Chapter Text
Your name is MSPA READER—or, rather, it will be, someday, when your magical cue ball not-dad finally decides it’s time to pick you up from work. (Specifically, work you never signed up for nor knew you were even doing.)
Not that “MSPA reader” is much of a name in the first place. Hell, it’s barely even a title. It’s more like a label for an appliance, so that you’re reminded of whatever it’s supposed to be doing every time you see it lying somewhere around the house. “MSPA reader” is about as tasteful a title as “vacuum cleaner”. Thanks a lot, Doc.
But anyways, that’s all in the future. At this point in your life, you mostly just think of yourself as THE ALIEN. On good days, you like to think that title can be extended to ALTERNIA’S FAVORITE ALIEN. On bad days, the title tends more towards ALTERNIA’S PUNCHING BAG.
Eh, some nights end better than others. It happens.
Speaking of which… what happened to you last night?
You manage to somewhat shake off your weird train of thought concerning nomenclature as you begin to more fully wake up. It takes you a little while to realize your eyes are actually open—all you can see is pitch black. Which is…not something you’re all that acquainted with, actually. Between the steady glow of pink-and-lime moons at night and the hellglare of the sun during the day, true blackness is something you only see when you close your eyes.
Or, like, in the immediate seconds after getting clocked by some thug. Like you said, some nights.
Reality comes rushing in all at once. You are lying on your front on the ground, the side of your face squished against some hard metal surface. Even after blinking rapidly to try to adjust your vision, you can see nothing but blackness. Thankfully, it doesn’t feel as though anything particularly horrific has become of your eyes. Less-thankfully, your everything hurts, even more than usual. Every inch of you is stinging like you’d spent the night in a nest of Alternian killipedes.
You manage to get your arms under you and start to slowly push yourself up, when- clang! The back of your head comes suddenly into contact with an unforgivingly hard surface. A flurry of bright dots crowds your vision at the impact, and you flop right back to the ground with a yelp. What the hell?
You squeeze your eyes shut until the throbbing in your head subsides. Okay. Okay. First things first, let’s try to turn around.
You manage to turn yourself around until you’re on your back. Your situation hasn’t changed much—you can’t see a goddamn thing. Just the effort of turning over makes your bruised limbs scream in protest, forcing you to take a breather before moving again. Jeez, you really should hit the gym more often.
Hesitantly, you outstretch an arm. When it encounters nothing, you lean up a little, and there- your fingers brush metal. You move your arm to the side and then to the other, confirming that this metal, twisted and bent in places, neatly surrounds your entire form. Clearly, you’re in some kind of small, enclosed space.
Your feel your heart start to beat faster, your pulse thunk-thunk-thunking a panicky beat against the side of your neck. What happened? Kidnapping seems obvious, or at least it would be, if you weren’t some casteless nobody living in an old watchtower on the outskirts of town—
Oh. Oh SHIT. You think you remember now.
The day before, you’d just been in the old structure you’d taken as your home, settling into your little pile of musty blankets for a long-deserved rest. Just as your consciousness began to slip away, the air was split by a horrific metallic screeching. And then… what?
Maybe you’d finally died in your sleep, and the noise was the grim reaper drawing up his scythe? Nah. Given that this was Alternia, their version of the grim reaper probably had, like, a chainsaw or something. With like, fifty more blades sticking out the sides. Maybe some skull decals? Actually, that sounds pretty cool, now that you think about it.
A dull haze starts to settle over your senses. You shake your head a little to dislodge the fuzz and plunge back into your steadily derailing train of thought.
Maybe a passing drone had taken notice of the tower, and somehow scooped you up to deposit you in an oddly tiny prison cell to await judgement for your many, many comical crimes? Maybe this was the work of some poacher who specifically targeted small, pathetic aliens for whatever reason? Or, hell, maybe this was reality, and everything else you’d ever experienced was just a dream. Heh, that’d explain a lot of things...
You feel yourself slipping away, and you let it happen, too tired and confused for anything else. Your last thought, before you finally pass the hell out, is hey, weren’t we supposed to see someone today?
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Your name is CHARUN KROJIB, and, uhhhh...... you think you might be about to pass out.
Your friend’s hive is a smashed wreck at the bottom of a cliff.