Intergalactic Showdown

It’s high noon in the orbit of planet Earth. Above the clouds, on the deck of an alien warship, the next great contender steps up to the plate.

He is a four armed, carbon based life-form from a backwater planet where the population survive off a culture of poverty. The people of his planet are dumb enough to believe that “might is right”. Yet, these are the species who see themselves as somehow better than the rest of us. He bleeds “Four arms good, two arms bad.”

As with all Fascists, he has two goons who back his play. They are of the same ilk, poor and stupid enough to believe in the power of power. These guys are Great Britain during the American Revolution, about to get an education in democracy.

“Agent O.” I said.

All agents are issued a Multi-Response Saturn Special sidearm, nicknamed “Mr. Saturn”. The guns are a bit of over kill and have multiple settings, despite how most Field agents will only ever need the first three.

The first setting releases a paralyzing beam that freezes the leader. This is comparable to the stun setting found in Star Trek’s Phaser.

The second setting is an ultra focused beam of light that rings out with a the sound file of your choice. Agent O’s “Mr. Saturn” is set with a “Star Wars” sound pack that employs a laser rifle sound wav, when the trigger is pulled.

Which happens right about the time I said his name. The light waves in front of the hyper focused barrel ignite with the fire of Hades and tear through the goons. The light is hot enough to sear the one goon into two halves, like a math lesson in clean alien death.

The third setting shots a microwaves rays and fries the third goon from the inside out. Where the second setting left a clean easy kill, no stress no mess, the third setting explodes the third goon from the inside out, like a bag of popcorn.

Never try to pop a bag of popcorn with Mr. Saturn, as he will turn your potential for popcorn into a fiery black explosion of char. Popcorn lacks the live flow of blood, acids, and mucus needed to create a real explosion. I cover my face a second before the goon blows and covers the corridor in his red hot leftovers.

The leader of this child-like rebellion is covered in a wave of his friend’s microwaved juices and he doesn’t look happy about it. He drops to the floor and howls in pain. His four arms flounder and slap at his bright red skin.

“You see it’s like I was telling you. The third setting can come in useful.” Agent O said in response to a prior argument over the third setting.

I should be howling in pain but my standard issue white suit didn’t come off the rack at a department store. The agency works with the Grays to gain technology beyond Man’s understanding of science. I can feel the heat from the oozing parts of his buddy and the smell is enough to make me wretch, but Agents don’t wretch. It’s rule 1.

Nano bots scurry up and down my uniform, in a blinding speed that only humming birds could watch. Their mission to clean off the white material and convert the soiled bits into energy. This was an ingenious idea from the nerds in Development. The more dirt your white uniform attracts, the more power you gain.

When the agency first made the change in color*, there were no nanobots and the cost of dry cleaning the new white suits was through the roof.

MGT told Development to fix the problem or the cost would come out of their budget, and everyone would miss the “Poker in front, Hooker in the rear” Christmas party. The Nerds could take the cut in budget but no one can take the loss of hookers on Christmas.

Status monitors built into the visual output of my mirrored shades tells me the Nanobots love this kind of scum. The goon was useful after all. When the damage to my uniform is repaired, I will have 110% power gained from his guts.

Now is time for cold, vindictive, revenge. I take out my own Mr. Saturn and level it with the head of the leader. I really don’t like him. I wish for a hammer to add drama to the situation and set the gun to the second setting.

“The Grey’s want him.”

And that was just my luck.

“Four arms good.” Mr. Saturn takes two pot shots and seers off two of his four arms. The separated limbs fall to the floor like the first goon, clean, dead, instantaneous. I put the gun in my hip holster and slap a pair of cuffs on the leader. “Two arms better.”

Agent O gives me a look.

“What?… Don’t look at me like that. I only brought one pair of cuffs.”

“And that wraps up this issue of the flash fiction series of “Man In White. Join us next time for “The Potsie Scheme”

*Damn you Hollywood, Will Smith, and Fast Food marketing art. Though I can never hold anything against you, Tommy Lee. Maybe “No Country For Old Men” but at least you proved the movie title correct.