When I rolled my eyes it was meant to be an expression of sarcasm. A non vocal way for me to say Right now, I think you are an idiot. So when the lady at the store register, apathetic as a human can be, said: "This box is already opened, you can't return it.", well she deserved an eye roll as much as any human I'd ever met.

But when I did, what followed was a moment of almost audible fear as I locked eyes with something else. Something hidden deep within my brain. A small, blueish, and hideous thing, it's clawed hands gripping a series of tiny levers; wearing nothing but a stained tank top, its bubbled gut filling it out nicely.

Slowly it pulled it's hands off of the levers, eyes locked with mine and refusing to look away.

"I bet-" the gremlin started to stand up on its spindly legs. "I bet you blink first."

"Where are we...what are you?!" I yelled, the words coming from my mouth outside rather than the space me and the creature occupied. Outside I could hear the cashiers muffled voice reply with the same level of apathy.

Take your time, not like there's a line behind you or anything.

"Don't worry, there's no line." The gremlin said. "Can you believe her? Total asshole right?"

"I uh...yes?"I questioned. "I mean yes, yeah she is." I was still uncertain of my words.

The Gremlin placed a bony hand on one of the many fleshy levers before him and pushed it forward. Outside I could feel my body moving suddenly, turning to the right and stepping forward a few clunky steps.

"There, I moved us." He continued: "Why would you even return something unpoened anyways?"

"I know. Doesn't make any sense right? Hey uh...where are we?" I tried to speed along the conversation.

"You don't recognize it? We're in your mind of course. I'm just an occupant...the occupant."

I blinked in disbelief, staring at the only place there was to stare. At the pint sized little blue monster that claimed to have been living in my head for god knows how longz helping pilot me. He smiled a sudden and crooked smile.

"You blinked, I win!" He went to jump up but hit his head on the roof of my skull instead, sending a dull pain up through my head. "Oops. Anyways it seems that your eyes are rolling back. If I was you, and I sort of am, I would tell her off. Good luck!"

My eyes rolled back and I was left staring behind an empty counter. No line. No mean lady from before. No gremlin. Just me and a single bell with a tag reading: ding for service. As I turned to pick up my box and leave my body refused. Instead my arm shot out uncontrollably and slammed down onto the bell over and over, harder with each ding

"Ok, ok, enough!" An annoyed voice yelled from the back of the building, followed by a woman stomping out.

"You again? I told you-" Before she could finish a voice not my own shot out from my mouth, raspy, like nails scraping along a chalkboard.

"Listen you walnut. If you don't take this box and give me back my money I'll return it down your throat. Deal?"

Her eyes grew wide and she muttered the only word it seemed she could: "I uhm. Yeah sure."

And as the register opened and she took my box back in her hands I could feel my head pounding. Not from the stress of my day, or from the confusion due to what I had just experienced, but rather from what I knew to be the little blue man jumping around inside of my head in triumph.

Thank you! I possibly will depending entirely on how I feel in the next little bit.

I have an approximate knowledge of many things.

The world is a strange place, always was a strange place I suppose. For instance: in January of 1919 there was an event in Boston known as The Great Molasses Flood, nowhere near as funny as it sounds. Twenty-one people dead, died in a sugary flood of viscous goop meant for baking.

So in terms of the worlds great strangeness, my invitation to something referred to as the " Global Machine Council" barely even broke earths top 100. What did, however, break the records was the fact that my toaster, Gerald, had also been invited. (Listed at Earth's 5th weirdest event.)

Now don't get me wrong, Gerald was the smartest toaster I'd ever met in my thirty-five years. Not even a competition honestly. Gerald never burned a piece, never scared me with loud bings and bangs, and always delivered on his boxes promise: Perfect pieces, every part.

The world acted fast in reply to my...our invitation. It wasn't every day humanity received extraterrestrial communication, as a matter of fact, this was the first. (Later listed as earths 7th weirdest event, just behind Australia's 1932, Emu War). So in a hastily assembled and rather shoddy global union, the world banded together to send me and Gerald beyond the stars.

The date on the envelope was in vaguely earth time: You are summoned on the Fifth month of the Two-Thousand One Hundred and Fifty Second year, Earth time. And strangely Gerald's was the only one with a date. Mine just read: Gerald's plus one may attend. And so I did.

Soon, due to Earth's combined efforts, we were beyond the stars, me and Gerald. Me stressing constantly about my meeting with some foreign mechanical power. Gerald pumping out perfectly done toast. A dynamic union of both machine and man. Meanwhile global leaders surely pondered the strangeness of my invitation. "Why had they not summoned a world leader instead? Or the most complex AI at Earth's disposal? Why Johnathan Winst and Gerald Toastmaster?", is surely what they thought. Also it is what I knew they thought, as one time they forgot to mute their microphone as they spoke.

When we arrived we were greeted by a rocky, freezing planet of temperate extremes. The surface was...well, ugly. A hideous spread of rocks and lakes of oil. Buildings of various experimental styles peppered the land like crumbs on a plate after toast time. I could feel Earth's disappointment from the other side of my suits camera.

An ambassador of sorts approached me and Gerald, Gerald Toastmaster held tightly to my chest. It was a tall, lanky thing of dark chrome. Headless, with large eyes stuck onto its chest.

"Hello, Gerald Toastmaster." the robotic greeter gestured to my arms, "I see you have traveled with your enslaved." If a robot could express confusion then this one was trying as hard as its circuits would allow.

"Ah actually, we're traveling together...Toastmaster and I. I am his plus one."

A piece of perfect toast popped up from a slot in Gerald in agreement.

"You are, together? As in...neither of you are enslaved by the other?"

"Ah well Gerald is sort of mine, but-"

"Silence organic lifeform!", the robot raised its arms in what was surely meant to be a threatening pose but looked more like one of those inflatable arm car dealership tube men of the twentieth century. "I'll convene with Toastmaster." The robot reached forward and took Gerald from my arms, leaning in to whisper to him beyond my earshot.

After a brief talk filled with whispers and pieces of toast popping out of the top of Gerald they returned to me, Gerald now in the robots arms rather than mine.

"The Toast Machine has vouched for you. Adamantly. Fine. Come with me. Earth seems to be.... quite an enigma." the greeter turned to lead us onward, to a massive building rising up before us from within the ground as we walked. "The elders will be interested to see the two of you."

Thanks!

"The world is as we perceive it." At least, thats what dad always used to say, but then again dad never saw much himself. Cataracts, he had. From a young age I would wind up describing to him how we would both end up perceiving the world. The color of the cars on the freeway. The shape of the milk crates at the store. How the eyes in the walls stared at us, unblinking. How the world shifted and groaned when others looked away. The wires that held us all together, like puppets of flesh. Where my father could see nothing, I saw everything.

And then my father would always say, "You sure it's not you who needs your eyes checked boy?" and laugh. But I was not laughing.

The world was made of mishaped pieces all desperately trying to find a place they fit. I guess that led to plenty of pieces that didn't, and for one reason or another I could see those pieces. One moment the road was road, the next the pavement flowed like a blackened river down stream. My father was my father, then he was just fleshy shapes resembling what the man once was.

I still remember the day I saw a building collapse in on itself. Not because it happened, but because I knew it would. The pieces didn't fit together smoothly. They had decayed into misshapen bits like a game of Jenga long into its lifespan. Others could not see it, but it was so clear to me. Then, poof, the game was lost and the pieces sat piled up on the floor.

Life was different for me, always was. In buildings walls shifted until comfortable, the floors melted, ceilings flew around as birds on a wire. But even those things had become the normal to me.

When that building fell, however, I began to ask: If the world is as we perceive it, then how does it perceive us?

It was cold outside when I'd heard her first calls to me. Despite my entombment I could still feel cold, still knew what it meant to ache and to want. That's why instantly I knew how much she yearned for what I could offer her in that first plea. Oh the sweet desperation in her voice.

When I felt her call out to me the scent of mortal hope was both instant and thick in the air. She was frail, weak, maybe moments from death, yet still delivered a delicious feeling of want only mortals could offer. It had been years since I'd tasted such a thing.

"Are- are you here? The woman in town said you'd be here..." her voice came through shaky and uncertain, echoing off of the tomb walls.

"Why yes, yes I am dear." I continued. "What is it I can do for you?"

Before her further reply I heard a sound like a shower of tiny rocks on stone, then a pause in the noise and another power waft out into the room, bringing a sharp and bitter taste with it. I tested its strength, pushing forward but hitting a strong wall, then pulling back into my coffer. I had felt such binds before. Salt. A circle of salt. Not perfectly drawn, yet still it seemed the little girl was smarter than I'd given credit for.

"Well, well. It seems location was not all the woman in town told you of. I'm assuming you know my name too then?"

She paused, out of fear or ignorance I could not tell. The girl wreaked of too many feelings to discern one from another. A ball of humanities strongest emotions all leaking out of one host.

"Yes, it's Balte-"

"Ah ah! Thats enough. Any more and I believe it will be quite painful for both of us. So you know my name. I believe it's only fair I know yours then, tiny morsel."

"I am only here to make a request. I'll tell you my name then."

In stronger men I had to "seal the deal". Call out to them and snake my way through their ears and into their minds until they broke. But for her? It seemed luckily an offer would be enough. Anyone willing to make a deal with me was desperate enough not to care of the consequences, either that or too stupid to think of them. And she didn't strike me as stupid. Weak? Yes. Emotional? As all humans are. But not stupid. Her aura said otherwise.

"What is it you want then girl? Be quick as your pathetic charm wears thin." where I spoke lightly before, as if a polite host drawing a guest to the mantle, now I projected my will, booming through her head like a thousand echoes. Yet she did not falter.

"I will be your vessel... but in exchange, I want death. The king he takes more by the day and we cannot manage. My parents they-" out of her many battling emotions sadness took over for a moment. "-they did not make it. I want him to be gone, he needs to be gone." I could feel her sadness encase the room as her tears touched the floor.

I considered her request. A simply request, maybe not to her, maybe not to any mortal, but a man is a man. They bleed the same. They hurt the same. They die the same. In my thousands of years I had never known these facts not to be true. When you wrung their souls dry besides the flicker of firelight they all eventually begged. It was just a fact. But a spark of brilliance crossed my mind.

"Alright morsel. I will fulfill your request, I will give you the power to undo what the tyrant had done, though I will do you one better. Bring me back bodies to turn of those you slaughter and in return I will bring back those you've lost for each. Mother, father, anyone else you'd wish."

"Olivia Flease" she replied without pause.

Well then Olivia. Balteese is at your service. And you at mine.

I mean, yeah I figured. I just looked at a map and described it as a saw. Any better way you would say to describe it or tips?

Thanks, I tried to make the character awkward without being unlikeable so if that came across then great!

Thank you!

No, I'm just geographically inept. Fixed. Thanks.

I was only eight when the world ended. When the plague swept its way across the world and humanity went out with nothing but a whimper. I was only eight when I saw my first dead body, my parents, laying like husks on the living room floor. They went quickly, and I have seen many more since. Since then, in the twenty years between, the only company I've managed to keep was in the many voices on the other sides of phonecalls.

I would dial a new number, a made up combination, and wait.

The voices on the phones never answered. The other line always just rang and rang as I waited until the voicemail answered and I felt almost satisfied. Sometimes, I'd get a call myself, and in the first few years after the event it would excite me, but it was always just spam. An array of robotic voices that could never hope to mimic a real human.

Carnival Cruise has an offer for you!, In the beginning I'd listen to the robotic voices pitch. Sometimes even talk with it in one sided conversation.

But one day when I called a voice on the other line answered, not a robot, but a real human. I was looking up New York area codes at the time in the yellow pages. Going through them in a pattern in numerical order as not to miss any. I was always sure to get them all.

In the twenty years since the plague I had not seen so much as a single glimpse of another person, so when that voice answered:

"Hello? Hello.... is that breathing? Oh my god it is! He-" I hung up, unsure of what to do. My breath's grew short and fast. I slumped back against the concrete wall of the parking garage and stared to the sun above. No way it had been real. A trick of the mind, I was too hot. Dehydrated surely. I reached for my jug and put it to my lips, gulping down water in effort to balance my brain again. But then my phone rang, the number on the screen the same I'd just called. A callback. I had only dreamed of such a thing.

With hesitancy I answered, and a woman's voice rattled off the moment I did. "Hello? You're real right?! A real person!" Her voice was upbeat, full of both energy and excitement. I was unsure I could match it.

"I uhm...yes. I am a human, yes."

"What?! I thought I was it! God it's been... it's been nineteen years since I've talked with anyone, anything that's real. I used to talk with Flora, but she passed, and then it was just me..."

I thought back to the books I'd read. Books like: "Warrens Conversational Tips" and "Social Interactions for Dummies".The many conversations I'd practiced with myself in the mirror as a kid in case the day ever came where I needed to talk again.

When confronted with the passing of a loved one, simply say: my condolences.

"My condolences." the two words came out awkward and clunky rather than comforting. "Where are you? Who are you?"

"Oh it's ok, she was just a ficus, but I loved her so. I'm still unsure of what got her. Rot root maybe, but you're real!"

I took a deep breath and asked again, this time realizing more of what the answer to her question would mean. "Where are you?"

A long silence that felt like an eternity followed. I just listened to her breathe as we sat, awaiting an answer that would surely determine if we both stayed lonely or not. New York, New York, New York. I prayed in my head.

"You're an American aren't you...I could tell by how you spoke. My father was an American man. He talked just like you. With that long draw and lengthy words."

This time my voice was more stern when I asked, no longer asking but commanding an answer. "Where are you!"

"New Zealand... I'm in New Zealand." she admitted. "I'm guessing you're not."

She was right. I was an entire world away, in Kansas. I tried to stay central in the hope that if someone answered, someday, I could go to them. I looked down to the cover of my phone book, ripped at the cover. New- not New York numbers, but it was New Zealand I'd been calling.

"I'll be there. Just give me a few weeks. I'll come."

"What, how? And why, we just met?"

"No we didn't. All we've done is just spoken on the phone. I have a book somewhere about planes, about boats too. I'll find a way,-"

"Evelyn" she finished my words. "I'm Evelyn. In Wellington, the small island. At the bottom. At least, in case you dont make it, will you promise to call again?"

"Again? I wasn't going to hang up." I thought back to the books, to the chapter titled Topics of Conversation: How to get started

"So Evelyn, how are you today?"

Thanks! Yeah I definitely considered that but couldn't make it work otherwise, ha.

What is the definition of chaos? There surely is one, but the real meaning varies depending on who you ask. To a superhero like Gamma Grafton the definition was skewed from the norm. Something surely along the lines of "chaos is the normal. What happens in my head."; something strong sounding and oafish. But for me. Well I knew that chaos was just the absence of order. And well, order is my business.

As another truck came hurdling through the air in my direction I threw myself to the ground, watching as it soared over. I couldn't stop it, at least, not yet. A voice from behind yelled out: "In-sure! It's headed for the apartments, there's still people inside!"

"Don't tell me how to stop cars and I wont tell you how to beat people half to death, Howitzer. Now get back to it! Oh...and you can stop holding back."

My response seemed to relieve him a little. Though I didn't have much of a reputation with the public, other heroes had seen what I was capable of; amongst them I had glowing reviews. He gave me a smirk and turned back to face his opponent, a large, mechanized man with arms the size of tanks. With an explosive leap Howitzer speared the mechanical maniac backwards. Where he'd jumped from a smoldering crater and more work for me was left behind.

The truck bounced off of the ground with its continued momentum, barrelling closer to the apartments. On the balcony's those that previously watched now ran in panic. I watched a woman lock her balcony door on the way in.

But despite their panic I had to wait, my timing needed to be perfect.

"In-sure! You positive you got it!?" Howitzer spoke between attacks, another explosion erupting at his fists.

I did not reply. My concentration was in perfect form and I couldn't allow the insufferable worrier to ruin that. They always worried so damn much. And in that moment it happened, as if in slowed time. The moment the truck touched the building, shifted a single brick, all of my requirements were met. I yelled out into the air my catchphrase: "That building is insured!" (Never really caught on), and the car halted in its tracks, losing all of its momentum and falling to the street in a heap. The brick on the building that had been pushed in slowly aligned itself.

"Oh...the truck is insured too" in response the wreck perked back up, transforming back into a car once again

I couldn't help but stand back and smile at my work. Of course I had done this a million times before, but it never got old, and recognition or not, I loved my job.

The chaos on the street a moment ago had fallen to quiet. Behind me a charred Howitzer stumbled over and to my side, his labored breathes proof of the battle that had ensued. Behind him the large mechanical man lay still, thrown through the side of a building. At a glance that had seemed to be the worst of the damage, but upon a deeper look there were craters all up and down the street. Char marks along homes. One house squished entirely flat, pancaked into a fiery nothing.

Howitzer let out a long sigh "Great work on the apartments! I shouldn't have worried. But uhm...do you mind getting the-"

With a single phrase from my mouth: This block was insured, the street returned back to normal, rebuilding itself like lego pieces until it was as good as new. The building spit the large mech back out onto the street.

I could hear the police arriving, and with them camera crews and press. They'd clamour to Howitzer and rave about his win. About how clean he'd kept the streets during battle. And sure, he'd give me recognition, they always did, but I was an addendum. An after thought to their glory. An and I couldn't have done it without In-sure, hastily tacked on the end of their words.

As I got ready to leave though a face appeared on the apartment balcony, followed by another and another. Soon they were flooded, flooded with eyes all staring to me. I could hear their whispers even from down below.

"Thats the guy who saved us. In-Sure right?"

"Wow I mean Howitzer won but without the other guy we'd be doomed!"

I tested out the words on my tongue in a whisper, then with a bit of found confidence yelled up. "Don't worry. I in-sured your safety!"

To my surprise I was met with applause, with a roar of cheers from the balcony. Howitzer smiled, patting me on the back with a charred hand.

"Feels good huh? You should get this more often, hero."

It did feel good. And even though I loved my job, praise or not, cheers never hurt. I was glad someone realized that chaos was not just the absence of order, it was the absence of me.

Writers note: Some goofy lore I wanted to add but had no place to. In-Sure gets around by destroying parts of sidewalk or pavement then standing on it as he activates his power of repair. Doing so gives him a boost, as the pieces repairing under his feet shoot him forward.

I gotta be honest with you. As impressive as this is...his power is just soup. And Magnus's power is to hit things as hard as the plot needs him to.

I have been bested.

Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.

I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.

The shadow grew larger at our feet

As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.

From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.

"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.

"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."

A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.

"Ok Souperior, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."

The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.

I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.

"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."

Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: Gazpacho, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.

But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.

With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.

For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.

"May I have a bowl, hero?"

Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain.

Thanks! I was hoping it didn't seem too overdone. Glad that's not the case.

Human adjacent is what I was going for, but unspecified on purpose.

The alarms overhead blared their announcement: Defcon 3: Defcon 3, to which I had no choice but to believe its noises as I had programmed them myself. I rounded the corner hot, another gaggle of beasts at my heels, blood of my coworkers dripping from their mangled maws. As I headed a left through another corridor I saw sudden salvation left on the ground: a standard issue Septum-B sidearm. I had never been much of a shot in the training courses, but today? Well today my life depended on it.

I scooped it up on my pass, hearing another roar of wet snarls at my heels sending my body moving forward faster than I'd thought possible. My destination was just within reach, the blast doors to my office, jammed nearly closed (once again installed by yours truly). With any luck they'd hold long enough for the ODS Strike Team to arrive.

With a final desperate movement I rocketed myself through the thin gap between the two hunks of metal, the sounds of chaos left behind on the other side of the doors. The beasts now opposite of me roared and clawed, piled their bodies upon one another in frustration heaving their combined weight like a battering ram. But the doors barely flinched at the initial onslaught. If the experiments could read then they'd see my name lasered into the steel: Peabody Designs: Love it or Leave it. Too bad we hadn't gotten to the literacy portion of the testing before this mess.

I looked down to my stolen prize, the Septum-B handgun. Not a design of mine, but I knew...or rather had known the man who had crafted them up. Now when I aimed the sights down to the crack in the door it was solely for curiosities sake, whats science without a proper test? But when I pulled the trigger. When the bullet found that stream of air and rode it down, down through the head of one of the beasts long down the hallway, well I just had to try a second time. For a proper conclusion to be drawn the experiment must be repeatable, no?

And the second result proved to be the same as the first, another head exploding into a purpley goop to a roar of displeasure from the beasts. The conclusion being: Maybe Dr. Sherman Peabody wasn't such a bad shot after all.

Maybe all was not lost. Maybe the facility could be saved, and it could be days before ODS arrived after all. The facility could be saved, and all the less likely, by me. My old heart jumped in my chest at the thought, then my fingers twitched on the trigger letting off another round, another head gone. One by one, shot by shot the bodies piled. I couldn't, literally couldn't miss. Soon I was stepping out into the hall, pushing them back as if I was taking the lead score in a shooting gallery.

The beasts cluttered the hallway and up to the ceiling to get a taste at me, their gaping jaws dripping with saliva at the thought. Some were so desperate they pushed their way through others entirely. Initially my hands shook; my ears rang after shot. But before long I was a natural.

When one gun clicked empty another was miraculous at my feet, tethered to another body. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was giddy, excited to be doing so well and almost laughing at my success. Before long I had made my way back through the corridor from which I came to the start of it all Unit A: Testing.

The smell. The blood. The bodies of my colleagues stacked like sabdbags. Broken tubes and metal doors torn like paper (not my design). Then came the horde, the horde of demonic creatures tearing from their binds in the lab and pouring out towards me in a pile. There was more than I thought. More than ODS could handle, and certainly too much for one man. They were...multiplying it seemed.

With a click I pulled the magazine from the gun. One round left. I checked the floor to no avail. It seemed my luck had run dry. With one round left I felt good as to where it belonged. Felt lucky that I had done myself so proud, so confidently torn through the crowds. My name was engraved into this place and when they came, well they'd know who had laid waste to the many.

Dr. Sherman S. Peabody, Love it or Leave it. Luckily, my last shot wouldn't need skill to take.

"None of what you just drank was water muchacho, in fact I don't think any of it was even edible..." I spoke to my crewmate in awe.

Four of us on the ship. Me, a human of course; Jacks, a mecha of some sort; the tentacled thing that just used a container of something labeled Concentrated Mercury to quench its thirst, Rabble I called him; and finally, Steven.

The three of us stared to Rabble in amazement, and he, or, well, it, stared back in obvious obliviousness. Its face began turning green, even greener than usual.

"Wha- well I was thirsty! I needed some water." Rabble protested, tentacles flaring for effect.

"Ah yes. Well the capsule labeled water would have sufficed then" Jacks gestured over to the water capsule on the wall with a robotic hand as Rabble's face turned a shade greener. "Well, that isn't good." she continued.

"Nope! How did you even get on the crew anyway hombr-" before I could finish I was shoved aside by an almost human hand. Steven gripped Rabble by the shoulders and launched it into a divit built into the floor labeled Med-Bay, the words drawn on sloppily in orange paint.

"Hey I think I'm actually fine-". Rabble tried to get the words out, but with a push of a button by Steven a glass slide flew over the med-bay, silencing the toxic sipping alien. A screen then flew up from the floor.

Analyzing....Analyzing.....Well that's not good., the screen displayed in bold yellow text. Followed by:

1 Liter Concentrated Mercury

2 Cups Swamp Extract

1 Vial of Unknown Radioactive Liquids

2 Vials of Known Radioactive Liquids (Greemly Excretion...Gross)

Inside the tube Rabble craned its gelatinous neck to try and read the screen. Upon seeing the analysis he rolled his one, massive eye, a gesture he'd picked up from me no doubt. On the outside Jack's and my mouths dropped open as if we were trying to catch Crantumium Flies.

Swamp extract?! We had to gather that sludge fully suited and use a titanium scoop, even then we barely got the two cups, and this troglodyte drank it all!

Steven was already reaching for a scalpel out of the med-pak.

"Hey uh..Steve-o. Whatcha gunna do with that bad boy?" I spoke with uncertain certainty.

"Steven. It's Steven, though I do appreciate the nickname. I planned to cut open Rabblenous, locate its stomach sac, cut it open, and retrieve our samples."

Inside the tube Rabble, having now seen his fate, was now banging his tentacles against the glass. I was just as keen to get our samples back as the next guy, or whatever human adjacent thing Steven was, but cutting open a crewmate was just unprofessional.

"Well let's not do anything too rash...yet. Ok computer how long will Rabble take to digest any of that stuff."

If the computer had eyes to roll it would have, but due to the fact that it didn't instead the words appeared across its screen: Eye Roll as a replacement

...Fine...5 days 23 hours. But cutting the beast open would be faster and far more fun.

"Not the point. Ok Steven, hear me out. The rest of the team gets out here in 2 days. So we leave Rabble here, gather some different samples, and wait for them with the stomach pump. If they're not out here in 2 days then..."

I heard the sound of more bottles clinking, dropping to the ground, interrupting my gamble. Upon looking over a single of Rabble's slimy tentacles was rifling through the "Biohazard" bin. Rabble glanced over to the tentacle, then back to us, then back to the tentacle, which continued its search.

Jack grabbed a second and third scalpel from the shelf, handing me the extra.

Yes, it is. It's from the Meet the Scout Team Fortress 2 video.

Thank you. Great prompt!

Glad someone got the reference!

Your stories always make me jealous when I read them. Great as always!