Introduction

Yay, it’s time to play with my new toys! Err… maybe. Well, if you liked the last chapter, then you’ll probably like this one as well. I think Mr. Author is still a bit pissed off at me for the stunt I pulled last introduction, so you can probably expect a few more unnecessarily painful and/or gross scenes. That wasn’t a warning, it was a “hook”—don’t try to hide your feelings. Some stories require a bit of suffering to justify the excessive drama that “textures” its climax.

Welcome to life. Belief doesn’t change reality, and a feeling of empowerment isn’t going to solve all your problems. Put things in perspective: humanity is a self-important virus that rides around an infinite chasm on a ball of mud. Our solar system is but a speck in our galaxy, which is, relative to an infinite universe, as close to “nothing” as anything could ever get.

Despite this, we still worry about our next post on Instagram (or whatever people with friends use these days). See that? I brought it back to social media, which is easy to criticize because I already don’t like it—it’s boring, and I don’t really feel like wasting my time on something stupid like “fitting in”. It shows, right? Well, enjoy the chapter.

Chapter 2

Potential

After waking up half-way down a torn and malodorous esophagus, I spent about an hour pulling myself to freedom. I had become acutely aware of the various fluids that surrounded me and while it was disgusting, couldn’t help wondering if it could be useful somehow. However, my highest priorities at the moment were cleaning up a bit and rifling through the alien’s pod in search of something edible. Relieving the exhaustion intensified my hunger tenfold—to the point where I’ve decided to eat the alien’s corpse if I can’t find anything else.

I vigorously tried to clean myself, aware that if I accidentally spread this on certain pieces of alien technology, it could be ruined. Unfortunately, there was nothing even remotely clean lying around that would be able to purify this level of disgusting, so it wasn’t long before I resolved to set myself on fire. It wouldn’t do a whole lot for the ashes, but at least the biological material would be taken care of. The only problem is, I have no way to start a fire, and absolutely no materials to burn (other than myself, of course).

My eyes loosely followed the blurred horizon, impatiently searching my mind for alternative cleaning methods when something occurred to me. I stood, turning back toward the prone corpse and quickly scanning the area around it for the desired item. Aside from the heap of flesh and armor, the terrain itself revealed no more impressive details… unless you include the almost poetic allusion to a once powerful society that had been filled with people, each one possessing life, opinions, beliefs, thoughts, communities, desires, enemies, fears, cares, experiences, naiveties, and so much more.

A brief flashback to the seemingly endless torture of rationalizing the destruction of my home brought on a darker mindset that filled these doubts and worries with realization. I subconsciously thought of America as this terrifyingly powerful entity (at least on Earth) that wouldn’t die without a fight, but that illusion was shattered instantly. People, not structures or borders, are what define a country—the ink that turns a page into something with infinite potential.

However, it wasn’t the people but a small group of executives that launched the nuclear missiles; it wasn’t a political war or even the alien invasion that took us down—it was our own attack that burned us (pun intended). Beneath that hellish sky, no one was spared. Billionaire “philanthropists” blistered and boiled right alongside rapists and their victims; the loving parents evaporated, followed by their ungrateful children, and do you know who cares? The other humans who truly understand this horrible situation (possibly some of the aliens as well).

The universe isn’t mourning this loss. The Earth is superficially damaged (at most) but that will eventually recover. This feeling of complete worthlessness makes sense, but when I see how everything continues to move and even my own sense of loss fades away, everything becomes yet another insignificant speck in this infinite reality.

I let out a sigh and slowly shake my head, gently rubbing my churning stomach. At first, this was a traumatic realization, but now it doesn’t seem that bad. Fortunately, there isn’t any universal rule dictating what is “good” and “evil”; it’s only me and others like me. I think all free will is enslaved within a finite mind, but in recognizing the fragility of value, I can at least be crushed under the weight of absolute freedom. I guess this makes me some kind of philosophical masochist.

“Good Lord—I really spaced out for a minute. Ugh, if I could just stay in the moment, I’d probably have built a damn empire by now.” I hoarsely mumbled to myself, realizing that this was the first voice I’d heard in a while, then devolved into a fit of coughs. “Alright, *cough* where did y-*cough* you go?” I slid my fingers through inches of black-and-grey powder, covering my exposed mouth with a free hand.

I paused to cough once again, this time with enough force to make my eyes water, but nothing came out. When I was able to resume, I blinked away a couple of tears and cast a prying gaze towards the pod, briefly analyzing the short distance that separated myself from it. “Where the f-…?” Just as I was about to conjure a whirlwind of profanities, a familiar shape caught my attention.

I hastily stumbled over to it, falling only once before gripping a gargantuan hilt that awkwardly protruded from the ground. With no small amount of strain to my skinny body, I brought it up to a resting position on my chest… and fell to my knees. “Gotcha.”

The alien broadsword’s hilt wasn’t very decorated, but the bronze surface did have several engravings that most likely had some sort of meaning. Unfortunately, it was designed for another world’s culture entirely, so it’s unlikely that I’ll ever be able to read it. I gradually began sinking lower under the weapon’s oppressive weight, and let it flop down next to me with a painful groan.

I paused just long enough to cough up a lung before bending over in search of the activation button (because all lightsabers have one) and was pleasantly unsurprised to see a large black circle protruding from its surface. With a victorious grin, I reached down and applied a bit of pressure to the welcoming button… but it didn’t move. I pushed harder, my smile rapidly becoming a frustrated grimace, but it remained defiantly erect. I tried using the base of my palm, but even with all the strength of my upper body bearing down on it, nothing happened.

With a dissatisfied grunt, I pulled myself up to a standing position, raised my left foot, then jammed my heel down on the button. It clicked, and the brilliant yellow blade materialized on the ground, vaporizing the dirt that was less than an inch beneath it. The “laser” part of it obviously had no weight, so the weapon’s edge didn’t tip over and touch the ground despite its disproportional size.

I marveled at the piece of technology, thoroughly taken by its ability to generate such a massive amount of energy. I decided against breaking it open… at least until after I cleaned up. I hesitantly approached, extending an arm while watching it set fire to the extraterrestrial gore and… wait, what’s with the saliva? I retracted the appendage, noticing how some of the fluids became significantly more viscous when excessive heat is introduced.

Curious, I decided food could wait a few seconds and let the saliva cool. Just as I had suspected, it hardened—so much that my whole arm was locked in place by an incredibly durable plastic-like substance. I looked back toward the corpse, quickly spotting a large puddle of drool near its mouth. Nice.

***

After about five minutes of excruciating pain, I was finally able to stomp out the blade, cough for a moment or two, then approach the pod. I bent over to peer inside, taking a deep breath of semi-clean air and listening to the comforting sound of a filtration system busting its ass while trying to maintain this environment. I almost cried but quickly pulled myself together and scanned the area for something to eat. At a glance, I’d say it was about the length of a small school bus, with enough volume to house about twenty of me (if we packed tightly)—meaning the giant alien took up a large portion of the space. However, there was a massive padded section (definitely a bed) directly below me, with large, puffy covers and a built-in pillow. That would’ve been nice to know about…

To my right (near the head portion of the pad) was an organized shelf holding nine metal boxes, each labeled in the same alien language I saw earlier. Turning left (past the foot portion of the pad) was a massive chest that had been tipped over to reveal a space-helmet (matching the alien’s suit) alongside various other oddities that were most likely dangerous weapons. Curiosity briefly rivaled my drive to eat, but ultimately lost.

I flopped down on the soft mattress, which instantly relieved a lot of tension and reminded me of one last issue I need to take care of first. Well, this is going to suck. I forcefully inhaled a deep, raspy breath, then spent ten straight minutes coughing up large amounts of black gew that I’m certain would’ve killed any other human being. I won’t go into too much detail but thank god for mucous—otherwise I probably would’ve been doing that for days.

After finishing, I wasted absolutely no time getting up, pulling out the leftmost metal box on the organizer’s bottom shelf, and realizing that I have no idea how to open it. Fortunately, there were three circular lights—one yellow, one red, and one green (going from left to right). Remembering how that weird green symbol opened the ship, I rationalized that the green light had a slightly greater chance of opening the box. Also, what three functions can a box have? Does one destroy its contents? Meh, whatever.

I slapped the green light, and the other two instantly flicked off. I heard something click audibly inside, followed by a few unnerving beeps that captured my attention. “Please be food. Please be food.” I whispered a prayer to any deity that was listening, drifting off into a daydream about alien food. I then realized that there might be fried humans in this box, which would probably explain a lot about why they came here… according to most horror stories, we taste pretty damn good.

A hiss of air followed the box’s lid swinging up and smacking me in the face chased away my idle thoughts. “That was unnecessary… ow.” I rubbed my nose furiously, and watched as a platform inside the box rose, slowly revealing… food. A warm, aromatic feast, decorated with various alien meats, fruits, vegetables(?), and… other fancy stuff. I hesitated, but my stomach loudly threatened to mutiny if I didn’t devour everything on the platter, so I did. I ate it slowly, and thoughtfully.

The food tasted bitter. It seems the implications that arose from this meal bring up an issue that needs to be addressed. What do I mean? Huh… if the author was a little more skilled, you’d probably know what I’m talking about already… the question is: am I okay with killing a person?

I bite into a perfectly ripe purple fruit that looked kind of like a giant plum, then looked around the pod once again but this time for a different reason. Again, I noticed a soft bed, a box of weapons that had been toppled over, and an organizer full of boxes, one of which contains a delightful but impractical meal. In addition to (what I think are) self-care stations, there are books, screens, and various other objects that appear to be designed for entertainment purposes. Even the walls are a dark, unobtrusive green.

Chances are, the alien corpse outside was not only capable of thought but also feeling. These things—these possessions were accommodations to keep him (or her, but I’m going to stick with male pronouns for now) from going insane. Such a creature should (in my mind) be treated on the same level as a human, so the question isn’t just “am I okay with killing an alien”, it’s asking “am I okay with killing a person”.

Yes. I don’t like killing; it’s not something that necessarily has to happen, but I’m probably going to do it again if there are more of these aliens out there. I snapped back to reality and ravenously continued eating with a renewed sense of taste. Because I’m consciously making this decision, I will accept full responsibility for any repercussions it may have. Damn. I sound like a legal document. Perhaps I need something to keep my mind busy—just to preserve my own sanity, of course.

While greedily eyeing the technology that surrounds me, I felt my appetite gradually fade away. Eating is such a monotonous task… I want to see what seemingly boundless source of energy powers all this shit; I want to know why the laser sword maintains its shape despite being made of… well, a laser; and finally, I want something to keep the ashes of this lost country out of my lungs and butt-crack.

Abandoning the neatly prepared (and thoroughly destroyed) meal, I awkwardly sprinted back across the soft mattress to where a pile of assorted technologies lay scattered on the ground. Naturally, my priority was fashioning a make-shift mask to filter out any impurities from the air, which brought me to the alien’s helmet. “Finally!” I thought out loud, “Let’s see what Santa brought me.”