skated along the floor in singular, stealthy movements.
Up above, the executives of the Space Commission were busy observing the Alien Babe.
“This pocket of enjoyment will need to be burst,” announced the hooded leader.
“Let us allow her to stay for just a moment more, I am beginning to grow quite fond of her blissful ignorance and youthful thirst for adventure,” replied his advisor.
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A moment later, licking the ghost of tasty tortillas off her scaly fingers, the Alien Babe examined the aftereffects of her eating.
While she knew perfectly well that the life-forms of the family who owned this establishment had been obliterated to a pulp, she still felt bad for leaving the kitchen such a mess.
During the flowing energy of The Clean, nutritive juices again began to course through her veins. Life and Curiosity were the new names of the game.
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A pair of stolen, yet somehow perfectly sized brown Birkenstocks squeaked along the linoleum floors.
What a strange feeling this was, being an intruder in a private residence. Finding solitude within this aestival establishment appeared even more offensive than violating a year-round home. After all, this had been the location these life-forms had chosen to come to enjoy their existences in the absence of all obligation.
Blinded by boredom, Alien Babe was compelled to come up with backstories for the intellectually provocative bits that came across her visual field. Among the things she spotted, by far the most meaningful was a collection of coral, hidden in a white towel-like holding device located on the left between the transparent doors leading out to the patio and pool. The parts of the seabed were piled in a way that they obscured each other’s surfaces from the mid-day sun.
It was utterly incomprehensible to our main character that the corals had at some point been stagnant among floating waves. Technically, it was as if the owners of the house had been keeping this set of dead pets as decorations.
“Once I’m on my way out I’ll carry them back to their home in the sea,” thought Alien Babe.
Realising what a strange train of thought she had just indulged, she decided instead to dwell on more practical matters. There was actually quite a lot to process in this respect.
At this moment, her primary concern was one of transport. To embark on her journey homewards, the foreigner to this world would need to locate an assemblage of adequate parts to reconfigure the ‘Personal Pod’ that she had managed to fly off the rest of her Society Ship before it had hit the ground.
With an attitude probably familiar to most, Alien Babe blatantly procrastinated dealing with the Anxiety that was currently hosting a dance party in her left frontal lobe.
The plan was to tan 😎.
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A plant-patterned orange bikini shown like a hierogram from the lump of others stuffed into the casket of white plastic.
With the strange shapes soon hung loose over her top (and not so loose) over her bottom-half, Alien Babe floated through the glass doors onto the patio.
As Alien Babe sat on the straw armchair and was approximately three rows down the horoscope section of ‘Vogue Erf’, a dark shape sank deep into the abyss of the pool, expelling chlorinated liquid to overlie what had just an instant ago been devoid of moisture.
The figure was struggling hard, flailing its scrambling limbs up and down in the aqua. Unforgivingly heavy cargo pants and a woollen beanie weighed down the insufficient musculature of the body. It would have been clear even to the blind that the poor life-form was doing its very best to try to stay afloat.
The man-thing kept scrambling, searching for the edge of the tiled pool. It shimmied onto the ledge, pulling itself onto the slippery surface.
The Alien Babe could now definitely make out the outline of a young male, ostensibly originating from a planet in the ball-park of around five-squares longitudinally from her own.
“How could she tell?” you ask.
This conclusion was drawn mostly based on the fact that he also had two legs, two arms, a head, and probably something else that was not currently visible to the Alien Babe.
“Ahhh,” he complained as he splashed along in chlorinated juices.
The keratinic extensions of the other had by now adopted a slimier appearance. When the living question-mark finally opened his eyes, the Alien Babe could make out the lightly adorned irises of his beady openings.
More strikingly, about a third the way down the side of his green t-shirt, a deep and bloody incision, located on the exact opposite side from the set of damaged waxy wings on his back. This dangerous gash appeared even wetter than the contents of the pool.
The female forces within the Alien Babe spurred the strong urge to come to the rescue of the helpless soul.
Expelled from her mouth was the first comment that came to mind:
“What kind of fucking pussy doesn’t know how to swim?”
“I uhh, I,” he splattered, attempting to cough out the rest of the water to the area beside his ribcage.
Even with the image of him pathetically drowning existing next to the Anxiety still residing within the Alien Babe’s analytic device, she remained entranced.
“Who are you, and more importantly, why do you only wear green?” she demanded.
Manoeuvring in his compromised state, the life-form resigned a reply.
“I uhh, I’m Icarus, you know like from the myth …but I think it sounds sorta lame so I have people call me Ice. Makes me feel like a rapper 💸. And I only wear green cause I have a particularly serious and intense condition known as ‘Virdi-Phobia’ where I get insane rashes when I come into contact with light that hasn’t been filtered through the green spectrum…” he strained.
“I call bullshit,” replied Alien Babe.
“Ok, you got me. I swear it’s not that serious though, just mainly a thing I say to catch the interest of good-looking organisms such as yourself. Gotta say though, has turned out surprisingly effective in getting mad attention from feminine life-forms[4],” explained Ice, “I’m surprised that a put together sort of lady like yourself didn’t ask about my fucked-up wings or my insane wound…by the way I think you may need to do something about both of those,” he continued.
It took only a glance to propel the Alien Babe to head hurriedly towards the medicine cabinet.
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Crouched above him, the Alien Babe was now partaking her solemn duty of tending to the opening. Although she had no medical training – save the countless wasted hours spent binging seasons on season of ‘Medica Zhedo’ – it was clear to her that the veiny network of burned scar tissue was a result of no regular weapon.
Before going to town on the opening or attempting to perform any other sorts of redemptive measures, Alien Babe secretly slipped the extraterrestrial dude some water accompanied by crushed sedative. Contrary to what it may seem, this was not an attempt to knock him out and leave him stranded. No, the action was performed under the much nobler intention of shielding the hurt from the brunt of the pain.
It did not take long for the whimpering patient to become drowsy. As the kingdom of sleep overtook the fallen, a shock of feeling passed through the carer. It welled and welled, till the entirety of her chest felt warm and fluffy like the inside of an Amaretto cookie. Alas, the bliss was short lived:
“Oh shit, fuck, oh my God, THE MAP, THE MAP!” he yelled, flailing around his arms. The Alien Babe shot up to standing.
Ice sprang effortlessly up to join her. Much faster and much more buoyantly than would be believed from such an unfit and unmuscled thing, the green speckle barged through the glass doors leading into the house.
Blood still spurting from his scar, the enigmatic individual ran past the sofas and the coffee table, past the collection of booze bottles posted up on the coffee table, finally stopping in front of an ancient record player perched on the wooden armoire.
“How is it possible that he already had a good awareness of the configuration of furniture in the room?” thought the Alien Babe.
She was by now truly confused, but was also way too entertained to complain.
He flipped open the top layer of the record player and scavenged its contents. The metal inner workings of the machine shone through the black and red plastic. Stuffed unevenly into the depths of the instrument, a hint of creamy white.
Short nails pried the paper into the light of day.
It was the map!
Closer analysis revealed this to be quite anticlimactic – the thing looked like something that had been successfully drawn onto the discoloured white with a childish crayon. What kind of cartographer would pair teal with purple?
“Yes, finally!” exclaimed Ice, making his way over to the makeshift bartender table. Wet and still partially bloody, his rough palm picked out the darkest glass bottles and slowly poured a measuring cup of its contents to coat the bottom of a cup.
“You don’t have any ice here do you?” he inquired, “Hahah forgive the pun,” he continued.
“Uhhh nahh um sorry I don’t live here…you can maybe check the freezer to see if there’s any there?” she retorted.
“Wait so if you don’t live here, then who are you?” he asked, eyeing her anatomy.
Alien Babe could tell by his expression that he was relatively pleased and probably only marginally put off by her scaly skin and tentacle hair.
“I’m just your average Alien Babe whose ship happened to crash on this planet and who found one of those old travel guides in an abandoned gas-station. After seeing the pretty pictures of this here area, I decided to follow it here,” she explained.
“Ahh alright I see,” he said.
…And he was off again…this time towards the record basket located in the white straw holding device located unevenly across the floor.
“Oooh noo way!” he exclaimed.
It was a record cover featuring a group of men resembling hedgehogs and sporting both dyed hair and makeup. The cover read ‘Two Steps From the Move’.
The light in his droopy eyes was aflame, burning like a bonfire on an island sat somewhere among the azure of the rest of his iris. Reading the back of the record, he slapped it atop the player. He tried a couple of different positionings before finally finding the desired tune.
A soft metallic guitar riff spilled out from the record.
‘The nights are wearing me down, and its hard getting through the dayyy cause I need you right now and right now and you’re so far away…’
The words had a visible and definite impact on our second character, transforming him into something plagued by both immense beauty and anguish. A tiny tear spilled over the brim.
Alien Babe was utterly stunned. How could this mystery man be getting so amazingly emotional over such cheesy lyrics? As if using some sort of MRI machine to peer directly into the depths of her mind, he subsequently clarified her direction of inquiry:
“This is the same one my mom was playing when, when, when…..she hauled out the green velvet sofa…” unable to finish the thought, he trailed out, now properly crying.
Alien Babe observed as the wet particles dripped down in rhythmic succession, intermingling with the horrible guitar-filled yodelling still ringing in the background.
As usual, she was upset, uncomfortable and unable to deal with the situation. Nothing this deep that had really ever really occurred to her following her expulsion from her progenitor’s rearing tract. Instead of saying anything relatable in return, she came up closely in front of him, placing the side of her tentacle hair against his damp chest.
Body on body, form on form, Alien Babe sensed as the other’s emotions withdraw deeper into their origins.
Two scrawny arms were now locked into a limp embrace around her unkempt back-scales.
Quite a solid attempt this had been. Realistically, probably good enough to fool a less experienced female organism. Unfortunately, the emotional sensors of the Alien Babe immediately recognized this as frivolous display, designed for use only by the fraudulent and unfeeling.
She was lucky then, that the sensation that had become upon her was one reminiscent of trying on a pair of jeans that were just slightly too tight – she could wear them, but she could never sit without wincing.
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Later that night they sat drunk on the beach, laughing so hard it hurt to breathe.
“Wait just give me a sec… I feel like this is giving me abs,” giggled Alien Babe.
“Alright, alright, I’ll take it easy. It’s just so good being drunk around a nice-looking female life-form like yourself,” said Ice.
A pensive look came around the corner of his looking windows as the buddings of a magnificent idea took root:
“Are you like seeing anyone else at the moment or what?” he braved.
“I mean I kind of had a boyfriend on the ship, but he perished in that crash I came down here with,” replied Alien Babe.
“Oh, so are you like sorta still getting over that or what?” he asked.
Not caring whether he could take it or not, Alien Babe answered too truthfully:
“I dunno I guess haven’t really had time to think about it. That other Alien dude was cool and all but still very similar to others in the past. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun and everything, but ultimately just a way to keep me distracted from the shattering loneliness befalling all us life-forms fortunate enough to be existing as single entities floating alone in the Universe. Not to mention that he was also quite an effective tool that allowed for a better immersive bonding experience with the other life-forms in my social circle.”
They then sat in unmoving silence for the next moments. Ice was just about to change the subject by asking where he could acquire some more natural Intergalactic Grade material to replace its wetted counterpart currently in his pocket, when shit started to go down.
“Zoooom,” the vehicle of the Space Commission was propelled into their sphere of attention. In moments, the vehicle was parallel parked near the edge of the water.
And look at that! Moving shapes were being expelled from its scope.
“You have been down here too long!” yelled one with a loudspeaker while waving a red and yellow warning sign with its left arm.
“We better get the fuck out of here,” remarked the one who still had a steady stream of blood trickling from the opening on his side.
Our degenerate hero grabbed the arm-scales of the Alien Babe and pulled her up towards the roof of the building. They jumped up two steps at a time in quick succession, paving their way towards the rest of the Solar System.
Halting once they were stood on the gravelly top of the building, Ice pressed a button on the receiver located within the roomy pocket hidden in his vintage Barbour. It was then that they for the first time that the two were presented with the knowledge wherefore the Space Commission were after them in the first place.
“Beings, I think it would be best for you to exit the scene as soon as possible to avoid the clutches of what is to come,” warned the building.
The flash of bright transported our protagonists to the surface of another planet.
[1]This comparison in being employed in most cases as this is where most readers are expected to originate from.
[2]A powerful Multi-Planetary Organisation.
[3] This was the only downside of ‘Ultra-Durable Hyper-Plastic’ from planet Zhedo.
[4] Upon further investigation, many of Ice’s friends testified this statement to be true.
WAST WRTNG 