The winds of the Nevada desert are known to be unforgiving. The lofty winds, usually promising a sweet relief from the heat, facilitates only hardship and pain. The sandkorns gracefully dance within the storms, scratching all that stands in their wake. In the middle of such a storm, in the middle of nowhere in particular, stood a toilet. Not just any toilet, but one ripped straight from a RV. Within sat a grumpy, near-middle aged man, scratching his already balding head in discomfort as he opened the door to find a new world stretching before him. But all he could think of, and all he could focus on, was the empty toilet paper roll beside him. That, and the takeout mexican he’d ordered.

The howling winds of the desert carried on incessantly. He’d been walking for miles and miles, following his emergency compass attached to his emergency watch, which was a part of his emergency kit attached to his emergency belt. There seemed to be no end to the vast plains of sand, and he’d forgotten to refill his emergency water bottle before taking a very emergent shit. He’d have to make a note of that in his emergency notepad, he thought, as he took yet another sip out of his backup emergency water bottle and a swig out of his emergency Smirnoff.

It’d been nearing sunset when the man ended up near a stretch of highway. He sighed in relief, not because he’d run out of supplies, but because the sand he’d used instead of toilet paper was getting rather itchy. He had been in luck- a Cadillac was approaching. Already, he could smell the distant, faint odor of the average American idiot. Realizing this, he quickly took a final, long swig from his third Smirnoff flask, sighing as he realized that he’d run out of stock. He then stretched his finger out for a hitchhike.

As the Cadillac grew near, it began slowing down, heeding the call of the stranger. It stopped completely in front of the strange man, and the driver swung the door right open with a sickly sweet smile. The driver was predictably the most milquetoast man alive. He was exactly the kinda guy you’d see at a senior’s golf range with his working buddies, but he was a bit too young for that yet. Dressed in a posh, expensive outfit, he reeked of suburban America.

“Hello there, stranger! Would you like a ride?” The driver said, his all-too-happy demeanor accentuated by the ‘Middle class starter pack’ outfit.

“Thanks.” The man meekly replied, as he solemnly entered the idiot’s car.

“My name’s Watson. Connor Watson. What’s yours?” The driver asked as he stepped on the gas- Jones noted that indeed, the man was wearing Crocs.

“Jones. Just Jones.” Jones answered, regretting that he hadn’t stocked more alcohol.

“I have to say this was a pleasant surprise. What were you doing out here, anyways?” Watson smirked as he viewed Jones through the mirror.

“You know. The usual. Just taking a shit.” Jones answered, making sure to avoid any eye contact.

“Uh… Toilet time, huh? Don’t you think you could’ve done that anywhere else?” Watson asked, his face slightly tilted in confusion.

“Wasn’t really my choice. My RV’s toilet got ripped from Minnesota to… Here. Dunno what happened, but I’ve got a good guess as to who it was.” Jones sighed.

“Who’d that be? I don’t think we’ve got the Wizard of Oz here, I’m afraid.” Watson said, as he let out a self-gratifying ‘heh’.

“The goddamn government, of course, who else could do this kinda wacky shit?” Jones exclaimed with a practiced, elegant delivery- it was quite obvious it was his signature line.

“The- government?” What makes you say that? They’ve never done anyone wrong, I don’t think.” Watson nervously smiled as he peeked through the mirror once more. This time, however, Jones was staring right back. His mouth was agape, already itching to argue.

“They’ve obviously just done that. Think about it- it’s obvious. When I got teleported, it was about 11:10. One plus one plus one plus zero equals to… That’s right, three. Triangle. Get the picture?” Jones stated with a firm, unflinching gaze.

“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about, Jones. You’re a really weird guy, you know?” Watson replied, staring straight ahead into the horizon.

“Plus, I’m sure they’ve realized I’m an enemy by now. It can’t be a coincidence that it’d been nine months and eleven days since I’ve uploaded my video regarding the irrefutable proof that chemtrails are making people gay. This can’t be a coincidence.” Jones continued, unfazed by the mediocre response.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What’s a Chemtrail? What’s nine months and eleven days got to do with anything?” Watson’s face was now only describable as the ‘I’m stuck in a car with a crazy person’ face.

“Seriously? You’re American, right? How the hell do you not know 9/11? You live in some Amish village in Wyoming or something?” Jones asked, his eyebrows thoroughly ruffled and furred.

“I’ve grown up in Portland, and I’ve got no clue whatsoever. Is this how people are in Alaska? Is this nine-eleven an Alaskan thing?” Watson began wiping the beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“You’ve never heard of the greatest terrorist attack in all of American history, Watson? Have you heard of a newspaper, tv, or internet before?” Jones demanded, his mouth now agape.

“No, because we haven’t had a single terrorist attack since 1960. In fact, we don’t even really have crimes over here. Is this really not just a Alaskan thing?” Watson shook his head.

“The hell are you talking about? Every second week, we’ve got a goddamn school shooting, and you’re tellin’ me that there’s no crime in America?” Jones reclined into his chair as his blood pressure rose.

“We don’t even make guns here! Jones, I’m really sorry, but do you seriously take your mandated monthly mental health checkups?” Watson nervously fidgeted with his free hand, the other strongly gripping the wheel.

“The fuck? The govvies don’t even shell out antidepressants and you’re telling me that they’re suddenly handing out free mental health checkups? Even worse, mandated? Where the fuck do you live?” Jones shouted in frustration.

“Please don’t shout!” Watson sunk. “I don’t know if Alaska’s any different, but at least in Oregon we are mandated to take monthly mental checkups and go visit therapeutic camps if we aren’t feeling right. Man… I’d never thought those would be necessary, but seeing you…”

“‘Therapeutic Camps’? And that doesn’t sound like off to you at all? Have you never even touched a dystopian novel like 1984 or Animal Farm?” Jones questioned, breathing heavily.

“Well, I don’t know what the 1984 is, but Animal Farm is illegal. You should go visit the mind clinic up in Washington if you’ve even touched it...” Watson stammered, clearly debating if he should abandon this lunatic or not.

“You have to be kidding me.” Jones muttered in defeat.

“I’m really sorry, but would you at least consider having me drop you off at the psychologist’s?” Watson asked, his voice shaking.

“Watson.” Jones said, clearly ignoring him.

“Y-yes?” Like a whipped dog, Watson replied.

“Tell me all of American history from roughly WW2 onwards. Just the cliffnotes.” Jones demanded in a monotone voice.

Jones’s compact-sized notepad number three was getting rather full. The quivering Watson had been narrating the history of the USA- that is, the Unified State of America- from roughly 1958 onwards. Before that, it seemed that both Watson’s memories and Jones’s matched, but somewhere around that time, a figure and their party, the ‘fictitious’ (at least, by Jones’s recollection) Drazil Clinton-Bush and the Unification party, had somehow managed to wrest control of the American government, unifying the states into one in 1960 and gracefully “””stepping down”””. Of course, the fact that the Clinton-Bush family (not Clinton and Bush, Clinton-Bush) happened to produce all the presidents since then was completely coincidental.

It was also completely coincidental that all voted senators happened to be pro-Unification party, and that the few non-Unification party member politicians all tended to ‘change their minds’, after a short disappearance into a black, untraceable van, after which they’d grin profusely and talk about their ‘revelations’ after long ‘self-reflection sessions’. They’d also turn up with a newfound fetish for BDSM, specifically the ‘M’ part, but that was just a side note.

Since the Unification party was instated as the third party, it was said that they’d made America Great Again. There were no flaws in this new, unified America. Boasting near-zero crime rates and a 100% conviction rate, crime had been solved. The healthcare was so good that 99% of people died of natural causes. It was just coincidence that the average age of natural death happened to lower to 45. Homelessness was essentially dead, too, except if one were to count the ‘voluntary’ homeless of America. Education was so good, that according to the US government, they’d beaten Asia in math. Now that was indisputably suspect, but people didn’t question it.

Jones naturally had a tough time wrapping his head around this. If any of this were true- indeed, if Watson wasn’t fucking with him, he could be in an alternate universe. But how? Was this some kind of shitty japanese cartoon where the protagonist gets hit by a truck? Would he get a harem full of horny, totally-legal hot babes who’d want his babies like, right now? If that were to be the case, he’d hoped that Watson wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t look good in a skirt.

“So, explain this part to me again-” Jones asked. “The first president, and the founder of the Unification party, her name was Drazil Clinton-Bush?”

“Yes. What about them?” Watson asked dejectedly. He’d been tired out by all these questions.

“Well, flip the first name around. Lizard Clinton-Bush. It’s quite obvious.” Jones pointed out quietly.

“Yes, yes. I get it. Why does that matter, though?” Watson tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in frustration.

“Because this means there could be some connection to lizards, Watson. Maybe, perhaps, they’re even lizard-people?” Jones furiously scribbled in the newly unsealed emergency note number 4.

“I don’t see your point.” Watson sighed.

“You’re really not getting this. It’s always the lizards, I tell you-” Jones replied, but the fuel light started blinking and an alarm went off. “Are we running out of fuel?”

“Guess we are. Thank god there’s a gas station right there.” Watson mentioned absentmindedly.

In the distance was a structure that looked as well-aged as Jones’s elementary school crush. The building, clearly having resembled a gas station at some point , was badly maintained. The bright, ‘retro-futuristic’ red color was faded to absolute nothingness, with exception to the few finger-sized spots of paint that hadn’t been rusted through. The only exception was the surprisingly new ‘open’ neon sign that signalled something living was likely inside.

“Wait. Watson, look at this. Does this look normal to you?” Jones asked, waving a fiver in front of Watson. Watson took the bill, stared at it for a while, and replied with a quick nod.

With a grumble, Jones watched as Watson slowly drove his car inside. Something was a bit fishy about this gas station, he thought. Who would want to work dozens of kilometers away from civilization in a place most people won’t even stop at? In fact, the gas station looked like a dirty, quick refurbish. Not to mention the solar panels lined atop the station roof.

But nonetheless, his asshole was still very itchy, and neither the culture shock, nor the alcohol could stave off that animalistic instinct to have a clean poop chute. Thus, he hurriedly stepped out of the car, much to the delight of the now mentally damaged Watson. Jones’s eagle eyes sharpened in focus in search of a toilet, which his supplement-enhanced eyes quickly found. He slumbered towards the sign, which pointed to the back of the station.

Watson was rather shook, and he began filling the tank with gasoline. He hummed the national anthem of the USA to relax. This encounter was really not doing his stress level any favors; the only thing he wanted, at this point, was to be rid of Jones, an option he considered while staring at Jones walking towards the toilet. But alas, an important part of the American identity was to help fellow Americans in need, and he couldn’t abandon an obviously insane person to roam free. His grandfather would never approve of that. Sighing loudly, he then walked towards the in-station store, grabbing his wallet from the glovebox in preparation. He noticed a loose five-dollar bill inside his driver’s seat, and picked it up.

Jones found himself betrayed by the prospect of minty-fresh, kleenex-white, top-tier toilet paper. The gas station toilet paper was practically just sandpaper; it’d hurt just rubbing the thing against his asscheeks. Yet another reason why the government was indeed failing him: lacking health care standards within gas station toilets. He pulled out his trusty pen and notebook and noted it down as he left the toilet. He’d had half a mind to walk up to the cashier and bitch. If he was lucky, maybe he’d get some free mints or something. He noticed a compact-size generator standing close by.

Watson entered the gas station, welcomed by the generic state-mandated welcome jingle. The insides fared a bit better, where it seemed that refurbishment had actually taken place. Absentmindedly, he walked towards the cashier, grabbing himself a Milky Way bar in the process. Noticing the tab mounted up to thirty three dollars, he pulled out a bill for fifty and handed it over, alongside the five dollar bill.

“Hello. Please put the gasoline tab on the fifty, and take the fiver for the Milky Way, please.” Watson mumbled, still deep in thought.

The cashier was dressed in what could be called the generic Wal-Mart garb with his name pinned on the chest. Physically, he was the very definition of normal. Average caucasian teenage kid was just right. But it fit a little too tight, as if the most generic face possible had been created. Watson paid such details no heed. After all, all gas station workers looked exactly like him. Just like all the same-looking nurse Joyces or policewomen Jennys.

“Thank you very much. That is what I will do. Please wait a moment.” The boy replied slowly.

Watson whistled leisurely for a minute, observing the desert dunes outside. Suddenly, Jones veered into view, and Watson’s eyes smoothly slid and snapped right on target, watching the insane man fumble along, furiously noting something down. Jones’s head turned towards him and simply… stared. Watson waved, thinking nothing of this odd reaction.

What Jones saw was something quite different. The boy’s eyes were glowing like a barcode scanner. It was staring intently at the five-dollar bill, studying it with absolute prejudice. Jones’s jaw slacked. The boy’s gaze was very intense, as if trying to burn a hole into the bill. Which it ended up doing, setting the note on fire. Stupidly, Watson was just staring like an idiot and waving.

Watson watched as Jones performed some frantic, odd gestures with his hands and arms. Watson felt a twinge of guilt at the tragic sight of an impaired man. He was shouting something, pointing at something towards Watson’s left, whilst running frantically towards the station door. That was when Watson finally turned to face the music.

Jones rushed head-first into the automatic door. Yet another complaint for the national health agency. But as the doors slid open, the panicking Watson crashed head-first into him in an effort to escape and knocked him to the ground. While preparing to reprimand Watson, his vision adjusted. The boy was rapidly changing, his outline expanding and grotesquely deforming. His dull eyes quickly took on the intimidating look of a lizard’s slit eyes, beaming with a bright red of malintent, staring down at the duo- its prey.

Watson and Jones did not hesitate when it came to running. By the time they reached the car, the monster had stopped transforming; and finally, Jones got a good look at the not-so-boy-anymore. His skin was a glistening green, with exception to its limbs, which were mercury-like, shimmering metallic constructs. Indeed, Jones was staring right at the Bigfoot of his field of study- the Mecha-Lizardperson.

Jones nearly grinned, ready to gloat about being right all along, but didn’t have the time to. The Mechalizard decided to prove that the ‘retro-futuristic’ chrome steel wasn’t just a hipster fashion choice, but it could mold like mercury and strike like steel. It sharpened into a spear and burrowed itself right through the front glass panel, the tip burrowing itself into the headrest of the passenger’s seat.

“Holy fucking shit!” Jones shouted, as shards of glass began scattering everywhere. He’d grabbed Watson by the collar and dragged him down, just under the point of impact. Jones quickly backed up the car, performed a drift, and dashed through the gas station exit.

The Mechalizard followed suit quickly. It transformed its legs into a set of large wheels, and began pursuing the Cadillac. While it quickly caught up, it failed to overtake the bruised car.

“We’re going to die. We’re so going to die…” Watson kept muttering, his eyes clearly out of focus. Jones quickly remedied that, however, as he backhand-pimpslapped Watson in the right cheek with a satisfying clap.

“Ow!” Watson protested, now staring into Jones’s eyes, more in tune with reality.

“Watson, listen. We’re both gonna have to focus if we want to live through this one.” Jones explained in a calm demeanor. He poked his head out to confirm the enemy’s position, just in time to see a change in his adversary- the Mechalizard’s eyes were no longer glowing red, but now green.

“ATTENTION, CITIZENS!” The Mechalizard then proudly exclaimed. “THIS IS HOMELAND SECURITY. THIS SURVEILLANCE UNIT HAS CONFIRMED THE USE AND POSSESSION OF COUNTERFEIT BILLS PRODUCED WITH THE WATERMARK OF THE U.S.A. WE GIVE YOU THREE MINUTES TO SURRENDER PEACEFULLY. NON-COMPLIANCE MAY RESULT IN UNJUST AMOUNTS OF VIOLENCE BEING APPLIED. SURRENDER NOW. ANY HOSTILE ACTION UNDERTAKEN OR ATTEMPT AT FLEEING WILL YIELD THE SAME RESULT.”

“Did you try to use the five-dollar bill I gave you?” Jones asked in disbelief.

“I… I thought it was just a fiver. It looked exactly the same!” Watson replied, his fists clenched tightly.

“A-ha.” Jones muttered. “So, you used my bill. Which isn’t from this world, so it probably has a slightly different registration number or manufacturing process.”

“So- you- you weren’t just… You know, crazy when you said that was possible? What did you call it, the Berenstein-something?” Watson stumbled over his words.

“Berenstein theory. Probably not, but something similar.” Jones said silently, mostly to himself. “But that’s not important right now. We need to survive.”

“R-right.” Watson answered meekly. “But what can we do? Shouldn’t we just surrender?”

“Watson, apparently we’ve done enough wrong to get attacked by Solid Lizard Schwarzenegger. What do you think this is, a vietnamese massage parlor? We’re not getting a happy ending. Also, you finally see what I was talking about?” Jones exclaimed in frustration.

“It’s- a bit much to take in. I get something’s not right here, but would they really… Kill us?” Watson asked, putting emphasis on the final two words.

“It. stabbed. through. your. windshield. It was probably going for you, you know.” Jones replied, trying his hardest to withhold his sarcasm.

“I guess you have a point… But then, what do we do?” Watson said, his eyes tearing up in the realization that he was, as his grandfather often said, in deep bollocks.

“I’ve got an idea. It’s not a good one, but…” Jones stated, before being interrupted.

“TWO MINUTES.” The Mechalizard shouted.

“... We don’t have much time, so hear me out...” Jones murmured, signing Watson closer to him.

The Mechalizard had been chasing its prey for a total of two minutes and fifty-two seconds. The controller had been watching the two lazily while munching on a bagel. Both seemed like regular citizens, but this surveillance unit had been an older model, and identification would have to occur post-arrest. Of course, if the two wouldn’t surrender within the next four seconds, they wouldn’t require identification.

Suddenly, from the passenger’s seat, one of the two poked their heads out. The human looked absolutely terrified, as it should be. Had they come to the right decision? The operator grabbed the microphone, ready to explain the terms of surrender, when the car suddenly veered to the side, facing him.

At the same moment, the human threw a long, thin glittering sheet, a large makeshift hook taped to the shorter edge.

The car then proceeded to perform a very difficult circular drift, some disco remix blasting through the open windows. As the car spun and spun, more of the thin sheet wrapped itself around the Mechalizard. The operator was surprised, but scoffed at the pathetic gesture. He was about to give the surveillance unit the order to tear the flimsy foil to shreds. What it didn’t expect was the sudden disconnect. The surveillance unit had gone offline.

“It stopped moving!” Watson shouted, his voice still quivering in fear. This was the moment Jones had been waiting for. He wouldn’t ever leave his house without a roll of tinfoil.

Jones then crashed his car into the torso of the beast, dragging him along for the ride. The music was thankfully cranked up to max, covering up Watson’s screams of terror as he wet his pants anew.

The cadillac dragged the Mechalizard along for the ride as it headed back towards the gas station. Jones pulled out the final item in his kit, a combat knife, and jammed it into the pedal. Suddenly, the Mechalizard started twitching again, his eyes now glowing in red again. Was that the automatic setting? Jones did not have much time to contemplate, however, as he grabbed Watson by the collar and jumped out of the car, his arm twisting in an uncomfortable angle, but landing otherwise unharmed.

The car continued accelerating, the confused Lizard in tow. It soon crashed into the gas station, which exploded as the car barrelled through the fuel dispensers.

“My Cadillac!” Watson screamed, watching the Cadillac get consumed in the flames.

“Fuck, my arm’s a bit twisted. Hey, Watson, mind twisting this back?” Jones asked, casually walking towards his heartbroken companion.

“My car! Jones, my sweet, sweet Cadillac!” Watson screamed, grasping desperately at Jones’s jeans.

“You really mourning that thing? What, can’t show up at your local golfers association?” Jones asked.

“Yes! Do you know how expensive that thing was?” Watson screamed, his eyes watering up.

Jones sighed, then slapped Watson with his twisted arm, wielding it like a whip.

“Ow!” Watson whelped. “What was that for?”

“For wasting our time. Watson, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.” Jones stated.

“...Like what?” Watson asked, now looking up into Jones’s eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jones smirked. “We’re going to topple the government, obviously. This is only the first step into breaking the conditioning; we’re going to show these sons-of-bitches some good ol’ American freedom.”

“And how’re you going to do that?” Watson said, his jaws slacked in disbelief.

“Well, first…” Jones answered. “We’ve gotta get out of here."

The mechanical buzzing and beeping echoed throughout the darkened room. The heater was cranked up to the max, the suffocating heat of this room comparable to a sauna. Noticeable was the absence of most artificial lighting, only the monitors exerting a faint blue light. A figure sat in the middle of this room, its skin reflecting the pale blue shade emitted by the electronics surrounding it, as it sat on a comfortable velvet couch.

An entity entered this room through a thick set of automatic doors, saluting immediately in the presence of its superior. This entity was clad in a neat soldier’s uniform. Its superior, however, was luxuriating in a comfortable woolen robe.

“Status report. Now.” The superior slithered, its voice firm and angry.

“Yes, sir.” The soldier replied snappily. “We’ve got quite an odd report from the ministry of public observation, sir. One of their older surveillance units was destroyed after attempting to arrest two humans.”

“What model? An MU-06 L-MONITOR?” The robed figure questioned.

“No. An MU-05 L-MONITOR, sir. Designation L4G-4NN.” The soldier answered. “A local defeating one of these is quite something, but that’s not the surprising part, sir.”

“I see. Then get to the point, will you?” The superior hissed venomously.

“Sorry, sir.” The soldier said. “Somehow, they managed to disable the communication functions of the surveillance unit. Posthumous analysis shows traces of tinfoil being used, sir.”

“Tinfoil…” The superior muttered absentmindedly. “Surprising a human would’ve known to use that. What happened to the perpetrators?”

“According to the operator’s report, there were two humans.” The soldier dictated from a sheet. “Both caucasian. The two fled the scene shortly after, even though their vehicle had crashed and burned. The only other piece of evidence to go by is their license plate. A fragment of a commemorative plate for the state of Oregon was found.”

“Fucking useless, the whole lot of them.” The robed figure slithered angrily. “I told those idiots to record every. single. encounter. Tell national security to start looking for these bastards.”

“That’ll be done, sir. Glory to the Great-Mother.” The soldier answered, before saluting and hurriedly leaving the room.