Texas, 1953 …

  Some popular 50s country song blasts through the radio in a 50s diner. The occupants of said diner painfully but deliberately undiversified. A waiter, who looks to be in his 30s is dutifully polishing the counter top, customers chatting idly in the background.

  The bell at the top of the door rings, signifying a new customer. A pair of black boots enter first, its owner's face obscured behind a tilted black cowboy hat. The action is not deliberate, seeing as the owner casually adjusts the hat, completely revealing themselves.

  Alex.

  She takes a seat at the counter, and scoops up the menu–to the chagrin of the waiter–pouring through it fervently, either legitimately oblivious, or pretending to ignore the ‘what the fuck’ looks on the other customers' faces.

  “Pie please. Pecan.” She decides, setting down the menu exactly as she found it.

  The waiter stands, maliciously eyeing Alex. Unmoving. She looks around, a bit confused. Was she missing something?

  “Pie?” She asks again, trying and ultimately failing to get her point across.

  She turns to another customer exasperatedly. “Is he deaf?“

  Other customer sizes her up, glaring at her like her entire existence was a universal mistake. “You're not supposed to be here.“

  She rears back at the statement. “Excuse me?”

  “We don't serve people of your color in this establishment.“ Waiter interjects bitterly.

  Oh, so Waiter wasn't deaf. Just a bigot. She turns to him, tsking disapprovingly. “You're not deaf.“ she accuses.

  The waiter points to a 'WHITES ONLY' sign in the background, and she squints at it. Snorting before reaching into her jacket for her wallet, all this for some pie.

  ”I didn't come to inter-marry.” She jibes. “I just want pie.“

  Apparently the waiter has had enough. He climbs over the counter and plops over to the other side–her side in 3 seconds. A commendable affair if she wasn't hungry and in a mood that bode no nonsense.

  He puts his hands on her, about to heave her from her stool, when she spins him around with inhuman speed.

  Smack!

  His head thuds hard on the counter, his face purple like a grape about to pop. Her one hand on his temple and the other twisting his entire arm in a dangerous angle.

  A couple of customers–Men–lift up their seats, about to intervene. This was becoming a whole thing.

  “Now why would you do that?” she scolds disappointedly. “If you're all out of Pie, you could have just said so.“ She twists his already twisted arm for good measure, hoping to pass her point across.

  Waiter howls in pain, the volume causing the small rescue party to take a few steps back, but not completely deterred.

  Waiter guy grunts. “We don't want your kind here.“

  “My kind?“

  The rescue party murmurs in agreement, taking emboldened steps forward. Waiter angles his head towards her, launching a slimy glob of spit that hits her on the side of her face. Her eyes narrow into deadly slits.

  “Allow me introduce you to my kind.” She grits.

  “We know enough to--” Waiter's sentence is cut short by his own scream. Alex pushing her fist right through his head. Rendering what was once his skull a bloody pulp.

  There's blood and bits of brains splattered on everybody, the waiter's headless body drops to the floor with a dull thud.

  The customers stare in frozen horror, a female customer letting out a shrill scream before darting for the door.

  Alex flinches at the sound, reflexively putting a bloody hand to her ear, then cursing profusely when she realizes a chunk of Waiter guy's head is nestled at the entrance to her ear. She brings out a white handkerchief from her pocket, quickly wiping the brains and spit from her ear, face and hands.

  Customer lady was sobbing now, still tugging futilely on the door. The door wasn't going to open anytime soon, not that she'd be the one to inform the frantic woman.

  “I am so sorry about the mess.” She addresses the occupants of the diner who were now suddenly content with remaining in their seats.

  The lady is still tugging continuously at the door, the rattling sound slowly eating at Alex’s hungry patience.

  “Does anyone here know how to make Pecan pie though?” she asks, and no one moves. Or says a word.

  Rattle-rattle. Her left eye twitches.

  The customers must notice, because they begin murmuring amongst themselves. Probably determining the best pie maker, she hopes.

  Rattle-rattle!

  She heaves a calming breath, eyes flicking across their faces–each one of them sporting different looks of fear–and they hurriedly shake their heads.

  Rattle-rattle!

  She turns impatiently to the lady still incessant on bringing the door down. “You. What is your name?“

  “F-F-Freda.” A broken voice replies.

  Alex frowns. “F-F-Freda?“

  The lady somehow steadies herself, now aware of how thin Alex's patience was wearing. “Freda.“ She repeats with a wet sniff.

  Alex is very thankful snot had not escaped with the name.

  “Well Freda, you look like you can make pie. Not to stereotype, but can you?“ She glances at her watch, quickly turning back to the Lady.

  Freda nods gently, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Well why didn't you say something? Flip the sign closed and get over here.”

  Freda does immediately as she's told. Wiping her eyes with the hem of her gown, she shakily heads behind the counter to start on the pie.

  The ready pie sits on the counter top, hot and steaming. Freda on one side of the counter, dried tears on her face, Alex–she had told Freda–on the opposite side, brandishing a spoon.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Freda can't help but shrink in on herself at the suspicious look Alex is giving her, spoon cutting into fresh pie. She thankfully diverts her gaze to the bit on the spoon for a moment, before depositing it in her mouth.

  Her chewing is precise, palates searching and testing out every flavour. Freda had put in her best work into that pie. She takes in Alex's face scrunched up in thought–her brain working hard to keep up with her tongue; and says a little prayer.

  Finally Alex swallows, grave stare slowly morphing into a genuine smile. “Best pie I've had all year.” She scores. And Freda lets out the breath she had been holding since the waiter lost his head.

  Freda packs the pie up quickly at Alex's behest, watching her wipe the blood off her hat with the fallen waiter's apron. She hurries through her task, making sure to maintain her efficiency, every second probably counted to someone like Alex.

  Packing the ready pie in a paper bag, she hands it to Alex, who collects it with a nod, a nice smile, and a generous stack of bills on the small part of the counter that isn't covered with brains.

  “Thank you for the pie, Freda.“ Alex complements politely. And Freda courtesies primly in response.

  “And thank you for your hospitality.” Alex turns to the other customers, addressing them without prejudice.

  She tips her newly polished hat in salute, frowning at a man whose head lolls to his chest. Alex places her hat atop her head with a short sigh, marching over to raise the very dead man's head, and arrange it properly on his shoulders.

  Stopping to inspect the proper postures of the other still customers–who are also regrettably dead–and confirming everything to be in order, she shoots Freda a smile before walking out the door, opening it like it wasn't glued shut 3 minutes ago.

  A large space ship lands in the middle of a blizzard, the ground around the flying saucer rumbling as it sets down with a heavy thud. The numerous lights adorning the machinery pierce through the heavy blizzard in the darkness of the night, giving the otherworldly contraption an even more imposing look.

  A mechanical whir, as a translucent ramp extends, and three men sporting steel blue gemstones on each of their brows descend, one of them holding a hand scanner. Their boots make heavy indents as they step into the snow. The more muscular of the men inhales deeply.

  “Midgard. You can always tell by the stench of their inferiority.” He spits, angling his head away from the outstretched ramp, so the spittle lands in the snow.

  His comrade frowns at the action.

  “On the contrary, Nod. I once met a Midgard woman many moons ago.” He lifts his gaze to the obscured moon above, face taking on a wistful look. “She was the most elegant and kindest woman I ever met, and I have traveled a thousand stars.”

  Nod grunts at the brief tale, eyes darting about the darkness. “I wonder if she still lives.”

  “I doubt it.” The one with the scanner finally speaks. “Occupants of this planet have been known to expire rather quickly.” He says disdainfully.

  Nod frowns after a moment of searching frantically–which was basically a half-ass twirl with his eyes darting to and fro in the heavy snowstorm–turns to the one with the scanner. “Nelzux, there is no sign of the Crystal here.”

  “No. But scans pick up residue.”

  Nod stares blankly, and Nelzux blinks the sharp retort off his tongue.

  “At one point the crystal was here.” He says instead, enunciating loudly like it would make up for Nod’s complete lack of knowledge.

  Nod frowns at the exaggerated tone. And if he had clocked the hidden insult, he couldn't be that stupid.

  “You didn't have to use foreign words.” He complains under his breath. Nevermind, the former assessment stands.

  Nelzux turns to his other partner, completely checking out of all conversations Nod adjacent.

  “Kyp. Do your thing.”

  Kyp nods in understanding, arms outstretched as if waiting for some invisible hug, before closing his eyes. His partners quickly don earbuds.

  A couple of seconds later, after their earbuds are in place, Kyp grunts. His arms wrapping around him for a moment before returning to their outstretched positions. A blue pulse-like ripple leaves him. His eyes glow blue, eyeballs moving rapidly as the ripple spreads around the globe. The ripple slams back into him a couple of moments after, causing him to stumble a bit. He shakes the blue glow from his eyes and turns to his partners.

  “I found it. South.”

  Nelzux plops out his earbuds, Nod imitating him.

  “Then we cloak the ship. Continue on foot.”

  “You want us to mingle with the Tellurians?” Nod asks in disgust, wide eyes trained on Nelzux in query.

  “Blend in.” Nelzux corrects. “This way we will draw less attention, while we search for the crystal.”

  Kyp perks up. “First we will need the right clothes.”

  “We already have clothes.” Nod grunts.

  “Midgard clothes.” Kyp says, vibrating in pure joy. He turns to his comrades when a silence descends upon them, cheeks blushing at the questioning looks he finds there. “To blend in?” He adds belatedly.

  Nelzux narrows his eyes at him for a moment, deciding to let the excuse lie. “Fine. But we cannot afford any more deviation from our mission.” He pushes a button on his scanner that cloaks the ship, pretending not to see the little fist pump Kyp indulges.

  He trods in the snow, towards where he suspects civilization might be, Kyp and Nod behind him. Glancing at his scanner every once in a while for confirmation.

  The three displaced men walk into a clothing store, a little bell above the door announcing their entrance. Nod takes a step in and freezes, a wild expression on his face where he looks like he wants to rip apart anything with color in the cheap boutique.

  “Can I help you?” An uncertain voice asks, and three heads simultaneously whip towards the sound, apparently realizing they weren’t alone in the store.

  A child, approximately 35 Earth cycles, Kyp calculates is staring them down, nary a look of fear in his eyes. He looks rather intrigued at their appearance if Kyp was being honest. A far cry from the reaction he had received upon his last visit to this blue stone.

  Nod stalks forward, stopping opposite the boy. He leans directly into him, forgoing all thoughts of personal space–if he knew even what that was–eyes narrowing in thought as he thoroughly scrutinizes his target. The storekeeper’s eyes swell wide in astonishment, when the glowing gemstones above Nod’s brows squelch in on themselves, folding neatly into his skin. Presenting an unblemished space, where they once sat.

  He raises back up with an air of accomplishment, shooting his comrades a smug smile before demanding– “We seek to blend in with you humans.”

  The Storekeeper blinks in rapid successions, possibly not trusting that he wasn’t under some hallucinogens before replying. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Clothes. We need clothes.” Kyp says.

  The Storekeeper gawps at them one after the other for a couple of seconds, before remembering his duties, with a shake of his head. “Of course.” he says, mildly disoriented. Before slipping out from behind his station, and leading them to a changing room.

  Nelzux inspects his reflection on the opaque door the storekeeper had bafflingly referred to as a mirror. He’d like to see what the clothes looked like behind as well, but was disappointed to find out the mirror only worked when he was actively staring into it. The black ‘jean’ the Tradesman had offered him had a rip on the left knee. A flaw he had been assured was intentional and necessary for the overall appearance of the garment. He had paired the ‘jeans’ with other clothing he had called ‘a tee and bomber jacket’

  Kyp on the other hand had clothed himself, and took great pleasure doing it, if the way he was preening at his reflection was any indication. His own black jeans didn’t have any tears on it, and had instead proceeded to add two more garments over the white dress shirt the storekeeper had suggested to him. A grey sweater and a dark grey overcoat, stopping just above his thigh.

  Nod, to Nelzux’s relief still looked like a clown. He insisted on the replication of some celebrity he had seen on a poster on the wall of the shop. Dressed in black, low baggy pants, a black graphic tee, and an oversized purple hoodie with the word 'Thug' etched brazenly across it.

  “The picture on the wall said it was 'Hip'.” He had said in response to Kyp’s revolting stare. Now they were stood outside the store after rendering the storekeeper unconscious–Kyp had insisted that he not die–when he wouldn’t accept Crulions as currency for payment.

  “Where to now?” Kyp asks, still eyeing Nod’s outfit something fierce.

  Nelzux retrieves the scanner from his bomber jacket. The jeans too tight and form fitting to house anything other than a single finger. “South, like you said.” He responds, after triangulating the red blinking dot blinking on the scanner, with the information Kyp had given.

  Ice cream. Cookies. Beer. Soda. Alex couldn't decide. One of the benefits of having a fast metabolism that could digest anything as fast as possible meant she could consume every one of these things without any repercussions. After a moment of deliberation, she settles on a large bowl of mint Ice cream. Mint being one of her favorites since its discovery as an ice cream flavor in the 40s. She had consumed a helping of it daily–to the chagrin of Akio, for almost 30 years.

  She kicks the fridge door shut with her foot, simultaneously reaching for a spoon just as a blue energy pulse ripples through the house. The lights fritz audibly for a second, before glowing blindingly bright. The sound of the TV going static in solidarity, crackling from the living room.

  What the hell? Alex heads to the living room to investigate, wincing as a tiny feedback sound upsets her ears. Thinking nothing of it–she did pick up more sounds than normal people could–she picks up the remote, flicking through a couple of channels to confirm that every station was indeed down.

  The bowl of Ice Cream shatters to a million pieces on the ground when she drops it to cover her ears from the sound that has now become completely unbearable. Blood drips down her nose, upsetting the mint green mess on the floor. A quick glance at her hands shows that her ears are spewing blood too. She shuts her eyes as she feels blood trickling down uncontrollably from there as well, before screaming deafeningly and falling to the ground, unconscious.

  The blue energy pulse ripples back out the way it came, lights and TV returning to their normal state. There is a brief crackle on the TV as a video of Cutting Crew's "I Just Died In Your Eyes Tonight” starts to play.