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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 birds eye view, the scene truly resembled the likes of a small nuclear explosion.
Peering closer from this same aerial perspective, contained tightly within this womb of dry dispersion was our primary organism of interest.
Despite the unfortunate circumstances she currently found herself enthralled in, said organism of interest, known as Alien Babe, felt quite good. Admittedly, this agreeable inner sensation could be attributed to the stellar combination of her Adidas one-piece suit as well as the undeniable force and ferocity of her vehicle.
In reality, this Alien Babe was not just going fast, but way wayy too fast. If a speedometer had been implanted on the side of the road, it would have revealed her mode of transport to be travelling at about twenty times above any Erfian – and approximately three times over any interplanetary – speed limit.
Considering the density of the surrounding halo attached unavoidably with forwards facing motion, the shielding power the dust mites brought about was relatively minimal. Slivers of sun-beams radiated down from the fiery orb above, managing to slip between the particles and to burn straight through the thin fabric of the black attire.
The gas stations on both sides of the motorway were left standing open mouthed in dust-filled wake of both chariot and charioteer.
‘Who is this badass bitch?’ asked one of the stations of its closest neighbour.
‘Bro it’s obliviously Alien Babe. You know, the life-form whose entire society got killed in that crash just North of here? Don’t you remember the system announcement they made about the whole thing a couple weeks ago?’ replied the second.
At this point in the story, the gears in most readers minds would have begun to grind, producing something to this effect:
‘Wait, wait, wait, just hold on a sec. I hope I read wrong, there’s no way the gas stations can be talking to each other?’
Well, to answer this question, we may turn to an E-resource known as ‘Mind Net’ – a future platform where one can reliably find a recount of the most important historical events in the universe occurring from 2025 onwards. For those who haven’t yet been gifted with the tools to allow for the use of this platform, the gist of the important background related to this story is this:
The Alien Babe was now riding along the surface of Erf, which had just recently seen a huge explosion that had resulted in the demise of more of its inhabitant organsims. It may now be important to mention Erf to be located along the ‘Interplanetary Graphical Matrix System’ at exactly the same longitude, but two squares away in terms of latitude from planet earth [1]. To all unfamiliar with this theoretical planetary infrastructure, this signifies Erf to be nearly identical to the other globe in terms of its physical features, culture and history, but there to be at least one major physics related exception.
‘Wait could you like please explain what went down on this strange Erf place?’ asks you, the reader.
Well just hold your horses. In fact, it was this physics related exception was really THE most crucial factor in contributing to the fateful explosion: Infared radiation (IR) and Ultra Violet Radiation (UV) of earth were traded for the slightly divergent Hoperistic Radiation (HR) and as Supraviolet (SV) radiation on Erf.
The combination of SV radiation, a frightful Silent Bomb and a bumbling intern were to blame. In what would have been the intern’s recollection of the events – exploding into a million bits hadn’t had such a great impact on his mental capacity – he would have told:
‘Yeah, I was just like finishing up for the day and of course doing a systems check on the 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 of the surface of the thing. Of course, I tried sticking my hand in to retrieve it, but then, my pinky ring got stuck in one of the cables and then just like that…’BAM!’…’
The result was this: the radiation emanating from the explosion had wiped all flora and fauna residing on this planet. While the exact scientific cause of this happening remained unknown, specialists hypothesised the immensity of destruction to have existed due to the SV radiation from the bomb coming into contact with the thick layer of ozone that had been troubled the inhabitants of Erf for quite some time.
Every last news reporter around most universes had spotted the dollar signs scattered among the rubble and remain of this obscure location. Dashing feverishly across the barren waste, they had rushed to think up the freshest photos and to postulate the most provocative alternatives for the reasons behind this event[2]. It followed logically then that this happening had made the front page on most planets both in this solar system as well as in many of those neighbouring.
However, unbeknownst to the populous of years to come, there was also another, much well reported occurrence that had taken place simultaneously on the planet of question. It just happened that every single structure and establishment on the planet – every hospital, railway station, post office – had somehow acquired consciousness.
The first to figure this out had been the primary reporter to land in the notorious location following this historic happening. The reporter, known as Jackson P:, had just been finishing up his first week working as a reporter for ‘Asteroid News’. He had overall been feeling quite pleased with himself for having managed to step up to this important role from his last internship position at ‘Galaxy Limited’.
So just as Jackson has jumped down from atop from his sick space-whip onto the planet, when one of the shacks surrounding the football field he had found himself on 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 wild, but was certain that the existence of speaking buildings was far from normal. Picking up his emergency reader, he had tapped the illuminated side icon and proceeded to ring up his boss.
Mr. Sir. Dr. Steven Camoney was the boss man who received the news. Without a word and with his left ear stuck to the receiver, he had used his right hand to type the newly acquired information onto his Ipad Generation 457. The text had then been projected on the big screen for all executives to see.
Like the knights of the round table that had once sat in a similar configuration on the planet earth, the twelve executives in control of ‘Asteroid News’ had all turned their swivelling chairs to face Mr. Sir. Dr. Camoney. The weight of the decision had created a thick musk that sucked every last inch of air out of the room.
After a few complentative instances, the plan was clear in their minds. The truth would need to be muddled slightly in order to deter the prodding interjections of the populous.
The executives at ‘Asteroid News’ had contacted the ‘Space Commission’[3], who had drawn some powerful preventative yellow tape around Erf and announced that a serious fine would incur for anyone venturing onto the planet.
A Venus half-rotation following this event, Mr. Sir. Dr. Camoney and his twelve executives had observed in horror and silence as the Alien Babe and her demising society had descended towards the blue hued bounds of Erf.
Blissfully unaware both of the conscious life forms surrounding her or of being on the ‘Space Commission’ watchlist, the Alien Babe rode on.
‘Vroom vroom motherfucker,’ she whispered, turning the handle of the motorcycle ever so slightly clockwise.
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The journey continued for about another quarter moon-rotation. By this time, an uncomfortable sensation was settling within her.
The feeling was at first a jumbled coil, initially only a coagulated network of confusion. It remained at the periphery of her cortical structure, but in moments became insatiably greedy, deciding to embark on the long journey along her stringy neural tracts towards the frontal lobe.
Bit by bit and evolution by evolution, abstracted extremities inched outwards from the midst of the moving mass of emotion. Five weighty appendages soon swang down from the central position. New additions – one head, two arms and two legs – acquired appropriate details. The thing was delicate, yet somehow still blurry and pixelated.
But of course! This was not just any muddled round blob made from the heads and tails of her thoughts, but was in fact a familiar figure, known to most as Anxiety. Having undertaken its destined identity, the Anxiety had now 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 chosen chariot.
Still in shock, it took her a moment to compose herself and to distract from the newfound inner acquaintance. The best way to deal with this was to focus on each and every rotation of the wheels of her cycle turning over and over in hot air.
‘Why would anyone want to use a version of this thing that has wheels that hit the ground,’ she thought.
She now imagined the movements of such a terrain-trapped vehicle, imagined in absolute horror how the flimsy and jolty wheels would catch 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 the midst of her tummy.
Licking her lips, she now remembered herself to be quite a fan on the cuisine present on this planet. Excerpts from past plates consumed appeared and were released to cloud her visual field. Unable to remove these images from her mind, Alien Babe steered towards a gas-station.
The illusion of the mushroom-dust cloud described at length at the very beginning was utterly shattered as the sand-mites were left to roam free amidst the dry drops of sunbeams.
The vehicle in question was halted underneath a neon-yellow sign framing the outside of the establishment. Our life-form of interest disembarked by peeling her sweaty suit from atop 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 quite strange, but was in fact not diverse from the physical landscape of the planet rest of this planet. On the outside, this gas-station sported only cool hues. Seriously, it was no exaggeration to argue that the establishment looked like someone had poorly edited the scene by turning the brightness down by slightly too much. The vibe given off by the colour scheme was unnatural and unwelcoming.
Once the Alien Babe had made her way inside, she noted that it was as if the effect had been reversed. The colour scheme in here was by contrast much too warm.
‘Maybe the architects on this planet have designed the interior of each building to be warmer and more welcoming on the inside to stop resident life-forms from becoming depressed by the doom and gloom on the outside,’ she speculated.
The shelves lining the walls were laden full of shapes, demonstrating the various increments of nutritive sustenance lifeforms on this planet chose to ingest. A red abrasion occupying the central position along the third row of one of the white shelves stood out from the rest.
A bottle of ‘Siracha’! She 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 its depths a squishy piece of white meat that was carefully packaged in a shield of transparent plastic.
Now for the extras. Evidently inspired by the warm colour scheme, she selected a set of additions to liven up the dullness of the imminent feast.
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Cradling the burnt pit that had birthed her meal between the scales of her inne thighs, the Alien Babe eyed the plastic cutlery propped atop the greasy metal. It was sad but true that these would remain unwashed for the rest of its eternity – this was the only downside to ultra-durable hyper-plastic from planet Zhedo.
Stomach and Anxiety currently satisfied, the Alien Babe shifted her attention towards the constellations above.
Surely the solar system had existed for many thousands of years. How was it then, that they were seemingly an exact replica of the bright and spotty mess of the swarms of mechanical buggos (sorts of mechanical fireflies)that had been released to roam free around her home planet.
But these were no bugs really, but genuinely a collection of societies, each one housing an entire host of creatures, containing within them filament upon filament of resting chambers, and road upon road of individual travelling organisms, making their way to a desired destination.
Thoughts of what life was like on each of these planets led her eye-protector muscles to be weighed down. Next to her, an old guidebook found in the gas-station was also taking time to unwind.
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Approximately seven or so planetary quarter rotations following her arrival on the planet, the Alien Babe was finally free from the dusty terrain. Her motorbike swivelled unmistakably around the greenery of the car-park. The 10,000 square feet of bland greyness she had chosen to park besides shielded her sick ride from the wind that could knock it over in its parked floating position.
Beneath the conscious awareness of our protagonist, the houses began to gossip.
‘Guys, are we sure that that is not Mr. Stewart’s mistress?’ asked the house of its companion to the left.
‘No Sharon, its obliviously another sort of organism from a different planet entirely. Didn’t you catch onto the part about all lifeforms on this planet having been wiped out by that insane bomb?’ answered the home in front of which Alien Babes motorbike was now parked.
Inspecting the home, the Alien Babe found the most interesting and unique accomplishment of the structure to be the mesmerising way the glass glinted sharply and softly, shattering into a million pieces within the bundles and mounds of miniscule beach rocks. The illuminations that were tightly interspered with these granulars that were so incredibly bright and realistic that one could genuinely have mistaken them for bits of gold. This peculiar facet of the house she had found herself in front of led the Alien Babe to understand that the life-forms who had chosen this as their own had been probably the most intelligent of those residing in the vicinity. Indeed, she would definitely have paid good money for these optical riches.
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 with a white wooden springboard.
Alien Babe did not know this, but this accumulation of chlorinated freshwater had played quite an important role in the existence of one particular beast who had dwelled here. The reason: ‘Dorito’s Cool Ranch’ tortilla chips. It was for some unspecified reason for him an unavoidable and inevitable necessity to consume at least three additional packs of these a day in addition to his ulterior nutrition.
Not wanting to add on any extra fat-cells to accompany the ones present in the first place, the indulgent individual who had once owned the house was confined circulating his body within this very solvent for approximately 95 plutonial vibrations on a sunly – or more realistically a bisunly – basis.
While unknowing of this fact, the Alien Babe also felt a sort of pull to go explore the accumulation of fluid. It was her physical form that arrested her in her attempt; the 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.
Sweaty palms clenched the door handle on the outside of the building, yanking it away from its hinges.
‘Ahhh, right in the opening!’ complained the property.
The scaly and now sweaty female observed this outburst and 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.
Oh yes! This linoleum was incredibly slippery. She skated along the floor in a singular stealthy movements.
Up above, the Space Comission was still watching her from a larger screen they had brought out onto the central desk of their meeting room.
‘This enjoyment needs to be interrupted ASAP,’ exclaimed the fifth executive.
‘Lets 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 the ninth.
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A moment later, licking the powdered ghost of her ‘Cool Ranch Doritos’ off her scaly fingers, the Alien Babe inhaled the after effects of her eating.
While she knew that the lifeforms of the family who had owned this establishment had no doubt been obliterated to a miniscule pulp, she still felt bad for leaving the kitchen such a mess. Her dust-lined exterior hovered above the battlefield as the extra-terrestrial dame began clearing the remnants into the rubbish.
Amidst the flowing energy of The Clean, the nutritive juices again began to course through her veins. Life and curiosity were the new names of the game.
👽🏍💨
A pair of stolen, yet somehow perfectly sized brown Birkenstocks squeaked along the linoleum floors.
What a strange feeling this was, being the sole surfer within a private residence. Achieving the solace of solitude within this aestival establishment felt even more wrong 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.
Forgoing this distressful feeling, Alien Babe again became acquainted with Anxiety. In this attempt to distract, she was compelled to come up with backstories for the most interesting of the bits that had the pleasure of penetrating her visual field. Among the things she spotted, by far the most interesting was a collection of coral, hidden in a white towel-like holding device located on the left within the transparent doors leading out to the patio and pool. The bits of sea were piled so 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.
Realizing what a weird train of thought she had just happened to follow, the Alien Babe 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 necessarily need to discover an assemblage of adequate parts to reconfigure her spaceship.
With an attitude probably familiar to most, she blatantly procrastinated dealing with the creature of unease having a dance party in her left frontal lobe.
The plan of action was to tan 😎.
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A plant-patterned orange bikini shown like a hierogram from the lump of extras stuffed to near opening in the white of the sleek cabinet.
With 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.
Sat on the straw armchair facing the sea, and approximately three rows down the horoscope section of her ‘Vogue Erf’, a dark shape sank deep into the abyss of the pool, expelling the chlorinated liquid to overly the scales that had just an instant ago been devoid of moisture.
Scrambling limbs bopped up and down on the surface of the liquid. An unforgiving combination of heavy cargo pants and woollen beanie weighed down the insufficient musculature of the body. It would have been clear even to a blind organism that the poor life-form newly discarded into the water 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 one of the planets in the ball-park of around 5-sqaure away 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,’ it complained as it splashed along in chlorinated juices.
The keratinic extensions of the struggling creature had by now adopted a darker and slimier tone. When he finally opened his eyes, the Alien Babe could make out the blue irises of his beady openings.
But oh no! About a third the way down the side of his green t-shirt, a set of damaged waxy wings. Underneath the left wing was a deep and bloody incision. It was dark and appeared somehow dangerously 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 struggled, evidently attempting to avoid swallowing more water than he already had.
Thankfully, he managed to grab on to the slippery side. On the third attempt, our newly familiar individual pushed himself out of the pool. He was now resting on the side of his ribcage on the unforgiving cold of stone.
Even with the image of him pathetically drowning in the amazing pool sat 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, he moved towards vocal submission.
‘I uhh, I’m Ikarus. 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 has not 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 female organisms such as yourself. Gotta say though, has turned out surprisingly effective in getting mad bitches[4],’ explained Ikarus. ‘I’m surprised that a put together sort of lady like yourself would definitely ask about my fucked-up wings and about 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.
👽🏍💨
Crouched above him, the Alien Babe was now amidst her solemn duty of tending to the opening. Although she had no medical training – save teh countless wasted hours spent binging seasons on season of Medica Interplanetary – it was clear to her that the veiny network that had been created by the burned scar tissue was no regular incision.
Before going to town on the opening and attempting or attempting to perform any other sorts of redemptive measures, Alien Babe secretly slipped the man some water accompanied by crushed sedative. Contrary to what it may have seemed, this was in fact not an attempt to date rape. 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 hurt to become drowsy. As the kingdom of sleep overtook him, a shock of feeling passed through the Alien Babe. It welled and welled, till the entirety of her chest felt warm and fluffy like the insides 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.
Ikarus sprang effortlessly upto join her. Faster than would be believed from such an unfit and unmuscled thing, he 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 atop 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.
Our favourite girl was truly confused, but was at this point truly 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 permanent crayon. What kind of map-maker would realistically pair teal with purple?
‘Yes, finally!’ exclaimed Ikarus, 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 some of its contents to coat the bottom of a cup.
‘You don’t have any ice here do you?’ he inquired.
‘Uhhh nahh um sorry I don’t really live here…you can maybe check the freezer to see if there is 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 scanning through the pretty pictures, 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 placed strewn across the floor.
‘Oooh noo way!’ he exclaimed.
It was a dark cover lined with a group of men resembling hedgehog sporting dyed hair and makeup. The cover read ‘Two Steps From the Move’.
At this point, the light in his droopy eyes was aflame, burning like a bonfire within the blue sea that made up the rest of his iris. Reading the back of the record, he slapped it atop the player, trying a couple of different positionings before finally finding the desired tune.
A soft metallic guitar rift 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 filled and spilled over the brim of his left eye.
Alien Babe was utterly stunned. How was this mystery man 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 explained:
‘I recognise this as the same one my mom was playing when found her bloody and face down on our 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 following her expulsion from her mothers inner rearing system. 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 and unmoisturized 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.
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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,’ he said.
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?’ asked Ikarus.
‘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 offhandedly.
‘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 way 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 me all lifeforms existing as single entities floating alone in the universe. Not to mention also an effective tool allowing for a better immersive bonding experience with other organisms in my social circle.’
They then sat in unmoving silence for the next moments. Ikarus was just about to change the subject by asking where he could acquire some new Inter-Galactic Grade smokable material to replace the 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. The vehicle was parallel parked near the edge of the water. And look at that: little men were being effectively expelled from the depths of the device!
‘You have been down here too long!’ yelled the first one into a loudspeaker while waving a red and yellow warning sign with his left arm.
‘We better get the fuck out of here,’ remarked the green clad, with some blood still trickling from the opening on 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, Ikarus pressed a button on the receiver located within the roomy pocket hidden within the army green. It was then that they for the first time 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 get out of here to escape the horrible clutches of what is to come,’ warned the building.
The flash of a bright transported our protagonists to the
surface of another planet.
[1]This comparison in being employed in most cases to draw parallels to earth as most readers are expected to originate from here.
[2]It is important to note that this point the ‘Radiation Ozone Reaction Theory’ had not yet been presented
[3] For those not yet in the inhabiting the future this was the major important and to some degree omnipotent interplanetary governmental force
[4] Upon further investigation, many of Ikarus’ friends testified this statement to be true
WAST WRTNG 