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"...Ow", he moaned, slowly opening his eyes. "...Ow", he repeated, seeing the world as a giant blur. The sun was beating down on him like a crazy Mike Tyson. "That sure was a hell of a crash...", came another sarcastic groan.

Slowly, he moved, and sat up. "...My brains are killing me", that was at the moment he swore at his ability. Much swears. Add your own. "Am I okay?", a silent question. Slowly, he shook one clawed hand, and then shook the other. "Okay here", he said, and slowly stood up, and did the same procedure, but with his feet. "...Everything seems fine". He turned on his clawed feet, rubbed his mis-shapen head, resembling that of a Twinkie, then blinked. "Ah, crap", he seemed to take his ship's...state, awfully well.

For one thing, the whole thing had literally been reduced to a pile of metal. All the paint was gone, the only thing left that wasn't metal, would be...glass.

"Where am I, anyway?", he looked around, "I haven't been here, have I?". Clearly not. Why do spaceships always crash in FARMS!? Well, either way, his did. "Computer?", the on-ship talking computer that aided his...searches.
No reponse. "Scratch that, then...", came a sarcastic growl, as he noticed smoke steaming from various parts of his now-scrapped ship.

"...Fantastic".

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"Right...If this is the same as anywhere else, then I should get out of here. Something will come looking. Curiosity is the curse of the mind...", he said, stepping back slightly from his trash-pile that is a ship.

Checking his coat pockets, he withdrew a small metal cylindrical object, with an omnious red button on top. Which was promptly pressed. Oddly, the alien-thing began to dissappear, and suddenly was replaced by a person. A farmer-type person. Blend in with those he could see approaching? Yep. Looks like one of those conspriacy nuts that noone believes.

Promptly walking away before anyone could see him, better a human than an Alien. "Noone should spot me...", he thought to himself, trying to blend in. Right. Since when have you seen a farmer with claws?

It didn't take too long for him to realise this, as he paused, looked at his hands and feet, and blinked. "Crap, I must fix the Holo-Guise...", he noted mentally, reluctantly turning back to his alien state. Just as well there was a barn there. So, he went in said-barn. "Dark in this place, here...", note, lack of light.

<<

A bright red Volkswagen Bug pulled up to the gates of Area 42. As the guards watched with relative amusement, Captain Pasty stepped out and made his way over to them.

"Hello, gentlemen," he said as he attempted to walk by them. He was repelled by the unfriendly barrels of a pair of semiautomatics. "Hey, what's the problem?"

"You're not authorized to go in there."

"Oh, come on. I'm a local hero. The name's Captain Pasty..." At that, the guards snorted in laughter.

"Get lost, you freak." Thoroughly disappointed, Captian Pasty returned to his car and drove away.

From his command post, General Spanky watched the car leave with interest.

"Find out who that was..."

Afterwards>>>

General Spanky was not in a good mood. After a thorough sweep of the crash site, it was evident that any aliens on the ship had escaped. On the plus side, however, he had just learned that the white boy in a cape that he had seen at the gates earlier was a local hero... of sorts. He had also heard that this area was full of people with special powers.

"Someone get the local TV station on the phone. I've got an idea..."

General Spanky was a sound sleeper; he had slept through the worst sounds of war, from chicken slaughters to exploding aerosol cans. The day had been uneventful at Area 42, the scientists hadn�t found anything they thought would be dangerous for human beings, he had gone to the local news channel and made a call to local heroes to help investigate the mysterious landing, and his after dinner Chai had been just right. He left his position as overseer and put Larry and Joe in charge of the night watch, and sent his men back to the farm house across the duck pond. It had been a good day, and General Spanky slept soundly.

It was for this reason that the General did not hear the sound of five black limos crashing through the gates of Area 42. Neither did any of his other men, excluding the two who were now flattened in front of the gate.

The Politician sat comfortably in one of his limos as his henchmen broke through the caution tape and picked up the small space capsule. The ship was roughly eight feet long by five feet wide, the size of a small pick up truck. There was a trailer on the back of the last limo, and through the effort of several burly men, the space capsule was lifted off the ground and onto the trailer where it was secured. Once all the security measures were checked and double checked carefully (no one liked to get the Politician angry), the thugs got back into the limos and drove off with the alien space capsule in tow.

It was at this moment in time that General Spanky awoke to the sound of five black limos pulling quietly out of Area 42. He pulled his sunglasses and safety hat on quickly, knowing that not just any sound could have woken him up. He grabbed his flashlight before tearing out of his tent next to the farmhouse and looked across the duck pond. The Gate had been crashed through, and he couldn�t see the space capsule from where he was standing. Panic began to set in to General Spanky as the probably event of the night set in. �Everyone Awake! The Capsule has been stolen!�

Tron had to admire this man's fealty and loyalty; this "General Spanky," though somewhat vain to the Great Tron, had a point. Authority had been messed with, and if Tron hated one thing, it was disorder-he had enough of that on the steppe during his days giving the Kara-Khitai and the Khwarizimi retribution for their impudence.

Besides...Tron hadn't had a good conquest in a while. So, when he heard about the announcement on Channel Q, the local TV news station on his small TV/VCR unit, he couldn't pass it up.

He did as the General proscribed, and moved to the building on the left, sauntering up to the aide and saying with a traditional Asian bow and fist-pump greeting, "Good day sir. I am the Great Tron....I understand this is where we sign up for the mission?"

From out of the shadows came a soft cackle at the end of spanky's speach, Jay had mostly been staying hidden that night, there was no need to draw unneccesary attention to herself, she must not reveal herself before a potential enemy until she was sure of exactly what was about to happen. She let her eyes survey the crowd, there were many people dressed strangely, no doubt these "heroes" were compensating for something. People were starting to mill over to the sign up table, but Jay was uninterested in those people. Others moved over to the appetizers, and again Jay was uninterested. She observed the news crew, no doubtedly interviewing some sap of a person who thought they were special. She looked towards the tent that spanky had gone into, contemplated going over to it for a bit of eavesdropping. She didn't think she would learn much more from the dim-wit of a general. She chuckled quietly again, as she turned away from the sea of people. So, someone has stolen the alien technology... It would be wise to discover who it may be, and to ally with them, for they could one day be a very powerful person...

Mitch made a bit of a mess with the nachos. He picked up a cloth napkin and wiped his face. He then casually draped it over his arm.

Mitch thought he saw a more delicious appetizer underneath one of the trays on the table. He picked up the tray, which was nearly empty and examined the appetizers below. They were egg rolls. He grabbed one and stuffed it in his mouth, and at that exact moment, two things happened.

"What in Sam Hill are you doing? You're supposed to be serving the food, not eating it!" A soldier, reconized by the fact that he was in uniform, and on a military base, barked orders at him. This was at first very confusing to Mitch, but then the second thing happened, which was Mitch realizing that he had just come straight from work, wearing waiter-like clothing, had a napkin over his arm and was holding a tray of food.

Mitch still had a few chews before he could swallow his gnosh, which allowed him time to digest the situation, and the bean dip. Unfortunately, this also allowed the soldier, obviously a drill seargent, to spew forth an unending stream of intimidating obscenities too vulgar to even be repeated on the forums of the most base and uncivilized web communities. Mitch completely forgot that he was, in fact, off the clock. He apologized profusely, to which the seargent replied with more obscenities, and scooted behind the table with the other caterers.