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Area 51, Nevada
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“I wish I could talk to Nancy,” Shannon mused.
“Who is that?” Ann asked.
“An alien downstairs in an ice box. She isn’t talking these days.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Machinegun bullets tend to silence interstellar people bearing gifts that can advance a piece of shit unappreciative trigger happy species thousands of years in an hour. Shoot first, fuck you later.”
“You saw her?”
“Yes. She’s beautiful. Or was. Unlike us.”
“I thought you couldn’t talk about this,” Betty said.
“I can if I want to,” Shannon said. “Look, forget about this. There is no point. The depth of the depravity and secrecy of what passes for government in this country is only surpassed by the blood lust of the human species. Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I’m ashamed of what I am.”
“Who could blame you,” Tyler sighed. “Look at your proportions and demeanor.”
“The older I get, demeanor I get,” Shannon snorted.
“Switcheroo,” Tyler nodded. “Remember that.”
“But how,” Betty said.
“Whatever,” Tyler said with a wave of his hand. “Such people have cohorts. They are planted at the right place at the right time, so as to effect the conspiracy. I guarantee, those bombs were switched at an Air Force base, probably Nellis, by individuals who would never be suspected. Nothing else makes sense.”