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I open my eyes.
Two beings hover over me—but they aren’t doctors.
They’re not even human.
I’m flat on my back in my birthday suit on a metal table. An octagon of bright light above me really runs with the ‘autopsy room’ vibe. But I’m hardly concerned with the lighting fixtures at the moment.
Again, the creatures are not human.
Theysomewhatresemble humans insofar as being bipedal with two arms and a head. However, they’re basketball player tall yet too thin for their height. Their faces have a shape like upside down raindrops, chins so pointy they look capable of cutting paper. Forehead ridges angle up over their completely bald heads. If they had horns and goatees, they’d look like comic book depictions of Satan.
Both appear to be as naked as I am. Their skin is a dark grey with a lighter patch over the front of their neck and torsos, reminiscent of some lizards. They are not scaly, their skin appearing stretchy and rubbery. Large, almond-shaped black eyes give off a sense of malicious evil—even more than the wicked silver knife one is holding an inch above my sternum. No, it’s not literal silver—thank heavens—merely silver in color. Or I’d be in trouble.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask.
Even though I shouldn’t know this, I can’t help but feel like my return to consciousness has caught them so off guard they don’t know what to do. I stare at the one holding the knife. His lipless mouth looks like an inch-long cut in a latex mask. I say ‘his’ but really… who knows? Their torsos are utterly devoid of any muscle tone, or boobs, or nipples, or even bellybuttons.
I’m about to dismiss this all as a weird nightmare until I notice they’re both giving off mental energy. Any thoughts about this being a prank and just guys in costume goes away. Wait, couldn’t be people in costumes. These things are impossibly thin.
And the amount of energy each one is giving off is about twenty times as powerful as a human. Might be due to their enormous heads. Lots of room for brains. They’re probably psychic, too.
Well, this is both bizarre as heck and annoying. Unexpected or involuntary nudity stopped bothering me a few years ago. One doesn’t get into the habit of shapeshifting into a creature as huge—and magnificent—as Talos without getting used to frequent wardrobe complications. I have far bigger things to worry about than to waste even an ounce of brain power on shame or even awkwardness.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
The creatures exchange a glance, yet neither moves.
I start to sit up—and that’s the trigger.
Knife guy makes a high-pitched wailing gurgle noise like an electrocuted goose… and proceeds to prove even scientific geniuses possess a caveman brain. How? He reacts to my attempt to move by icepicking the giant scalpel he’s holding toward my heart.
I object with violence... and lightning-fast reflexes.
Specifically, I catch his spindly arm by the wrist, halting the blade before it can touch me, then roll back enough to stomp-kick him in the face. That one flies off his feet and hits the steel—or something like it—floor with a slap like I just dropped a hundred-pound steak. The other one grabs at me with his three-fingered hands. I fling my weight backward, doing a reverse somersault off the table onto my feet.
Yow! The floor is freakin’ cold!
Both aliens are as naked as I am. Well, maybe not. They’re wearing utility belts. I’ve got nothing at all. Speaking of having nothing, neither one is a guy. Or a girl. Their groins are as blank as the rifles onMountain Monsters.
The second alien grabs a module off his belt and points it at me. It looks like a box, but body language says firearm—and so does my inner alarm. I don’t wait to see what’s going to happen, lunging in at him and hammering my fist into his pointy chin. Other than seeming noticeably heavier than most heads, punching this critter is kinda normal. Skin over bone over squishy bits. It emits a squeaky warble and collapses in a heap, a thin, black tongue lolling from its slit mouth.
Knife alien pounces at me.
He’sreallytall. My face is only as high as his stomach—assuming they have stomachs. As we wrestle in circles around the operating table, fighting for control of the knife, he’s also quite a bit stronger than any human man I’ve ever had try to murder me before. Not exactly vampire strong, but definitely more of a threat than a mortal. A series of alarmed clicky-warbly noises from him give me a sense he’s baffled by his failure to easily overpower me.
Makes sense. At five foot three, I look like a fairly thin human woman of below average height. To him, I should be really easy to manhandle. Or… alienhandle. Whatever.
The ten-inch surgical scalpel—by the way, who the heck makes surgical tools this damn long?—passes a little too close to my eyes for comfort. As it goes by, I grab the wrist of his knife hand, spin him around, and fling him backward over the surgery table before ramming the knife deep into his thigh.
Dark blue liquid sprays from the wound. He lurches over in agony, holding his leg. He’s lucky I didn’t drive the blade into his heart... wherever that might be. For now, he doesn’t look like he’s up for any more fighting. Then again, I suspect his main job is a scientist. That said, the sight of so much blood—his blood—seems to do him in, and he faints. With the weapon still in his leg, I doubt he will bleed out.
The other one appears to be unconscious, too, which is fine by me. I need to take stock of my situation.
The adrenaline—and something else fogging my mind—fades, allowing me to process more details about my surroundings. This surgical suite is tucked in an alcove off a larger room full of narrow fluid-filled tanks that stretch from floor to ceiling. Seven of the ten tanks contain people—two of which are Gemma and Carson. Unfortunately, it’s not immediately clear if they’re dead or simply asleep. None of the seven have clothes, and all float like exhibits in some sick science museum in a substance I dearly hope is not formaldehyde.
One tank contains an alien, who looks slightly different from the two who tried to dissect me. Tank alien is much shorter—only my height—with no head ridges and a rounded chin. Its eyes are closer to being circles than almonds. Its hands also have a thumb and three large fingers. Like the other aliens, its body lacks genitals, bellybutton, or breasts.
Softer facial features, too. Looks less ‘evil’ and more… effeminate. Hmm. Is that a female? Or a juvenile? And why is it in a tank?
