Kevin sat on Goldstar's old leather couch, nervously sipping a makeshift alcoholic beverage she had whipped together from whatever bottles and grime she could squander from around the port. His leg bounced uncontrollably, nerves getting the better of him.
"So we know F8's sending backup," Goldstar said flatly, already thinking three moves ahead. "Which means we've got, I don't know… fifteen minutes, tops, before they're here and inspecting every single container. And the bad news? They definitely have the GPS coordinates of the guys I just killed."
Kevin blinked at her, calling out her wording. "What do you mean, the guys you just killed? You were on the roof hiding too. Don't play. And just we're clear, you're trying to tell me you made three agents and a Vision Officer vanish into thin air? 'Cause from what I heard it sounded a whole lot crazier than some Goldstar-The-Great magic wand shit."
Goldstar ignored him, phone already in hand. She typed fast into The BBS:
The blue goo is deff alive. It's some type of creature. F8 likely knows of its existence. Anyone else seeing anything like this?
She hit enter and turned back to Kevin. "Too bad Roger can't replay the security footage, but let me cement this in your mind—because it seems like you're having trouble processing reality. My container came to life and killed those guys. I was on top of it and we must've lifted like twenty feet off the ground."
Roger's LED screen flickered, attempting to pull up the corrupted files. The best it could produce was a series of blurry screenshots: Kevin getting bodied, a streak of blue obscuring the lens, and the faint suggestion of the container rising.
"Damn it," Goldstar muttered. "Roger, upload those to The BBS anyway. I still want them posted."
"Roger," Roger confirmed, gurgling.
Kevin set his cup down and pointed toward the door. "Look, Gold, thanks for saving my life and all, I mean that. But since you've got no plan, I'mma just bounce and start running. We've got five minutes till we're dead, chipped, or worse. Who knows what these chipheads are gonna do to us. You literally killed their squad. We done."
Before he could move, Roger's tone shifted—smooth, startlingly confident, more capable, projecting a newfound British accent. "Goldstar. Kevin. Don't panic. I'm going to turn off the lights. There's something you need to see. Please don't panic."
The lights cut. Gold and Kevin both looked at each other with blank stares.
Just like when Goldstar had first woken earlier, the container walls glowed with a neon blue pulse. Kevin froze, wide-eyed, his jaw hanging. He quickly convinced himself he must be dreaming—or locked in a nightmare. And there, on the inside wall, the spray-painted "m00m" graphic that was previously outside on the container's wall during the skirmish was glowing, pulsing with life, on the inside wall. One of the 0's blinked.
"Hello, friends!"
Goldstar's face twisted. "Uhhh… like I said, it's alive..."
She raised her brow, body language caught between disbelief and curiosity. "What… are you?"
Kevin threw up his hands. "Really? That's your first question? I've got so many. Like how do we know this Slimer lookin' alien here isn't about to jam those slimy tonsil arm things we saw right up inside of us like probes, wiggle them around, harvest our organs, and feed the babies he's nursing inside of his slime womb? And then he and his boys are gonna beam down from planet-WTF and wage war on all of One-World?"
The blinking 0's hesitated, then the voice returned, polite and oddly earnest. "Hi again... And sincerest apologies if I startled you when my tonseculars grappled and eliminated the hostiles. They appeared to be a threat to your home, and to your friend. I calculated they had to be neutralized."
Goldstar and Kevin exchanged a look, both unsure whether to laugh or scream. Common logic no longer applied.
With mounting urgency, the voice added, "If my calculations are correct, we have exactly three minutes before more of those rather unpleasant F8 agents arrive. And even though they are mildly tasty, I don't want to be captured, and I suspect you don't either. So, let's devise a plan?"
Goldstar's didn't have any human facial expression capable of a reaction that could match the encounter they were having. Whatever this was—goo, container, creature, alien—it wasn't just connected to her. It was asking her for direction. She grabbed a battered notebook from the shelf, flipped to a blank page, and uncapped a micron pen.
"Pretty clear we're all on the same team here. It's plan time," she said. Her voice was steady now, a commander stepping into duty.