Sammi and Herbert entered the SlayerLair to find Alex sitting in a squishy chair, rubbing his belly. She eyed the empty smoothie mugs cluttered all over the floor.

“What happened here?” she asked.

“And what’s with all these empties?” Herbert added. “Did you drink all of these yourself?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Alex replied, careful not to look either of them in the eye. “I just got a little thirsty.”

“A little? You should have your stomach pumped!”

“Yeah. I need to lie down. I don’t feel too well.”

They both eyed Alex suspiciously.

“In his defense, some of those are mine,” SarcasmaTron wisecracked.

Chicago entered with an armful of rubber G’Dalien suits. “Sorry, guys, it’s time,” he said in a sad tone. “EL-ROY’s gonna have to lead you out again—my Dad’s making me wash and wax the mayor’s SkyLimo.” He looked right at Alex. “Someone got it all scratched up.”

 

GOR-DON was still chuckling fiendishly to himself as he slunk through the back alley behind City Hall. As he made his way he yanked the yellow wig off the top of his head and kicked the high-heeled shoes off the two tentacles he used as human legs.

“I don’t know how they wear those things.”

“Gordy?”

The giant G’Dalien spun around to face an almost equally large actual woman standing on the sidewalk. Her curly hair was pulled back in a hairnet and she had a puzzled look on her chubby face. It was the same woman from his framed photograph. She stared at his makeup.

GOR-DON straightened up to make himself look taller. “Hello, Marion,” he said. “You’re looking well.”

She looked at his frilly dress. “What are you wearing?”

“This old thing?”

Marion suddenly smiled warmly. “Oh, I get it! It’s your costume for the Great G’Dalien Flee-Festival this Saturday! What a wonderful tribute to your human hosts! I love it!”

Marion flashed him her T-shirt. It read: I ALIENSLAYERS!

“What are you wearing?!” GOR-DON exclaimed.

“I’m volunteering to help with the event—and I’m hoping they’ll be there so I can meet them!”

GOR-DON’s evil glee quickly turned sour. His eyes welled up, smudging his makeup.

“Your, uh—mascara is running,” Marion noticed.

“How could you?” He began, almost in a whisper.

“Oh, it shouldn’t be too hard,” she said. “I’ll just help people find their seats, pass out banners and flags, maybe lead the crowd in a few cheers—Gimme an A! Gimme an L! Gimme an—”

“I don’t mean how could you help,” he suddenly snapped. “I mean, how could you be a fan of those—pseudo-slayer scum?!”

She gasped and stared at him. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with a tentacle, smearing his makeup across his quivering cheeks.

“All right, Marion. Believe in your precious AlienSlayers for just a little longer. But here—you’re going to want to keep this.”

He handed her a small business card. She stared at it.

“Yep, I got my own place now. Moved out of Mom’s guesthouse, just like you suggested. Well, technically she kicked me out after I lost my job as head janitor because my evil plot for complete domination by causing chaos and unrest between humans and G’Daliens was foiled by your little friends there.”

Marion nodded carefully and slowly stepped away from him as he continued. “But I’ve got another plan in place, so you should stop by. We’ll catch up, talk about old times, await the destruction of the city, and emerge from the rubble to enslave any survivors. I’ll make you that chicken curry you like. With the peas.”

She pocketed the card and continued to back away.

“Seriously, don’t lose that card. Because the day is soon coming when your so-called AlienSlayers will face a real challenger, and they’ll be exposed as the WORTHLESS, LYING FAKERS they are! Then you’ll see! You’ll all see! BWAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!!!”

GOR-DON’s insane laughter echoed off the alley walls for a good long while, until he finally stopped and noticed Marion was gone. He looked around. She was across the street, running away from him as fast as she could.

“She’ll be back.”