#lets not talk about all the random ass holes that get filled with flies in the summer either.

[starryhyuck]

thin ice. (m)

pairing: icehockeyplayer!mark x figureskater!reader

words: 2.6k+

summary: mark lee is the only thing standing in the way of your team’s victory. therefore, fucking him dumb is the best way to defeat him.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: dom!mark, sub!reader, overstimulation, constant fucking, bathroom sex, talks of car blowjobs, sex on the floor, (slight) breeding kink, creampie, hair pulling

disclaimer: i have no idea how figure skating or ice hockey works, i literally fell on my ass when i tried to step on the ice

Thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds left and the money is all yours. You can see it now — the lavish outfits, brand new skates, and even silk hair ties for when you want to play dress up. Mark Lee just has to miss this shot.

“He’s going to fucking make it,” Doyeon hisses in your ear, chewing on her nails in anticipation.

“Shut up!” You push her away and tell her to stop damaging her fingers.

You watch as Mark glides across the ice, almost knocking into Doyoung twice. “Slam him, slam him!” You screech, ignoring the stares of people around you. You simply want to see Mark get wiped out so glory can be within your reach.

You feel your world collapse when the puck hits the net, time stopping in slow motion as the crowd jumps up in pure bliss. Doyeon’s already crying in your shoulder, and you hear the angry shouts of Chaeyoung on your other side.

Mark Lee, you fucking asshole.

—

Since you were five years old, the ice became your home. And no, you didn’t have an awakening and gain powers like Elsa from Frozen. Your mother discovered how much you loved figure skating, even though your brother, Johnny, was a tall, bumbling mess once he stepped in the rink.

Once your talent was discovered, you were enrolled in figure skating classes and spent most of your afternoons gliding around the ice. You were excited to learn that you could possibly do the sport professionally if you practiced hard enough, but nobody told you how difficult the athletics administration could be.

You were scouted for your college because of your talents in figure skating, many believing you would be a great candidate for the Winter Olympics. However, when you arrived to campus, you learned that you would never be the first priority in the athletics budget.

It was a constant battle between figure skating and ice hockey for the money. Most of the funds went to football and basketball anyways, so you didn’t have much to fight for in the first place. The deal made by the athletics department was simple — if the ice hockey team could not carry themselves to a national championship, the rest of their budget would be distributed to your team.

The victory was within reach until Mark Lee scored the winning goal Friday night, making the ice hockey team one step closer to the national title.

You’re currently waiting for them to finish practice, tapping your foot impatiently as you stand besides the opening to the rink. You finally hear the boys finish up, laughing with one another as they exit. Their eyes narrow at the sight of you.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Ten asks.

You smile. “Nope. Sicheng, we need to talk.”

The captain sighs and follows you until you’re out of earshot. “What is it now?”

You scoff. “You know damn well my team deserves the money more than you do. Worlds is just around the corner and we need the money in order to get there.”

Sicheng laughs at you, still holding his helmet from practice in one hand. “Please. Don’t act like you’re doing this for your team, we both know you’re just wanting to advance for yourself.”

If you could punch Sicheng without facing a lawsuit, your life would be so much easier. You take a step closer to him, ignoring the immediate flush in his cheeks at the proximity.

“I hope your team fails at the next game. I’ll be watching when you do.”

“Stop harassing him.” Mark approaches the scene, pulling his captain’s shoulder and pushing him away from you. “Just face that your team won’t make it. Can’t blame us for your failure.”

You smile sweetly at Mark. He’s been haunted ever since Donghyuck leaked his secret that he used to like you during your freshman year. Mark used to follow you around like a lost puppy, but now, he has no hesitation putting you in place. You know you still have the advantage over him because after all, he can’t deny the way his heart beats when he sees you.

Sicheng observes as you grip onto the fabric of Mark’s uniform, pulling him close until his nose is inches away from yours. Mark gulps at the proximity, not feeling so confident anymore.

“Don’t act like if I dropped to my knees right now, you wouldn’t jump at the chance to stuff my mouth full-”

“Okay!” Sicheng exclaims, pulling the blushing boy to his side. Mark’s cheeks are almost as bright as his uniform. Sicheng glares at you. “We’re going to win on Friday. Then, I’m taking your entire team’s budget.”

You smirk. “Good luck with that.”

—

“I’m not sure this is going to work,” Yeji remarks, watching as Doyeon pulls a tight black dress over your head. You roll your eyes at her comment while Chaeyoung helps you adjust the spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Don’t be so negative,” Seojeong flicks Yeji’s forehead, causing the younger girl to glare at her.

You’re all gathered in Doyeon’s living room, trying to hatch out a plan that Yeji believes is doomed to fail. Tonight was the celebratory party before the game, a dumb idea concocted by Donghyuck on every Thursday night. It goes to show how irresponsible the ice hockey team really is, getting wasted the night before their biggest game. However, tonight works in your favor, because as demonstrated just a few days ago, you still have Mark Lee in your waiting palm. All he needs is a little push away from his teammates and you’ve fully got him. Once the plan is in place, you highly doubt Mark will be able to perform well tomorrow. Considering he’s the team’s best player, taking him down secures a win for the figure skating team.

“Does everyone know their roles?” You check again, eyeing Yeji from her spot on Doyeon’s couch.

She scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Good,” Chaeyoung nods. “Remember that this isn’t just for us but the future figure skaters for years to come.”

None of you have time to comment on Chaeyoung’s dramatics, already seeing how stressed she is by the way she tugs at her hair frantically trying to apply lip gloss on you. The girls finish getting you all dolled up when Seojeong gets a text.

“Yuta says Mark’s ready,” she announces. You thank the heavens that Yuta was able to get in the ice hockey’s team good graces, none of them expecting the figure skater to be a double agent.

“Let’s get him then,” you grin.

You’re quickly shoved into Yeji’s tiny car and the five of you are off to Donghyuck’s apartment. There’s commotion when you arrive — Sungchan standing on the couch and declaring Sicheng the cutest man alive, Ten giggling with Yangyang by the kitchen counter, Donghyuck’s tongue shoved down a random girl’s throat and Jeno trying to save Mark from choking in the bathroom. Your eyes meet Yuta’s and he winks at you, making sure no one else has seen your arrival. You lean on the doorframe of Donghyuck’s bathroom, smiling at the two of them. Jeno sees you first, urgently patting Mark’s back to save him.

“What’s wrong? Did he see a naked girl or something?”

Mark’s eyes shoot up at the sound of your voice and he gets even more flustered, coughing and choking even more now.

“Why are you here?” Jeno frowns.

You smile and shrug. “To enjoy the show. I can handle Mark from here, Jeno.”

Jeno laughs. “As if I would leave him with you.”

“But Yeji’s waiting in the living room. Are you really going to keep her waiting?”

You smirk at Jeno’s confliction before he finally gives in, leaving Mark and you in the bathroom. You shut the door while Mark recovers, downing a glass of water to help the food go down. “Why are you really here?” He asks once he’s calmed down. He tries not to linger on what you’re wearing, the swell of your breasts tempting him in this close proximity. His gaze flies to the ceiling when your hand wraps around his shoulder, pulling him in closer and letting his fingers rest on your hip.

“What’s wrong, Mark? Scared of a little action?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses. “We’re going to win tomorrow. You can’t stop me.”

You pout. “Is the win really worth it, Mark? Do you want it more than my pussy around your cock?” He grunts lowly, fingers tightening around your waist. You smile. “Or what about your cock shoved down my throat until I can’t breathe? You could easily bend me over the sink and take me any way you want. Doesn’t that sound so much better?”

“Don’t,” he warns you, cord about to snap. “You’re being such a brat.”

He needs one more push. You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Please, Mark? I want your cum inside me. Need it dripping down my thighs so everyone can see who I belong to.”

He breaks, growling as he pushes you against the sink. You giggle when his lips crash into yours, his hands quickly moving to push up the fabric of your dress. He delivers one slap to your clothed clit and you moan at the sensation.

“Fucking annoying whore,” he scoffs at you. “Look at you. So fucking desperate for money that you would drive all the way here just to take my cock like a good girl. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fuck you until you cry?”

You nod frantically, whimpering. “Please please please. I want it so badly.”

He shoves two fingers in your dripping hole and you cry, back arching against the mirror. Mark’s fingers grip your cheeks and he turns you so that you’re looking right at him. You hold his stare when his thumb rubs frantically at your clit, fingers curling inside of you.

“S-So good, so good,” you blubber, eyes rolling back at the pleasure filling your veins.

You whine when he retracts his fingers but he’s quick to drop to his knees, ripping your underwear and flinging it to the side so he has no obstacles in his way. He immediately dives into your pussy, licking and sucking at your folds. You internally curse. You had no idea Mark was this good at eating pussy or you would’ve prepared yourself more. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips attach to your clit, abusing the nub by sucking harshly.

The pain throws you into your first orgasm, whimpering loudly as you fall apart around Mark’s tongue. He quickly cleans you up, not missing any of your juices as he licks your pussy clean.

His eyes darken when he stands, taking in the sight of you looking so fucked out on top of the bathroom sink. He’s about to unbuckle his belt before you stop him.

“I want to fuck at your place. Please?”

He nods at your request, helping you get down and adjusting your dress. It’s a little harder to walk since Mark ripped your panties, but you make do. You two exit the bathroom and you’re about to leave before you hear Donghyuck’s voice.

“Where the fuck are you two going?”

You glance at Mark, who’s a little irritated by his teammate’s appearance.

“Mind your own fucking business, Donghyuck.”

You smirk at the blonde boy’s shocked expression as you two leave his apartment. Mark walks fast, fumbling with the keys to his car.

“I didn’t know you could drive.”

“Trust me, I can’t.”

The drive to his apartment involves two pit stops, the first one happening because you desperately want to give Mark a blowjob and the second one happening because Mark desperately wants to taste you again.

When you finally get to his apartment, the both of you are already a mess. You don’t even make it to the bedroom — Mark shoving you down on his living room rug and pushing his cock deep inside you. You moan at the intrusion and Mark wastes no time, setting up a fast pace and ramming his cock into your sweet spot over and over again. You’re a drooling mess, letting him abuse your pussy. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls you upwards. He balances you so that your back is against his chest.

“Such a perfect little slut for me. What would the panel of judges at Worlds say when they see you? The future Olympic gold medalist begging for cock?”

“I would let them see,” you whisper back at him. “Let them know what lengths I would go to just to win that fucking competition.”

You fall apart around his cock again, your orgasms coming faster after the first two. You whine when you hear Mark’s constant grunts filling your ears.

“Cum inside, Mark. Want all of your cum.”

“Yeah? Little whore wants it all? Wants to be bred like a good little bitch?”

You cry. “Yes, yes, yes! I want it so badly.”

That’s all it takes for Mark to shoot ribbons of white inside of you, coating your insides. You both collapse on the floor, exhausted.

A few minutes pass in silence before Mark speaks up. “I’m ready to go again after I eat some ramen.”

You laugh. “Make it two servings and I’ll be ready.”

He eagerly gets up and shuffles to his kitchen. You smirk, searching for your phone and shooting a text to the group chat.

I’ve got him. The money’s all ours.

After eating ramen and chatting for a little bit, Mark takes you again on the barstool of his kitchen. Then, he fucks you up against the wall, on his couch and in his bed.

He’s thoroughly fucked out when you two finish and you smile, leaning over to kiss him.

“Good luck with your game tomorrow.”

You leave him laying in his bed, wondering if he just jeopardized the future of his team.

—

There’s one minute left in the game.

The team is down by one point and they’re all looking at Mark as they huddle together. Donghyuck hisses at him.

“Did she fuck you stupid? We’re going to lose everything because of you!”

Mark shakes his head, trying to compose himself. It’s hard to do so when he spots you in the crowd, smiling at him as if you want him to win. You’ve thoroughly fucked with his head, his thoughts constantly traveling to the image of you beneath him, sobbing as he shoves his thick cock into you mercilessly.

“This is your fault, Jeno!” Ten growls. “You should’ve never left Mark alone with her!”

“Everyone, shut up!” Sicheng bellows, annoyed by his teammates. “We’re going to lose if we don’t focus. What’s wrong with you, Mark?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “I think I do.”

Sicheng glares at the younger male to be quiet. “I don’t care what it is anymore. There’s one minute left and I need you to get it together.”

“I will, I will,” Mark insists, even though he’s not so sure about it himself. They break the huddle and get back into the game, Mark trying to focus as the referee blows the whistle. Jung Jaehyun comes charging at him and Mark tries to dodge.

“Come on, Mark!”

As soon as he hears your voice overpower the audience, he loses his balance and Jaehyun slams him up against the wall. Mark groans when he tumbles to the ground and it isn’t long before he hears the final buzzer echo in the rink. The competing team jumps for joy, laughing with one another as they meet in the middle of the ice. Mark stays on the ground, watching pitifully as his teammates slump in defeat.

His eyes look for yours again in the stands, but you’re already long gone.

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

Malex week day two: trope day - This is something I affectionately refer to as the “there’s only one coffee shop to lovers” au

Michael has been going to the same coffee shop since his first day at UNM over two years ago. At his core, he is a creature of habit, so when he found a place that served coffee almost as good as the Crashdown’s on his first try, he didn’t bother looking anywhere else. 

This was his place, filled with his people. There is Thomas, who never cares if he takes over two whole tables to work on a paper and Ashley who always sets aside the biggest cookie-of-the-day for him when she knows he has an exam. The owner, Gus, gives him a job when he stays behind on campus during the summer months instead of going back to Roswell. 

It’s during one of these shifts that it happens. The southwest isn’t known to get much rain but when it does it never comes quietly. Monsoon season brings storms between one breath and the next, torrential rains starting in the blink of an eye highlighted by bright streaks of lightning and the echoing boom of thunder. 

Michael runs the three blocks from his apartment with only his jacket as cover and finds the shop is closed. He quickly pulls the keys from his pocket and lets himself in, calling out for Gus or Ashley as he does. Thomas has already gone home for the summer but the others should be here. It’s quiet inside, so quiet he immediately knows that the power must have gone out at some point. It explains the emptiness.

He makes quick work of grabbing a couple of tea towels from behind the counter to keep himself from dripping all over everything and simultaneously pulls his phone from his pocket. One new message glows brightly back at him.

“Hey kid, you really need to learn to answer your phone. Power’s out so no need to come in. If your stubborn ass does turn up, don’t go back out into this thing y’hear me? Alright, call me if ya need anything. Bye.”

Michael shakes his head at the familiar exasperation he can hear in Gus’ voice. Something about the man has always reminded him of old Sanders. He’s just about to call Isobel and check on things back home when a figure walking down the sidewalk catches his eye out the large picture window. 

He’s tempted to pretend he didn’t see as soon as he recognizes him. 

“What the hell, Manes?” Michael shouts through the now partially opened door. “Get in here!”

Alex Manes. Michael didn’t believe in having an arch-nemesis, but if he did it would be Alex Manes. They grew up together in Roswell and Michael would have sworn the youngest Manes son would have followed in his brother’s footsteps and enlisted after graduation. Instead, Michael had walked into his first day of Music Theory I Freshman year to see a familiar face.

No one really knows when or why the animosity between the two of them formed. It might have been when they were twelve when Alex in all his wannabe rockstar glory told him if he wasn’t serious about making music he had no business playing the guitar. It could have been during their eighth grade camping trip when Michael was caught kissing Alex’s best friend, Maria. It could have been Senior year when Michael tried to ask Alex to prom and was flat out rejected.

Whenever it started, the tension between them had only grown stronger since the start of college. Alex, with his stupid sexy hair hanging in his eyes that are always rimmed with the perfect amount of eyeliner, had found Michael’s haven in the small hole in the wall coffee shop and invaded it with his constant presence. Normally they had an unspoken agreement to stay at least two tables away from one another and pretend the other doesn’t exist, but during the summer when Michael was working he had to put aside his feelings in the name of professionalism.

Technically, he isn’t working now. 

“What the fuck are you doing walking around out there?” Michael locks the door behind them and motions for Alex to stand still while he runs behind the counter for more towels. 

“It’s not that bad, Guerin.” Michael throws the towel at Alex’s face, his eyebrows raising with unguarded judgment. Alex doesn’t take the bait, focused on running the towel over his hair, and taking off his soaked hoodie to reveal the now see through shirt pressed tight against his skin. He glares when he catches Michael staring. 

Face flushed, Michael turns around and busies himself with taking two chairs down from a nearby table, pushing one vaguely in Alex’s direction. 

“I’d offer to make you a drink man but, uh, power s’out.” Michael shrugs, taking out his phone in a clear gesture that says he is done talking. 

Several long moments pass. Michael texts Isobel and then Max when he doesn’t receive a response.

“My dad’s here,” Alex admits softly. Michael’s head snaps up so quickly that a wet curl flies out before slapping him on the face. His fists clench without permission at the mention of Jesse Manes. His gaze is soft as it traces Alex’s face looking for any new injuries. Michael’s known about his father’s violence for years, another reason Alex hates him he’s sure. 

“He showed up for a surprise visit and I,” he pauses, his fingers starting to tap a random beat against the table between them. “I just had to get out of there.” 

Michael can’t blame him. He thinks he’d probably choose walking through a summer storm over being near Alex’s father too. He takes a moment to watch Alex a little closer now. He can see the way his eyes flit toward the windows every few seconds and the tension in his shoulders that slightly pushes them up toward his ears. 

“Feel free to hide out here as long as you want.” He forgot how pretty Alex was when he smiled. 

“Thanks, Guerin.” 

It was going to be a long night. 

[michaelmcchillsmpe]

Day 8 | 12/1/19

Michael hopes on SMP Earth after an hour of Clone Hero. He joins the server and is greeted by James and gun noises. After attempting to see if he could play Minecraft with his clone hero guitar (but failing to know how to turn those controls on), he joins a VC filled with so much chaos already that I don’t even know who all was in there. All I know is that there was Dinkster, Poke, Burren, and Jameskii in there. He leaves after a minute though anyway and joins a private call with James.

He immediately wants to buy a gun after killing a couple of zombies.

Michael finds out James is building a train station in a horizontal chunk error into the side of their mountain.

They talk about how good villagers are and how airstrikes work.

Michael gets scared by a creeper exploding thinking that it was a gun and proceeds to yell “MOTHERFUCKER” over and over. He also yells at Chip about it.

Michael brings up the idea to put a bunker in their mountain courtesy of his girlfriend’s suggestion.

Michael gets James to make him an efficiency 5 pickaxe since James apparently has 64 XP levels.

Apparently the IP got leaked by someone but no one got in since the server has protection against that.

Michael pokes fun at Junkyjanker with that since he had leaked the IP for SMP Live when he joined.

They talk about taxes.

The server closes for a bit.

Poke raids Michael and then joins their VC.

They talk about a lot of random stuff. James and Poke always create interesting conversations.

Michael tries to get Chip to give him a gun by pulling him into a VC.

Sylvee joins VC to try to talk to Chip.

Chip leaves the VC but Michael tries to get him to come back because James and Poke are trying to get their friend on the server because Wilbur already approved.

James breaks 16 chests filled to the brim with blocks so all the blocks are just on the ground and lagging the entire server. 

James and Michael try to bury each other in their horizontal chunk error.

Luna (a member of Fruit Club and the friend James and Poke were trying to get on the server) joins the VC before getting on the server.

James obtains a picture of Stan Lee and gives it to Michael.

Poke keeps talking about buying furniture throughout this all.

Luna joins packle.

Michael cockblocks Luna from getting materials for a little bit.

Michael still wants a gun but has not purchased one yet.

He works on the houses he’s supposed to be building for the people who donated to him.

They won’t stop breaking Michael’s chests.

Sylvee shares her plans to make MadaNascar

Michael tries to get someone to buy him a gun AGAIN.

Michael finds out that the block glitch for climbing people’s houses in their claimed lands no longer works.

He finds Christmas island that has a Christmas tree built by Sylvee.

Chip and Inktea join the VC and almost hear some really disgusting stuff.

Someone tried to hack the server but couldn’t since it was protected and now they technically have his information because the kid didn’t use a VPN.

Poke has been trying to find a ping pong table to buy for like ten minutes.

Michael flies to Luna, James, and Sylvee.

Poke leaves.

Kara joins the VC

Michael and Luna discover how to deforest extremely quickly.

They pull Jordan into the call to bully him and demand things.

Everyone flies to Jordan’s base.

They make Jordan give them a chorus fruit to grow and Kara gives them endstone.

They all stay around Jordan’s base as they wait for the chorus fruit to grow.

Inktea watches them from afar

The ever ominous Inktea

Kara shoots Ink with her gun, he disappears for a second, and reappears on top in full diamond armor again.

Chip arrives to watch too.

They attempt to leave Jordan

Kara kills Chip.

Chip retaliates and airstrikes them.

Jordan gets upset by Kara ringing his bell at his base.

Sylvee attacks Michael in his plane as they fly around.

Michael and Sylvee join Chip’s VC to ask him why he’s following them and Michael demands a gun. Jameskii is also in the VC with Ink. James joins as well.

Sylvee won’t stop asking if Jameskii is naked.

Chip and Jameskii leave the VC.

They arrive back in California.

Jordan joins the VC.

BeanIsland becomes allies with Packle.

KingdomOfJordan becomes allies with Packle.

Jameskii and Chip come back into the VC. 

Sylvee murders Chip.

Chip finally gives Michael a gun after he won’t stop asking.

James one-shots Chip with a bow.

Chip makes a faction and makes it an enemy to Packle because he can.

There’s apparently a password people on the server are trying to figure out. Sneeg uses all the attempts before you can’t guess again for 24 hours. Jordan is just confused about what the password is for.

James cut out a section of earth and just fills it with water while Sylvee builds an extremely mini version of Earth in it.

Jameskii won’t stop asking about if there’s a Walmart.

Michael fills in James and Sylvee’s mini world hole.

Sylvee and Chip get blown up by a creeper.

Cuck somehow was renamed to Braphog so Michael makes a nametag to rename him back to cuck.

Michael logs off for the night because he got a headache and wasn’t feeling like playing Earth anymore that night.

Quotes:

Michael: “How gun.”

Jameskii: “There’s just one slice of bacon on the floor on a plate and it’s surrounded by really disturbing Mickey Mouse models with talking nipples.”

Michael: “Chat, give me a fursona. Draw me a fursona, chat. Make me super sexy.”

Michael: *reading subscription message* “‘don’t disrespect the blood god’ fuck that. I’ll fuckin’ spit in blood god’s mouth.” James: “I’ll go whoop blood god’s fucking ass right now.” Michael: *laughing* “I’ll pull out my AK47.”

Michael: “I’m gonna dox him.”

James: *doing that weird voice he does* “Kill me.” Sylvee: “I don’t like that.”

James: “Michael is simpin’ right now.”

James: “Catch me in the woods, taming that wood.” Poke: “What does that- yeah, I agree.”

James: “My man boobs are throbbing in excitement.”

Michael: “DON’T SHOOT CUCK.”

Poke: “I’m currently being gay, can you leave me alone for two seconds, Michael.”

Michael: “Why are you strippin’ my shit, you fucking hoe.”

Poke: “I’m gonna use Michael as a ping pong table.” Michael: “I’m gonna use you as a fucking cum rag.”

Poke: “When the cum sock starts walking.”

Sylvee: (to Jordan) “You sound sad.” Jordan: “Oh, I am.”

Sylvee: “Hey guys, Miss Captain Jordan Ladybug Sparklez here, back at it again with a Minecraft lets play.”

Kara: “Go sleep.” Michael: “I can’t, Kara! I’m showing James my ass.”

Half of the quotes are James. He just says too much weird shit to NOT quote him.

[perlocutionary]

Morning Glory pt. 6 - The Maze Runner - Thomas au

Description: Based off the original story of The Maze Runner, where Y/N has been around a long time and she and Thomas might be the key out of here. I have my own take on this, I have used particular things from the movie/books but a lot I did change for this story! Relationship: Thomas x Reader - THE MAZE RUNNER

Title: Quite the ultimatum Word count: 2344

A/N: Mentions of a naked Thomas, willing to have a sex-filled lazy morning. It ain’t happening though.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7

Ruckus wakes me in the early morning, my eyes snapping open as I abruptly sit up. Thomas groans beside me, leaning on his elbows as he peeks an eye open. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know. I thought someone was in here.” I groan, dropping back onto the bed and into Thomas’ arms.

“But we should get up. Chuck has the tendency to come and wake me if I don’t show up at breakfast. Don’t want to ruin his childhood.” I grabble near my bed for my knickers and bra, swiftly shimmying them on underneath the covers before raising to my feet. “Don’t you think it’s already ruined by being here?” Thomas questions, his lower waist covered by my blanket, his chest exposed as his head rests on his hands.

“Aren’t you the funniest. Get dressed.” I roll my eyes at him and throw his boxers at his face. “Aren’t you a joy to wake up to. Come here.” Thomas holds out his hand and as soon as I slip mine in his, I’m yanked onto my bed. I’m lying on top of him, fully clothed, with Thomas still butt naked underneath the sheets.

“As much as I’d like to repeat all of this, we do have work to do.” I smile down at him, kissing his lips, trailing along his jaw to his neck. His hands roughly squeeze my ass and push me against his hard on, making me moan loudly against his neck. He groans, rolling his hips against mine to receive some friction.

“Thomas – I – we can’t love.” I pant against his neck, his fingers still digging into the fabric covering my ass. Thomas lets go, merely resting his arms around my waist as I lean up on my elbows. “Later?”

“Later.” I grin, standing up again and handing him his shirt and trousers. I can’t help but glance at his erection as he stands to his feet, sliding the boxers along his thighs. A smirk forms on his lips as he sees me staring, taking his clothes from my outstretched and sliding them on.

“Let’s go before I can’t control myself. Go get some breakfast from Frypan, tell him it’s my fault we weren’t there. I’ll see you in the shed.” I smile, leaning my whole body against his as I quickly peck him on the lips. “And stop grinning like that, Newt’ll be onto you in no time.” I warn him with a last glare before disappearing out my door.

I stroll over to my shed, starting my day like I do every day – switching on the lights and walk over to my desk without a second glance around. It’s when I look up from my stack of papers, I see there is something amiss. Half of my jars are on the floor, clearly someone has been rummaging through them in search for something.

In a quick glance I don’t see anything missing, but no one is allowed here – and everyone knows that. I stalk outside in search for Alby. When I spot Newt first, I yell at him, stopping him in his tracks. “I have to talk to Alby. Where is he at?” I almost growl, crossing my arms over my chest as I glare at every Glader working in the fields behind Newt. Anyone was a suspect. “What do you mean? He’s in the maze.” Newt frowns, stopping his work to lean on his shovel. My arms fall beside me as astonishment takes over. “In the maze?” “Yeah, with Minho? Ben found a dead Griever last night and they went there to check it out.” Newt chuckles as he picks up his shovel again, resuming his work without a second glance to me. “What? Alby isn’t a runner! Is he fucking stupid?” I can’t go into the maze because of the hazard it would cause for my wellbeing, but he can?

“I’m sure Alby knows what he’s doing Y/n. Why did you need him anyway?” Newt smiles again, stepping around me to pick up the seeds for the freshly dug holes. “Because someone broke in the shed.” I shrug my shoulders, sighing loudly as I rub my hands over my face. Is every day going to be like this? Filled with random shit thrown at me I wish wouldn’t happen in the first place? “You sure Thomas didn’t just break some things?” Yeah fairly sure Newt. Thomas was with me all night. “Wasn’t him.”

“We’ll deal with it when Alby comes back, yeah love?” Newt throws his arm around my shoulder, kissing my temple before dropping his touch all together. “Be glad I love you, Newt. Really.” With the kissy face he throws my way, our conversation ends.

The rest of my day was rather uneventful. Although I couldn’t shake the fact Alby and Minho should’ve been back by now. I didn’t say anything to Thomas, ate our breakfast in silence and I sent him off with some inventory work. I couldn’t get worked up over him while worrying over Alby.

A yell catches my attention immediately. I drop whatever papers I’m holding and dart outside, leaving Thomas behind and following the noise. A crowd has gathered around Minho and Alby, my body pushing through until I come to an abrupt halt as I watch the scene unfold in front of me.

“Y/n, I – We – I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t save him.” Minho mutters, dropped on the ground, panting heavily. I snap out of my daze, darting towards him and helping him sit up. “Get water.” I say to no one in particular. When no one responds, I snap my head around and bark my order again. Immediately someone disappears and I focus my attention back to Minho.

“What happened?” “We got fucking ambushed, Y/n. It wasn’t dead. It knew we were coming.” Minho speaks in a daze, eyes trained on me, but as if he didn’t notice me sitting in front of me. A gasp falls from my lips and I drop my hands from his to crawl over to Newt tending to Alby.

“Alby – Alby can you hear me?” I mutter, patting his cheek before glancing up at a panicked Newt. My eyes widen in thought and I’m quick to slide Alby’s shirt up, revealing the veiny, purple blotched hole in his abdomen. “Fuck.”

“Take him to the Medjacks, now.” Newt roars and Jeff and Clint appear, ready to lift Alby up and away. “Tie him up.” I sigh, eyes meeting Clint’s concerned ones. Silence overtakes the Glade as I maul over everything that could happen with Alby out of the picture now. We can’t help him, we never could save someone who got stung. Keeping him here would only be a liability for us.

“What do we do, Y/n?” Frypan turns to me and my eyes widen, my body backing away without a thought. Every set of eyes is trained on me, waiting for instructions. “I –“ I stumble over my words, looking to Newt for help. He looks as lost as I feel.

“A Gathering. Now. I’ll collect every one of you once that’s over and then we’ll discuss.” I breathe, a chorus of chatter coming from the formed crowd, most of them disagreeing with my decision. I don’t say anything else, instead I head for Homestead, expecting the Keepers to follow me.

“First, we deal with this, in a few days we’ll elect a new leader.” “You.” Newt speaks before anyone can say anything. A split second later, everyone present is agreeing, nodding their head and I feel panic overtake me. “I don’t think I can, guys.”

“I trust you with my life. Anyone here does. You’re the most logical choice. The way it should’ve been in the first place.” Minho simply states, shaking his head as he sits down on a nearby box. His demeanour showed it wasn’t up for discussion.

“What are we going to do with Alby?” Gally asks, dropping beside Minho, completely defeated, just as the rest looks. I’m sure I resemble the same emotion. “He –“ the words lay harsh on my tongue, “he can’t stay here. It’s dangerous. For him, but especially for us.”

The silence that overcomes the Homestead is deafening; but not for long. Protest break out among the Gladers and I wish I had another option – I did have a theory, but Alby never let me test it. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Minho raises an eyebrow in question, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits. I let my gaze scan the room as thoroughly as I can, stalling answering. I knew there would be protests as soon as I let the words flow past my lips.

“Y/n…?” Newt questions and I sigh, rubbing my hand along my face before my pointer finger and thumb pinch my nose. “I could try and make some sort of antidote. If there is one, to begin with.”

As predicted, commentary flies around the Homestead like a flock of buzzing flies. I sit down, waiting for the turmoil to calm down. Newt tries to calm everyone down, to no avail. After a few minutes, I’ve lost all patience I possess and with one slam of my hand against the table, the room falls eerily silent.

“I am telling you the way it is. I have nothing concrete, because Alby wouldn’t let me try anything. But it’s the only choice we have – unless you want to banish him tonight.” I shrug my shoulders. The lump has formed in my throat nonetheless, but if they expect me to take over from Alby, I’ll have to make harsh decisions.

“Why tonight?” Frypan questions loudly, and I’m sure the Gladers that are listening in on us just outside the door have heard him loud and clear. “Because I am not risking him staying another night and day here, if we are not going to try anything to help him. He might attack someone, and we’ll have two bodies on our hands. He is infected, either we try something or he goes out to the Grievers. Tonight.”

“Quite the ultimatum, Y/n.” Minho speaks when no one dares to voice their opinions. I knew they didn’t want me experimenting on Alby, and I wasn’t too keen on it either. But my experimenting might mean we could keep him alive and with us for another day. Besides, I am talking about medicinal herbs here – I have nothing else to work with.

“What do you want me to do huh? Keep him as some sort of pet, that one day, if we make it out of this place, we can drag him off by the banishing pole and ask the Creators to help? Does that plan satisfy you more Minho?” With a cock of an eyebrow, I wait for him to voice his own opinion, but of course, he doesn’t. He knows the deal, he knows what are possibilities and restrictions are. If anything, Minho is one of the wisest among this crowd.

“Let’s vote. Because we can keep discussing this, and I’m sure there are no valid arguments left to be spoken. Yes, it might be dangerous. Yes, it might hurt Alby even more than what this Changing is already doing to him. But I also know, that when the point of no returns comes, I’ll throw in the towel. But at least, let us try.” I sigh, overlooking at my friends, some of them closer than others, and hoping they’d see what I see.

“What would you do with him in the meantime? We can’t just let him loose and expect him to not attack anyone.” Gally grumbles, a small smile forming on my lips because I would never expect him to be on my side with this. Gally was a guy of traditions, and it didn’t mean that our leader got hurt we had to switch those traditions up.

“Either way we strap him in with the Medjacks or we lock him in the slammer. Maybe that’s for the better, that way Jeff and Clint aren’t in danger.” I come up with a short-term solution on the spot, hoping I had satisfied whatever Gally desired.

Eventually, it came down to a tie, with only Newt left to answer. I didn’t look at him, I didn’t want him biased by the fact we had become best friends in such a short amount of time. He had to choose for his friend, his leader. Not for me.

“I guess we can let her try at least. But Y/N, seriously,” He turns to me, his eyes pleading for me to listen, “if it doesn’t improve the slightest bit, you stop, yeah?”

“I promise, Newt.” I nod my head, clapping my hands together as I address everyone in the room again. “Then it’s settled. We’ll start first thing tomorrow morning. I need the Growers to make sure every plant is in supreme condition. It might be that I need some of your workers to help out, I hope you’ll all agree with that and make sure we have sufficient funds to try and help Alby.” I nod my head again, motioning to the only door that leads out of the conference room, dropping back down onto my seat with a heavy sigh.

“That’s quite the task you take upon yourself. Are you sure this is a good idea?” Newt sighs as he drops beside me, his arm slung around my shoulder before he hauls me into his chest. “I don’t know Newt. But if we don’t, don’t you think we’ll feel bad about this until we die an unfortunate death ourselves? Rebecca and Isabella were enough. I won’t let anyone die anymore.”

“I’m glad we still have you. There’s no one else I pictured leading our Glade again.” Newt smiles before he presses his lips against my temple, keeping them there – I’m sure in hopes of comforting me. “I guess it won’t be that bad with you as my second-in-command, right?” I smile up at him, patting his knee comfortingly before standing to my feet.

Taglist: @ssweet-empowerment​ @rebeccaannex3 If you want to be tagged

[after-skies-ananthology]

I'm an undercover journalist investigating the President’s space force

BLACK SKY WARS

the third part

approx. 5 yrs ASE

It can be pretty difficult to decide on the kind of story you want to do sometimes. I hadn’t expected the popularity of Slice to grow the way it did. But, well, it did. I was just doing what I had always done since I was a little girl. Getting myself into trouble, getting myself out of it, and in the process acquiring that which I desired. Information. Ever since I could speak, people have been wanting to keep things hidden from me. I suppose it means I’m still childish if I admit that I can’t handle being told no, but it’s true. Dangle something in front of me so tantalizingly mysterious like that, and you’ll soon find me obsessed with it. That’s why I started Slice, it was originally just a little blog I wrote on using my old see-through Mac as a teen. I used it as part diary, part National Enquirer for my neighborhood. Basically, a lot of people in my home town who were aware of it became addicted to it. Others, well... they fucking hated it. Understandably I guess. But, I mean, it’s their fault for making themselves so... interesting for lack of a better word? I guess I’ll leave it at that. I’ll spare you the boring details of how it led me to the kind of life I wallow in now. One of a contradictory ‘shut-in by day, extrovert Renaissance woman by night’. Does that sound pretentious? It should, because it is. Those aren’t my words, but that of my co-editor and business partner, Philip. Publicly, I have him run the company side of things. Legally, he’s both the chief editor and founder, in order to conceal my preference for anonymity. I have two things that make me a better journalist than what you see out there in the pool of filth they call media these days. 1) My legs (and a good set of heels I suppose), and 2) the fact that those I deceive into narcing on themselves have never seen my face before.

Last week, Philip had texted me out of no where in the middle of the night. He wasn’t interrupting my sleep or anything. I had been up since four in the afternoon and still had that exhausted disheveled look on my face, staring at my computer screen meticulously researching random unimportant shit and generally wasting my own time. Me and him had been debating back and forth for a while now on what angle we should approach the upcoming IACS seminar from. You know, the same one where Monterrey decided to turn the whole thing into “Let’s See If I Can Start WW3: The Movie”? I opened my phone, and read his message as the light from the array of screens assaulted my retinas and danced over my face in the depths of darkness that was my apartment bedroom.

“So, try not to react badly to this but...” His text message warned. “Maybe we should explore something tangentially related to the seminar, rather than the seminar itself?”

I let out a small cackle and shook my head in disbelief. I had been trying for a month, to no avail, to get a job as a hostess where the seminar was being held. Under a pseudonym of course. For the last few weeks I’ve been consistently told by the employer that all positions are currently filled. This flies in the face of what numerous former employees of the hotel told me when I contacted them. They informed me that about two thirds of the wait staff were abruptly let go without warning a day after it was announced to them that the seminar would be held at their establishment. That’s why I even tried applying in the first place. Hearing this lie told to me, I decided to check in at that very hotel for a night to see if it were true. And to my disbelief, it was. The hotel was being run smoothly, almost, surgically. The new staff seemed nice. In a dystopian kind of way. It kind of felt like they were smiling at me only when I was actually looking at them. I had this strange sense they were scowling at me when my eyes were averted.

Let me help you understand why this doesn’t make sense to me. They fired all the waiters except those with the most time with the business. They fired all the cooks. They fired all the valets except for two. They fired the general manager of the hotel itself. I was told about the mass layoff the day it happened by a source. I applied a day after that. Within a day, they had already filled all of those positions to their satisfaction. No wanted ads, seemingly no interviews, no listings on job search sites, etc. Nothing. It was as if these new employees just showed up to work out of nowhere and started waiting tables or cooking steak. I had spent the last few nights putting together a new fake identity so I could try getting another room on the last night of the seminar next week. I had paid a lot of money to people on the dark web for this fake driver’s license and Canadian passport. And now, Philip was asking me to give up and write about a ‘safe’, ‘tangential’ topic vaguely related to space militarization.

I texted him back, “Sometimes I can’t fucking believe you.“

He did that thing when you’re texting someone and they’re typing this big ass message but you don’t realize it and as soon as you’ve hit send they hit send and... God it’s really annoying. Philip’s still a Boomer you have to realize. He doesn’t “get” technology yet. Or maybe he willfully refuses to understand it like most old people. Hmm. Either way, his giant wall of text he sent me tried assuaging my anger.

“I’m not trying to stop you from pursuing the story you want. I would never do that Clem. I mean, not anymore. Look, trust me I learned my lesson with that whole fight we had over you narrating the weekly recaps. BUT, I think I have something better than the seminar itself. I might just have the reason behind that whole hotel staff business. Will you hear me out?“

I texted him back as I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Fine. What?” And then I sent him one more. “And it seriously better be good or I’m blocking your number for a week again.”

His reply read, “I have this guy in Needles, California. Ever heard of it?”

I told him, “No but it sounds like one of those crappy little towns between Barstow and Vegas that no one ever visits.”

Philip confirmed in response, “Well, it is one of those crappy little outskirt towns. But that’s not the point! There was this whole supposed UFO crash and some sort of military helicopters came and took it away and blah blah blah.”

“Philip I AM NOT doing a UFO story.” I told him.

“I know I know“ his message read. “That’s not the point! There’s this conspiracy theorist guy from Nevada, you know one of those Coast To Coast types? Anyways, he’s been telling me that he has some sort of bombshell information that connects the Needles crash with your seminar shadiness.”

I groaned, resigning myself to at least let him tell me. “I’m listening. What is it?” I asked.

A picture appeared on my phone. It was an airliner sitting on a tarmac at dawn painted lily white with a single red stripe along the fuselage, with no company branding or logos. “What’s with this airliner?” I asked him in my text.

“Did you know that a Janet Airlines flight arrived at a private airport near Santa Rosa the night before everyone was fired, and offloaded the exact number of people needed to replace everyone?” Philip informed me.

I was silent for a small moment. I looked at the posters on my wall drenched in neon-purple light, taking inventory of what was just said to me. I texted him back one more time, “Philip, you know I love you right?”

Flash forward to the next day, I had tried sleeping off some of my insomnia from 6 to 10 AM. I tried getting up at 10:15. Not having it. Then I tried 10:45. Again, absolutely not. So I did what I always do when I’m in a bind to meet with a source and my Circadian rhythm isn’t cooperating with me. Don’t judge. I mean, please don’t judge. I mean... Hmm, well. I did a line. I’m not proud of... well, no. Fuck you, I am proud of it. I mean I’m not, I mean... not, fuck you? Look, either way when a story like this is in front of me and my insomnia is in the way, I...

I don’t have to justify this with you. And I’m not going to.

After the white lady had gotten me out of my funk I finally took a shower, got dressed, and hopped in my car and headed down the road to the Silver State. Philip gave me the guy’s address and phone number as I left the Southland. “Frank Monterrey?“ I said to myself out loud as I read the text. I pulled over and texted Philip back, “Is that... really his name?“

“I guess so. No relation obviously. Just one of those things in life.“ He said in reply.

I continued on my journey northeast along the I-15, passing highway patrolmen, smart cars, and meth-lab RVs along the way. Noticing the run down watering holes filled with cheap signage set in contrast to flashy over priced watering holes with pretentious signage, all posed against the backdrop of the California desert and its Joshua trees. Every now and then, I would take a peak at the day time moon piercing through the blue firmament gazing back at me. I wonder, how hard would it be to get approved for a visit to Armstrong? I doubt I have the money though. I kept glancing at it, wondering to myself, are you looking at it too Will?

The coke’s getting to me at this point I think. I focus my attention to other things, turning the radio up. Let’s see. Talk radio? “You simply don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! Explain to me exactly how it ain’t socialism you dick! If it’s government, it’s socialist! That’s why the founding fathers gave us social security, to teach us responsibility.”

No.

Umm, pop? I pressed down on the seek button. The tired “Millennial whoop” burst through the speakers of my car. People who are 35 pretending to be 15, dressed in neon clothes reciting their modern chant to their contemporary God. Nothing. Safe, marketable, unoffensive, nothing.

Where is this guy’s house? I double checked my GPS. It wasn’t working suddenly. I hadn’t paid attention to it for a bit. It was flickering back and forth between my car’s position and where my destination was. Doesn’t make any difference, I’m near the exit anyway. The satellite radio I was listening to began screwing up as well. I couldn’t understand what the lyrics of the song were trying to say anymore. They were verbalizing something, but it was all mushy. I turned it off, as it strangely made me feel drowsy. Don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel. I glanced back at the daytime moon again.

What is that? I thought to myself. There was this black speck gliding along the rim of Luna’s spherical shape. It’s not a bug. It... can’t be an airplane. This is Nevada I suppose, I’m liable to see a UFO at some point. I returned the view of my eyes back to the road, and finally took my exit. His “house” was a beat up RV, not unlike the meth labs on wheels I mentioned earlier. He had encamped himself on a slice of desert in an undeveloped part of North Las Vegas, not far from the gate to Nellis Air Force Base. I parked behind it and began texting Philip to let him know I was here, just in case this guy decides to chop my head off. If that happens, at least Philip will know where to find the skin suit he’s going to make out of me. As I hit send, I heard a bang on my wind shield. And then a dozen more in quick succession. There he was, fat, receding hairline, broken sunglasses, dirty polo shirt, and openly carrying a 9mm. “Hey! Hey! Hey! You’re here! You’re the girl? You’re the girl! From the news people thing? Come on, hurry up we got to go! Come on! Come on! Come on!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. I slowly got out, somewhat regretting not bringing my own sidearm with me. I guess that’s why you shouldn’t take a hit of cocaine to wake you up in the morning. I felt a sharp edge slightly press into my chest as I stood up out of my car seat. Good. I thought, at least I have my knife with me. Hidden in the one place he (hopefully) won’t try to grope. I stuck my hand out to shake his as the car door shut. “Nice to-”

He man handled it like a maniac before I could finish. “Yep! Great great great! We really gotta go doll face! They’re gonna be there any minute!” He spouted off.

“Who?” I asked.

“Air Force Special Activities Center! Illuminati enforcement bureau. Really high level dinosauroids. Far higher level lizard people than even the Governor.” He shouted as he got into his RV’s driver seat and started the engine. Or attempted to. Several times.

I was silent. Dumb struck. “You’re Frank Monterrey, right?” I asked him.

“Shhhhhhh! Don’t say it out fucking loud! Have you even run an evasion and recovery op like this before? Quite clearly not!” He shouted. The engine finally turned over and breathed life into the vehicle.

“I have... no idea what you’re talking about.” I said as I reluctantly climbed into the passenger side. I texted Philip real quick to tell him that I hated him now. As the man shifted into drive, I looked behind me into the interior of the RV. You know that meme from Always Sunny with Charlie explaining all the crazy shit on his wall and how its all connected? Yeah, I should convince this guy to let me take a picture of him doing the exact same thing in front of all that stuff back there because it would be a one for one. As implied, the RV’s walls and windows were littered with a collage containing pictures of some spade-shaped aircraft, portraits of some women in Space Corps and Navy uniforms, a group photo of a few astronauts in their space suits in front of an American flag, grainy photos of a bizarrely shaped... satellite? Hmm. Finally there was an old Polaroid of a woman with an 80s-style hairdo in a wedding dress holding hands with someone in a gorilla costume. The entire quote unquote ‘modern-art masterpiece’ was interspersed with the occasional classified military document and incoherently linked together with red string and thumbtacks.

“We’re coming, we’re coming, we’re coming now you pricks.” He said as the RV turned onto the road heading north. He continued to say something under his breath, “Bitch, Su, you bitch, hag, you hag you’ll finally see what choosing Squatch over me really means.“

My jaw hung out for a few seconds as I just took stock of what I drove over four hours to get out here for.

I just met a mentally-ill stranger who uses the President’s name as a pseudonym, stepped into his run down RV willingly so that he can take me God knows where so that we can recover something from the government in order to steal his crush back from the Sasquatch...

I checked my phone again to see if Philip had replied yet. I was going to tell him when I see him again I’ll be giving him a castration. But he hadn’t responded to my last text, or to the one before that for that matter. I turned to ‘Frank’ and asked, “Listen, does this have anything to do with that airliner you told my business partner about?”

He cut me off before I could finish. “Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah.” He motored off. “We’re gonna get it, yes yes. We’re gonna get IT. Oh man, haha! You won’t believe how we’re gonna get it.“

“Uhhh, ok. How are we going to get ‘it’?” I asked politely.

He then proceeded to pull his pistol out of its holster and wave it around in my face with the safety off. “Good old American freedom! Hail Odin for the Third Amendment.”

I corrected him, “Second.“

He began to talk over me. “Tenth. Anyways, you women never know when you’re wrong especially when it’s that time of the month so to speak. Just like Su. Ahhh, yes. My lovely old Su.“ He looked over at me in that creepy old man I’m about to sexually harass you kinda way. My hand drew closer to where my knife was hidden. “You remind me of her. Oh yes. Oh yes.“ I now regretted the choice of clothing I made for that summer day. My legs pulled away and slammed into the door as he tried to place a hand on my thigh. I reached under my shirt and pulled the knife out reflexively. Before he could bring his hand back to where his holster sat on his hip, I instantly lunged over and pressed the blade just above it directly into where his kidney would be without breaking the skin.

“Keep your hands on the fucking wheel bitch!” I screamed at him, my eyes tearing up in rage, my head and chest pounding from the adrenaline. The RV slowed down on the empty road we had traversed to.

It was quiet. The RV stopped. He began to laugh. “Ahhh Su. Our famous lover’s quarrels. We’re not officially married until we have a few of those I suppose.”

I looked at him in confusion and disgust. “What is your problem old man? I’m not your wife, or who ever you’re talking about. I’m from the news group? Remember?”

A tear ran down his cheek. He suddenly lunged towards me and started to shout at the top of his lungs, “Su, please God just love me and not that ape!” He tried kissing me as his free hand pulled my torso into him. I stabbed into his side with the knife. And then again, and again. And then one more time until he stopped moving. He was lifeless on top of me now. I pushed him off, some of his blood gushing onto my shirt and shorts. It was so thick that when I stood up out of the RV, it escaped the fabric of my clothes and ran down my leg. Not a good look. I collected myself, thinking about where I was. On a back road in Nevada, a few miles away from my car. I could walk back to it, I thought to myself. I folded my arms as I leaned onto the door jam, staring at his body, trying to get myself to stop shaking. I didn’t cry. But I should have.

“How did you even come across that airliner?” I said out loud, and lingered on the thought. I recalled the collage of conspiracist fuel he called wallpaper inside. “Yeah. How did you come across it?” I said again, out loud. I pulled my phone out and texted Philip before I climbed in the back of the vehicle, “I need help. Now. Philip I really need your help now, please. Call me.” The message said. I started rummaging around all his stuff inside. There was a strange version of the American flag draped on a small plastic table. It was white with blue stars and vertical stripes. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on it at the time. I looked underneath, finding a print out of a map. It showed a route from North LV to Needles to Santa Rosa, California and back. Did he actually go there? Did he take the picture himself? How did he know it would be there? I put it down and turned my attention to all the stuff on his wall. Who were these military women? Who were these astronauts? I unpinned the photo of the spade-shaped airplane from the wall and studied it, after a while glancing up to the grainy picture of the strange object and letting it catch my attention. I pulled it down next. It was shaped like... how can I describe this? It’s like I’m looking at a 3D image without 3D glasses. I pulled down some of the documents, beginning to think that this may have actually been worth it - kind of. If the red string was anything to go by, the document I was looking over right now had something to do with the uniformed young woman with glasses.

It was a transfer order of some sort from a few years ago. I’m not sure what the military would call it. It basically said this woman was to be released from the Air Force so that she may become a member of Monterrey’s new Space Corps. It said that she was to be promoted from 1st Lieutenant to Captain in doing so. It said her parent organization at the time was an intelligence squadron. Next to that it listed her weight and height. Next to that, her social security number. Next to that her last then first name.

Hayek, Poinsettia.

As I pondered over her significance, I heard the fake Frank’s phone go off. I walked over to the driver’s seat from behind his slumped over corpse, and struggled it out of his pocket. It was a text from someone named Will, which forced the image of the Will I know to the front of my mind, making me zone out. Another notification sound snapped me out of it. “Where are you? They’re almost here! This is the last chance for the We The People revolution if we miss this window! I State This Emphatically As Will Williamson, Individual, Sovereign, Citizen Of The Republic of Nevada, Independent AND Sovereign. Electronically NOTARIZED (Documented Permanently) In The Year Of Our Lord In Accordance With Common Law AND NOT ADMIRALITY LAW.”

After reading that bit of nonsense I went and scrolled up into the conversation they had over messaging and found the map coordinates of the destination fake Frank was supposed to meet him at before I stabbed him... to death. I decided that, well, since I killed him it might as well be worth it to at least see what he was taking me to. I collected everything off the wall and the table save for the flag and piled it together. I laid them on the passenger seat, got out and went around to the driver’s side. I pulled his fat, smelly, stiff body out of its place with all my strength, nearly pulling my back out in the process. After he fell onto the asphalt of the road, I leaned over and removed his pistol from his holster. I checked the magazine. It was full. Placed it back in, putting the safety on. I got into the driver’s seat he once occupied, and sped off to the location provided by his fellow freak.

It took me another thirty minutes to get there. Civilization was far from here now. I was almost certain this had to border some sort of military range or government land of some type. As I arrived I noticed a beat-up sedan with a faded paint job to the side of the road behind one of the safety barricades. I pulled up behind it and put it into park. I stared at it for a minute, seeing if anyone was there. After a while of inactivity, I got out to take a closer look. There was no one inside. There were more documents and folders in the back seat however. Then I heard a voice call out to me.

“Hey! Hey!” He shouted. He was dressed like a hobo, standing by himself far away from the road in the middle of the desert facing away from me. I squinted my eyes and realized he was urinating. He finished, turned around and began walking towards me, neglecting to put his... thing away.

“Umm, hello?” I replied.

He shouted back. “Who is you?” I could make out his crusty, sun burnt face now.

“I’m a friend of Frank. I think.” I said back.

“Who’s Frank?” He asked.

“You don’t know who-“ I looked down and realized it was still hanging out. “Oh my God. Hey look, your... member is still out.”

He looked down and made an embarrassed face. “Ooopsies. I’m sorry.” He said in a strangely childish way as he fixed himself. I got the feeling he was a bit slow or low-functioning. As he finally made his way over to me and came around the front of the car, he saw that I had a gun in my hands and began to panic. “What!? Who is you! Why you have that!” Then he saw the dried blood on my leg and stains on my clothes. He began to scream. “Oh my Jesus! You... you killeds Will! That’s why he ain’t been back! Get aways!”

I put the gun down on the roof of the car and tried calming him. “Listen! Shh! Shhh! It’s okay, listen. I didn’t kill Will okay? Someone tried to hurt me, and I... stopped them from doing that, alright? But it wasn’t Will. Okay?”

He relaxed slightly, trying not to look at me, keeping his eyes on the gun as he muttered “Okay...”

“Listen, can you tell me who Will is or what you’re doing out here all alone?” I asked him in a concerned tone.

He kicked some rocks at his feet and put his hands in his pockets. “Well... Will said we was going to stops the dinosaur guys, take the rocket ship back and start the We People rebelution.”

I put my arm on his shoulder and questioned, “Okay, and where did Will go?”

“He says he was gonna get the other American heroes and that he’d be back.” The poor man informed me.

“How long ago was that?” I asked him.

“Since the... um, the sun come up before the the last time it was down and up. I think.“ He said, possibly alluding to yesterday morning.

“You’ve been out here for two days?” I said, shocked.

He shrugged his shoulders, and said “I guess” as though he were a confused child separated from his mother.

Before I could ask him what his name was, the sound of thundering engines broke through from over the horizon. Down the road we could see a convoy. Three black SUVs. A white pickup. And a semi-truck bearing an oversized load sign on it. On its trailer sat a large object, which I first thought was saucer-like in shape. However the closer it got to us I realized that was only from the front, as it was much more spade-like from the side. “Wait, is that the thing he was talking about?” I said out loud.

The poor confused man in front of me got jumpy again all of the sudden. He pulled out a torn piece of line paper and read from it. “This is, this is what Will says would be happen! I got to do the revolt thing, for Will!” Before I could say anything, he grabbed the gun from off the roof of the car and ran out into the road, almost tripping over the barricade and falling on his face. He stopped on top of the median, and raised the pistol to the sky and tried firing off a few rounds before he realized the safety was still on. As he tried to figure out how the thing works, the semi-truck pulled up in front of him and stopped. Two of the black SUVs flanked around the truck aggressively and stopped in front of it. Suddenly, hatches opened on each of their roofs, both revealing a Gatling gun turret manned by what I assumed to be soldiers in black masks and tan helmets. A man got out of the passenger side of the SUV in front of me. He didn’t have a mask on, but he was equipped with the heavy-duty version of the military’s new powered exoskeleton. I knew this, because some more mainstream journalists I’m acquainted with had been invited to a closed door demonstration of it last year. It looked just like the one in the few photos they were allowed to take. If my memory serves me right, the program that developed it was known as “INVICTUS” which stood for something though I can’t exactly remember what.

He stepped forward in his suit towards the confused man. The torso of the suit resembled something an EOD might wear (in fact I think those bomb disposal suits were the inspiration for it originally). A plate of Kevlar jutted out from the chest area, protecting the man’s neck and covering up his lower jaw. This plate of Kevlar had a black and white American flag sticker placed upon it, with some words etched into it that read “NOYFB”. Around his stomach area sat a small hollowed out compartment built into his armor that provided a place where things like extra magazines and smoke grenades could be easily accessed by the wearer. From the right side of his body there was a black tactically dressed up 12-gauge hanging in the air via parachute cord. The weapon dangled carelessly near the grip of his palm with each step he took. From the pictures I saw, I recalled that the wearer is usually supposed to be sporting a helmet of some kind possessing all the night-vision accessories you’d expect to see on a commando like this. However, this man did not have his with him. I could see his face from the mouth up. Head shaved. Either Black or mixed-race. Hazel eyes. It sounds cliche, but he had a prominent scar running down from his temple to the corner of his mouth. He stopped about 6 or so feet in front of him. His right hand became itchy, the servos in the exoskeleton girding his arm quietly revving up and down as if they were imps begging their master to let them slaughter something.

One of the men on the turrets called out to my confused acquaintance. “Move or be moved!”

I could tell the poor guy had a lump in his throat at this point. He tried reading from the piece of paper he had, gun still in hand. “We the pe... We... People. Demands, uhhh.“ He said through the nervousness consuming his face muscles.

As he fumbled with his words I could see the man on the turret was now becoming agitated. He shook his head, and exclaimed to the man in the INVICTUS armor - “Well then I guess you gotta move him!”

Suddenly he gripped the trigger group of his shotgun, pulling down on it and breaking the parachute cord that held it. And then he did something I hadn’t expected to see that day. Remember how in certain Westerns or movies like RoboCop, when the hero un-holsters his weapon he spins it around in the air as he brings his arm parallel with the ground? Yeah, he did that. One handed. With a shotgun. The 12-gauge did one full rotation until it returned to its original position, the soldier quickly steadied it and fired a slug off into the poor confused man’s face killing him instantly. The recoil barely forced his arm up. The confused man’s body hit the ground with a loud thud, relinquishing the pistol and his torn piece of paper from his grip. I watched as the breeze carried it away into the wasteland of southern Nevada. That’s when the soldier, or commando, or security guard or whatever he was turned his attention to me.

He calmly walked towards where I was, stepping on top of the safety barricade that previously separated us. He pumped his weapon with the assistance of his other hand and proceeded to point it at me now. I stood there, frozen. He asked in a cold tone, “Who the fuck are you?”

The man in the turret spoke, “We don’t care! We’re on a schedule, pump one into her and let’s go!”

I tried bargaining with them for my life. “Hey... hey... Listen.” I said in a soothing, somewhat sexual tone in an attempt to put their guard down. I then fucked it up with “Please” as my voice cracked out of fear. I tried seeming cute and aroused to them. I forced a flirtatious smile out through my terror, bent my unbloodied leg at the knee towards him, and pulling my shirt down by the collar revealing a portion of my bra. “Tha-that’d be such a waste, Sir.” I said that bit with as much suggestive energy as I could muster considering the circumstances.

He didn’t buy it.

He smirked, chuckling a bit. “Hahaha... wooow. Really?”

I nodded as my breath became shorter. “U-uh huh.” I said nervously, still smiling like an idiot.

“Well... nah.” He replied, a nasty smile covering his face. His index finger gripped the trigger. I turned pale, collapsing into a ball, covering my head with my arms in terror.

I shouted, “No please!”

Then, I heard a click. And nothing happened. I looked up from where I had been cowering.  He was still pointing that thing at me. He spoke. “Well, would you look at that? All out of rounds.” He laughed at me.

The man in the turret threw his arms into the air in frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He screamed at his compatriot. He turned the barrels of his weapon towards me. “Move, I’ll do it.” He commanded the soldier in front of me. My eyes widened, how the hell do I get out of this?

As he stepped down off of the barricade, he looked into the sky behind me as if something suddenly set his internal radar off. He squinted his eyes, looking past me, and pointed once he finally found it. I turned to see what it was. A small, faint gray dot off in the distance flying in front of some clouds. I heard the man in the INVICTUS armor say - “Shit, they’ve been following us.” He yelled at the man in the turret. “I told you not to stop!”

Suddenly they were all in a panic. They retracted their turrets back into their SUVs, the soldier running back over to the one he got out of and slamming the door as he got back in. The semi-truck started its engine back up, and the convoy sped off leaving me to be showered by the dust they kicked up. The semi flattened the dead man still laying their like roadkill as it escaped. I stared as they disappeared down the road. I pinched myself just to make sure I didn’t dream that part.

“What the fuck is going on here?“ I said out loud to myself, and to my dead friend over on the road. I turned around to see what could of scared them off. The gray dot was bigger now, a lot bigger, actually it wasn’t a dot at all. More like a boomerang or something. Was it... a drone? Maybe, I know they fly them out of the middle of Nevada somewhere. It must be a drone, because I can hear its jet engine now. The drone was directly over head of me now, banking left to make a turn. Just then, I noticed something gigantic appear in my periphery vision. It was a large... blimp I guess? I’m not sure, but I couldn’t hear anything coming from it so it had to be a blimp I assumed. It was painted all black but wasn’t shaped like a traditional blimp however, more triangular than oval. It emerged from inside a massive nimbus cloud, where I assumed it must have been hiding all this time. Was this what they were running from? Soon it completely escaped the ivory clutches of the cloud and I could discern a series of turbofans mounted on the end of it.

And that was the last thing I can remember before I woke up here.

That’s right. I blacked out. I don’t remember what happened after that. I have a splitting headache now though. Probably from all the adrenaline and fear that day, but also probably from whatever drug was used to knock me out. If I was really knocked out that is. Whoever it was that drugged me left me here in the terminal at McCarran Airport south of Vegas. I was cleaned up. My blood stained clothes were replaced with some jeans and a button up blouse I had packed in my car for the trip.  I shuddered at the thought of anyone undressing me while I was incapacitated. I looked around me. My computer bag I had left in my car was there next to me. My purse was no where to be found however. I had a Combined Airways ticket in my hand. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was Philip’s intern.

“Hello?” I answered it.

“Hey boss, did you get through security yet?“ He said over the phone.

“Umm... I don’t, yeah. Wait, what’s going on?“ I asked him, still groggy.

“What are you talking about?“ He sounded concerned for me.

“Listen, I’m sorry about how weird this must sound but can you just tell me what’s going on?“ I demanded.

“Uhh, sure. I guess. You’re about to take a flight home to SoCal because your car was stolen.“ He explained.

“And what else? You may not believe me, but I really have no idea what’s going on.” I sounded desperate.

He reassured me. “Ok ok. Calm down. You called me yesterday night and said the conspiracy theorist guy never showed up and that Philip wasn’t answering his phone. Remember?”

“I remember Philip not answering my texts...” I ran my finger through my pastel hair, losing my mind.

He continued. “Well I tried calling him but he wouldn’t pick up for me either. And he wasn’t at the office or his house today. On top of that, his girlfriend said she hadn’t seen him since he left for work yesterday. I’m kinda concerned actually. Anyways, after I got done talking to her, you called me and said you were mugged after getting some Burger Paladin last night. You said the muggers stole your car and your purse.“

I was floored. “Burger Paladin? I never eat at Burger Paladin. I hate that place.”

“Well, I mean I thought it was a little weird. I don’t know many people who go there myself.” He reasoned. He went on. “Anyways, after that you had me go buy you a ticket so you could come home. Man, I hope Philip’s not missing.”

“Me too...” I said nervously. “Look, I need to do something normal to clear my head. Can you send me the script for the recap? I have some time before my flight starts boarding.”

“Sure, I’ll email it to you now.” He affirmed.

I thanked him and hung up. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to pass out again. I needed something to eat. The food court was right in front of me. As I stood up from the bench I realized I had been sitting on a folder the entire time. I picked it up and opened it. My happiness returned for a fleeting moment. It was the stuff I had taken out of fake Frank’s RV, and if I’m not mistaken the stuff that was in that confused individual’s car as well. Why would they leave this with me?

I ordered a few tacos from Hornet’s, and a slice of pepperoni to boot. I sat down at a table and collected myself, opening my laptop as I crunched into the shell. I felt like crying. I started recording the weekly recap, beginning it with my signature line. “This is Slice. This is your week. This, is the world’s week.” It didn’t take me that long to finish it, they’re not that extensive usually. Never lasting more than five minutes. Things weren’t looking too good in the world. A bunch of people were taken hostage in the Indian Ocean. The government was fighting itself instead of solving it. The IACS seminar had ended earlier than expected because of Monterrey’s announcement. The Chinese were telling the world they’re prepared to wallop the U.S. in space if they tried anything. I suppose the Space Corps, if it works as advertised, will solve the problem it created.

I lingered on that thought. Space Corps. Who was it that I know in the Space Corps? That’s right... that Captain Hayek woman. I reopened the documents I had with me. I went over her transfer papers again. I found another document detailing her reassignment to the “Air Force Special Activities Center” after she joined the Space Corps. Now didn’t fake Frank mention something about that? I studied the files of these other two women. Both enlisted. One who was transferred from the Air Force into the Corps. The other from the Navy. Horace, Jessica. Gregory, Amanda. Miss Horace was promoted from a Technical Sergeant in the Air Force to Space Systems Sergeant when she switched. Miss Gregory’s transfer hasn’t happened yet but is scheduled for this upcoming week. What do these people do? What’s their job? I searched for their unit’s name on the internet. Interestingly enough, I came by a thread on a dormant BBS forum from the early 2000s. The author of the thread claimed that the AFSAC were the originators of the “Men In Black” urban legend going all the way back to the 50s. I almost screamed in fright in the middle of the food court as I read the poster’s username. Frank_Monterrey.

“It can’t be.” I quickly dove back into the documents splayed out in front of me. All of it was crazy. After action reports of AFSAC monitoring the daily routines of NASA astronauts. Commander’s authorizations for invasions of privacy, including the taping of the astronauts’ phone calls, breaking into their homes and installing spyware onto their electronics. A request asking for enough AFSAC agents to replace the wait staff at the hotel I tried getting at job at. Details of the government’s dissatisfaction with this “Blackstar” program - the aircraft I had seen all those pictures of, one document calling it the ‘XOV’. And then this thing... this ‘object’.  What the hell is it? It creeps me out to look at it too long. There were additional photos of a damaged Chinese spacecraft. These labeled “inadvertent shoot down“. Wait a minute, shoot down? I double checked to make sure where exactly this spaceplane was when it was shot at. I recognized the unfinished habitats behind it. Everyone in the United States had seen these paraded around by Hood Fisher in a bunch of different soft drink and fast food commercials throughout the year. It was New America. The future space colony. But that doesn’t make any sense. I checked and re-checked the script I had been sent for the weekly recap. Last paragraph - “PLA officials also announced this week that an accident of some type has taken place at the site of the future State of New America near Lagrange point 5 that required the emergency reentry of a small group of space vehicles. No further elaboration on the details of this event has been given at this time.“

I sat back in my chair and took stock of what the evidence was telling me. We shot at the Chinese in space, just after the President announced to the world that we would no longer accept the presence of anyone else’s military in said space. And now the Chinese are covering it up? After threatening the President right back?

I looked down and let my hair drape over my face as I rubbed my forehead trying to mull this over. The headache was still getting to me. I resolved to get something more than just what I had in front of me. I sent Philip’s intern my finished recording of the recap and asked him to file a FOIA request about this shoot down near New America. As I sent the email I heard an airplane taxiing outside the window in front of me at the food court. A Janet flight. That’s not funny. That’s really not funny. Fuck you, you’re what started all this. I watched as it approached the runway and began to take off. All I could think about was how much I hated this airliner, how much I hated not knowing why the Chinese were covering up the shoot down, how much I hated that man I killed and how much I hated myself for killing him. And I thought about how much Will would hate me.

I picked up the picture of the damaged spaceplane once more. “It can’t be.” I said under my breath.

“Oh, but it can be.” I head a voice say. I looked up as a balding old white guy in a dress shirt and sunglasses sat down in front of me, closing my laptop as he did so.

“Umm, excuse me asshole.” I said indignantly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Well my dear Clementine. Ah, Clementine Forrester that is. I’m... a snake person or a lizard I guess.“ He revealed my own name to me as he laughed in my face. I watched two cops in plain clothes sit down on the table behind him, seemingly not paying any attention to us.

My heart began to pound again. I was silent for a few seconds. “How do you know that? How do you know my name?“ I asked.

He expounded. “Well, I mean, how couldn’t I know? I am the one who sold that passport to you after all. In fact, I’m the one that set you up with ‘Frank Monterrey’. And I’m the one that gave him all that shit you’ve been blowing your mind with for the past few minutes. And to top it all off, I’m the one who’s gonna get you on board one of those Janet flights so you can do some ‘personal’ journalism for me.“

I narrowed my eyes and steeled my resolve. “And tell me exactly why I would do a fucking thing for your ass?”

He cackled as he stole my slice of pizza, taking a bite of it. He swallowed and threw it back down onto my plate, leaning in as he rubbed his hands together and explained. “Well my dear, because I’m the only one who can get your business partner out of the proverbial and literal hole he’s in.”

A shiver ran down my back.

“You didn’t think he could just aide and abet a known national security threat like yourself and get away with it, did you?“ He asked me.

Well, at least I have my story now. I thought to myself.

I'm an undercover journalist investigating the President’s space force