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Neville Say Never...; Act III: The Fourth Kind

Act III – The Fourth Kind


            I awoke the next morning confused, unable to remember anything that happened after my bathroom encounter with the strange, overly-touchy woman. Adding to my confusion was that fact that I had somehow made it back to my friend's house, and that I was surrounded by three men I had never in my life seen before.

            I rolled over slowly, doing a quick mental check-up of myself and the situation. Three men. That's weird. All of my clothes are still on. That, too, is weird, but good. None of my holes are sore. That's the best. These guys are so not my type. I'm now starting to question my sexuality. I need to get out of my own head. Say something.


            "You need to come with us," one of the men responded.

            "Yeah, that makes perfect sense." I had no idea what was going on, but I wasn't exactly in any sort of position to question their authority. Not a single one of them was wearing a short that had sleeves, and that meant that they were wild cards, Vin Diesel style.

            I followed them downstairs and came to find the front door kicked in. I looked at the only one who had spoken, shaking my head disapprovingly.

            "Was that really necessary," I asked him. "Do you see how easily I'm coming with you? You could have just knocked."

            "We didn't do that," he told me. "The door was like that when we got here."
            "Oh, really? Haha, that's awesome." It was then that I really wished I could remember the rest of the previous night, because something fantastic apparently happened. "Hey, wait a minute. Where is..."

            "He's fine. He's asleep. We need to get going," the spokesman said.

            They walked me out to their van -- which looked eerily similar to every "child molesting van" you have ever seen, but was black instead of white, so I felt I was safe -- and sat me in the back. Before shutting the sliding door, the ring leader pulled a black cloth out of his pocket, tossing it to me.

            "You need to put this on."

            Unfolding it, I saw it was a mask, with a rhinestone "E" embroidered on the front of it. Again with the masks, I thought, having a short acid/Vietnam style flashback to the Santa of my childhood.

            "Really? When it just came out of your pocket," I asked.

            "Yes. Put it on. We have to go."

            Reluctantly, I slipped the mask over my face. "Oh, God, it's warm from your pocket." My stomach started to churn, and I breathed in deeply, fighting back vomit. "And I can smell your balls! This is horrible!"

            "Breathe through your mouth." The only advice he could offer.

            "Now I can taste them!"

            We drove for what seemed like hours -- probably they played Black Eyed Peas' Monkey Business album, on repeat, the entire time. Given the choice, I would choose water boarding every time. The van eventually came to a stop and the engine shut off, and I was told to get out. They walked me a building, and down a long corridor, and finally into a room. When I was allowed to remove the mask, I found myself in a brightly lit room; containing a chair, a metal table, and what appeared to be an X-ray machine. My captors said nothing as they left the room, shutting the door behind them.
            After pacing for a few minutes, a voice boomed down from the ceiling. "Remove your pants and underwear and lie on the table."

            "God," I asked. "Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret. I've been wanting to ask you about this blood..."
            "Remove your pants and underwear and lie on the table, or you will be forced to put the mask back on."

            "Oh sweet Christ, no." I did not want to put that thing back on. It was like wearing seaweed. "Tell Swamp Thing he needs to scrub more thoroughly."

            Now, even more confused, I did as I was told. I slowly made my way onto the table, goose bumps rising on my skin from the cool metal. "Hey, this thing is cold, so this is not an accurate representation..."

            As I spoke, the door opened again, and in walked the woman from last night. I sat up on my elbows, staring her down as she approached. "What in the fuck is going on," I asked, and then noticed she was being followed by a group of people, my captors included. My hands quickly moved to my lower half, covering myself as I shook my head.

            "Just let it happen," she told me.

            "What? What does that even mean? Are you going to gang rape me?" My questions were only met with her brushing her hand across my forehead, smiling, and saying "Shhh."

            "I think you're trying to calm me down by doing that, but it's having the exact opposite effect," I told her.

            The crowd surrounded me, observing me with a wave of "Oohs" and "Aahs." One of the men took the X-ray-looking machine in his hands, zeroing in on the same spot the woman had touched the night before.

            "This is an outstanding specimen," he remarked.

            "Are you patronizing me," I remarked to his remark.

            "It's like you were eating pizza with sausage on it, and one piece fell onto your lap and just grafted onto your body."

            "What kind of compliment is that," I asked. "You people are really fucking strange."

            As I stared up at the ceiling, the bathroom woman's face came into my field of vision, smiling down at me. "Welcome to the agency," she said; a round of applause from the crowd following her declaration.


To Be Continued...

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