Shit, I’m going to die. I’ve been abducted by aliens, and now one of them is pointing a weird gun at me. I have no idea what’s going on, haven’t really since I got taken, but I know one thing now. There’s really only one thing I could take away from this situation, and that’s that I’m about to die.

I brace myself for whatever this alien’s weapon does. The only hope in my mind now is that it’ll be quick. I stare down the barrel of the gun, and time runs slow. They say your life flashes before your eyes, but that’s not exactly true. Instead, you become so aware of yourself that you can’t help but remember. You remember your greatest failures, as well as your successes. Your highs, your lows, and you wonder. Did it any of it even matter? The answer is no, by the way. Unless you actively go out to change the world, there’s a very small chance that you actually made any difference.

The alien makes some strange gurgling noise and I flinch, this is it… Except, it isn’t. Instead, I’m shot with what smells like rubbing alcohol. Good thing I had my eyes closed, but what the hell is going on? The alien seems similarly shocked and fires again with the same result. Ok, this is officially freaking me out.

The alien pulls out what looks like a walkie-talkie and shouts something frantically into it. It then slips on what I’m almost certain is a gas mask, and books it for the exit. I try to run after it, but a forcefield blocks my way. I frantically bang on the forcefield, shouting at the alien to let me out. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m about to be gassed, and I don’t want to die. It’s different than when I was looking down the barrel of its gun. Then, I was certain that I would die. I’d accepted it, in a strange way. Now, I somehow feel like there’s some kind of hope. That maybe, if I just scream loud enough, it might change its mind.

It doesn’t change it mind. Instead, I pass out from the pinkish gas.

———————————————————————————————

What the hell? It’s like this thing can’t die! I hit it with not one, but two mili-cartridges of Isopropyl Alcohol! Whatever, I guess if I can’t kill it, I’ll just sell it to whatever idiot will give me the most credits for it. All I’ve got to do is keep it passed out with gas until I can secure a buyer. Thank the Spirits that the gas even worked, I was worried. Sure, it’s at more than 100 times the lethal concentration for my species, but I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me.

As I conclude the final call for offers, I feel a tad guilty. The buyer is ended up being a team of researchers focused on combat stimulants. Specifically, adrenaline. Adrenaline’s been on the radar of the various militaries for a while, but even the smallest doses left the test subjects with serious and permanent psychosis and other symptoms that made any semblance of a normal life impossible.

Basically, this poor creature is in for a new type of living hell. Oh well, at least I got a pretty sum of credits for it. In other words, it’s not my problem anymore.

———————————————————————————————

Special Report: test subject on the research station Craelyn believed to be under the influence of Adrenaline has slaughtered the crew and stolen a shuttle. Isopropyl Alcohol seemed to have to effect. It is coming, and we can not stop it.

———————————————————————————————

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