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“Um...” What the fuck should I say? He’ll know if I’m lying.

“I merely suggested your clothes could use a minor adjustment, is all.” I emit a weak, nervous giggle.

A little truth is better than a total lie, right?

Dracoth frowns before straightening. The absence of his warm hands on my bare shoulders is surprisingly regrettable.

His molten eyes travel the length of my nude body, as if implying my hypocrisy.

“What?” I snap back at his ridiculous comparison.

“This?” I start, glaring down but keeping my breasts and vagina covered.

“It’s hardly a fashion choice now, is it?

” I shake with outrage, thinking this Dracoth might be dumb after all.

“You’re more pleasing this way,” His deep voice echoes like a rockslide, hitting me like one.

My mouth works soundlessly, unable to find the words, so overcome with anger.

“That. Is. The. Single most hurtful thing anyone has ever said.” I pause, gasping for air to steady my nerves.

“My Chanel suit and matching Birkin bag are the epitome of style. The colors match my blonde hair and silver eyes perfectly. The fitting was excellently tailored to bring in my waist and highlight my...” My words trail off, realizing I’m naked, speaking to my alien abductor about clothes he doesn’t understand.

Dracoth watches with an unreadable expression. “Whatever,” I exhale deeply. “Lead the way so I can get my clothes back already.” I gesture down the dim corridor, eager to get this—whatever it is—over with.

“You first,” Dracoth rumbles, mimicking my gesture down the empty corridor, already proving himself a tiresome bore.

“No, you—”

Dracoth moves like a bolt of red lightning, clutching me under one arm like a sack of laundry. I squeal and thrash in protest, but it’s no use. His grip is as unbreakable as molten rock.

“Put me down, you asshole!” I demand, covering my boobs, mortified that my bum is hanging in the air, exposed. How come he cradles the others like delicate children, but I’m carried like baggage for the overhead compartment?

He marches down the passage, each thudding step sending jolts through me.

This is not going well at all! Although maybe pissing him off might benefit me?

Dracoth’s body emits incredible heat, like he’s made of burning coals.

Probably his bore energy radiating out of him, I think sulkily, feeling utterly powerless, hoping no one ever discovers this embarrassment.

Straining my neck, I look up to see we are fast approaching a door.

“Wait, wait!” I protest, wincing that he’s about to use my head like a battering ram, until it slides open in a smooth swoosh.

This room seems like a medical facility, with benches and surgical-like tools scattered around.

A sense of dread quickens my breaths, not helped by the sight of the scary Demon Egg-Head alien.

“Ah, good. You brought the plump one,” the cheeky asshole demon alien states with a twisted look of excitement.

My anger flares hotter than Dracoth’s body. “Who you calling plump, you old demon—” Dracoth’s immense hand covers my mouth, sealing in my impotent rage.

“Ah, this one speaks! Won’t this be nice?” He gazes at me with a yellow-fanged smile that’s as reassuring as razor-blades. “Place her in the healing pod,” he commands, gesturing towards strange cylinder pods at the far side.

A surge of relief washes away some dread—the term ‘healing’ is much nicer than ‘anal probe.’ Though I frown, noticing most of them appear broken, with large cracks on the translucent screens.

What kind of two-bit operation are these morons running?

Dracoth hurries towards the pod, jiggling me senseless in the process.

“This one speaks much nonsense. She may be mentally impaired,” he declares. Demon Egg-Head cackles while I’m shaking with rage, feeling strangely betrayed by his shitty assessment of me. Without thinking, I bite his massive hand.

Immediately I regret my action. It’s like biting a hot rock covered in thick, hardened leather. Dracoth glares down at me, grimacing, while I’m uselessly mouthing his hand.

“As suspected,” he mutters.

“You’re a hard one to please, young Dracoth. First, they’re too quiet; now, they talk too much.” You tell him! Demon Egg-Head laments as Dracoth bundles me into the so-called healing pod with none of the gentleness he showed Carmen. His obvious favoritism grates on my nerves.

Dracoth closes the pod door, sealing me inside with only my panic for company. My hands push and thump against the translucent screen, but it’s unyielding, feeling like hardened plastic and emitting a dull echo.

“This one’s feisty,” Demon Egg-Head smirks, making my skin crawl. “Though she better not break our last healing pod. If she knows what’s good for her.” His expression twists into one of grotesque intensity that freezes me in place, promising retribution.

He is more terrifying than Dracoth! My mouth works soundlessly, as useless as my trembling body.

Green mist spills into the cramped pod. Driven by instinct, I hold my breath and shift my head, attempting to avoid the ominous gas.

Dracoth folds his massive arms, glaring at me with a blank expression, while Demon Egg-Head stares at a blue glowing projection.

Their cold indifference to me being experimented on like a lab rat sickens me.

It’s no use. The green vapors contaminate the air, and my lungs beg for oxygen, forcing me to inhale.

Oh... oh my!

A sensation of bliss blooms within me, washing away all my fear and anger.

It’s like I’m carried away on a beautiful yacht, with the waters lapping gently and the sun beaming down from a cloudless sky, warming my skin.

A sound like the sweetest music caresses my ears, then I realize it’s me giggling, which heightens my laughter further.

Warmth fills my body, making me squirm, and a familiar yearning pools between my legs as my face heats and my nipples harden. My hand travels to the aching need pulsing from my core until I stop, remembering where I am—who I’m with.

The red titan stands partially obscured by the delightful swirling mist, with arms folded. His crimson eyes burn, his face expressionless.

Does he like what he sees? What is the big brute thinking, standing there like a blank statue? Does he want to fuck me like he wants to fuck Sandra?

Manic, blissful laughter escapes me as I contemplate playing with myself to see what reaction I’d get.

This is so naughty; I love it! I glare back at Dracoth but with a sly, seductive smile, the one that never fails to impress men.

His mouth moves—his and the other alien's, their words lost amongst the blood and laughter roaring in my ears.

As my hand trails down my stomach, slowly lowering, the healing pod emits a deafening ping. The door creaks open and the lovely green gas drifts away—taking my whimsy with it.

No, come back!

I burst out of the pod, trying to follow the beautiful gas before it fades away. My bliss and mania fade with it, leaving me nothing but a beaming red face of embarrassment and regret.

What the fuck was I thinking? The plan, Lexie, remember the plan!

They did this to me, these creepy alien abductors.

“You horny aliens give me lust gas!” I accuse, shaking with outrage, my nudity forgotten in a swirl of frantic finger-jabbing.

“Is this what you creeps do? Go from planet to planet and drug females for your sick pleasures? Well, I’m stronger than others.

I won’t submit to your green rape fumes!

” I do kind of miss it though. But how fucking dare they do this to me!

An awkward silence lingers as the two giant aliens stare at me with unblinking eyes. Their lack of reaction somehow heightens my annoyance. Dracoth turns without a word, stalking towards a nearby bench while Demon Egg-Head titters.

“What the hell’s so funny?” I snap, my anger flaring.

“Well, young Dracoth, you might actually be right for once,” the creepy alien laughs, his whole body shaking.

Great, now he’s laughing at me! I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life—well, except maybe that time Roger’s girlfriend caught us making out in their bathroom.

“Stop laughing at me, Demon Egg-Head!” I scream, shaking with rage and humiliation.

“Demon egg-head !” he echoes, laughing even harder, making me want to slap the stupid sound out of his creepy yellow-toothed smile.

“Oh, that’s a good one.” He wipes tears from his glowing green eyes.

“You know what is funny, little human?” His face shifts from mirth to a frightening narrowed-eyed glare, compelling me to step back.

“That gas is not... how did you so elegantly put it? Ah yes. ‘Rape fumes.’” He pauses, smirking.

“It’s a healing mist which restores the body to its base level as best it can by placing the patient into a state of complete bliss.

It heightens pleasure and removes inhabitations, you understand.

Meaning what you displayed was your true unburdened self. ”

No fucking way, my unburdened self is that desperate!

His words hit like a gut punch as I search my hands uselessly, as if they may hold any answers. “We’ve never seen a reaction like that before. Have we, Dracoth?” he chortles, turning to the red giant.

“Never,” Dracoth replies, sounding almost bored.

“Don’t look so glum,” Demon Egg-Head mocks with a twisted grin. “I, for one, found your... display most pleasing.” He cackles anew, causing my skin to crawl, and I find myself further covering my body from his predatory gaze.

“Enough, you old gas-cloud ,” Dracoth grumbles like falling rocks, walking towards me with a bundle of clothes in his massive arms—my clothes!

Excitement bursts inside me, my anger and embarrassment washing away in a wave of joy. I rush over to the towering Dracoth with a beaming smile.

“Thank you,” I repeat with eager anticipation. No more nakedness, only style and my restored social status awaiting me.

Wait...

“Why the fuck is my BIEGE Chanel now PINK?” I hold out my ruined clothes like a fluttering flag of misery.

This cruelty is too much—purest joy, burned to the most bitter ashes.

“Look at the state of it!” I demand, glaring between the two perplexed giant aliens, who look dumbfounded, heightening my outrage.

“This is supposed to be a light beige, not fucking Barbie pink!” I can’t believe this.

This isn’t happening. Why does everything conspire against me?

I strain to wave the garish suit in the stupid alien’s towering face, wanting him to experience an ounce of the anger he’s caused me.

“Well? What are you going to do to fix this travesty?” I demand, my teeth clenched with seething fury.

Long razor-shape claws extend from Dracoth’s fingers, reflecting the dim purple light like gleaming swords. I recoil in horror, but he snatches my Chanel from my grasp with volcanic force.

“I’ll fix it,” he rumbles, his crimson eyes flashing with disdain.

“Wait don’t!” I plead, rushing to clutch his immense leg.

But it’s too late—my life is over. Killed with each cut he’s making.

“Please!” I beg, thumping him as hard as I can, but it’s like hitting a wall of burning coals.

Pieces of my ruined Chanel suit float like fluttering pink petals in a garden of sadness, mimicking my frantic tears.

“You fucking asshole,” I whisper, collapsing in defeat.

“Fixed,” Dracoth the slasher declares, tossing me the remnants of my soul. His smoldering eyes remain neutral, somehow heightening his sinister crime.

I clutch the torn suit, cradling it like a dying child, hating the red alien with every fiber of my being. “And my Birkin handbag?” I inquire with a voice as icy as my parents’ hearts, expecting nothing—just more pain.

The evil Dracoth shrugs with disgusting indifference. “That’s everything,” he gestures to my ruined clothes.

Of course! Of course, it’s my fault. It’s always my fault.

Not just my purse, but my cell phone and wallet are gone as well.

I shouldn’t be surprised; nothing ever goes my way.

I mean, look at this situation now. How could the universe be so cruel?

It’s all too much, even for me. The familiar pit of despair surges from the emptiness in my heart that I can never fill, always waiting, always lurking. It finds me now, swallowing me whole.

Uncontrollable sobs shake my entire body as I curl into a weeping ball.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself this time, young Dracoth,” Demon Egg-Head chimes in to mock.

Slasher Dracoth plucks me from the floor with surprising gentleness, but I know what he’s really like—the horror he’s inflicted.

I could fight and struggle, but what’s the use?

Only anguish and whatever terror they have planned awaits me on this horrible hobo ship.

“This isn’t really going very well, now is it,” Demon Egg-Head comments, his voice growing distant.

Dracoth sighs as my wailing intensifies. “I tire of this,” he says, echoing a portion of my thoughts—I tire of life.

My tormenter cradles me like I cradle my torn Chanel suit, my tears soaking the fabric. His long strides ring out, and the blazing heat of his body grows uncomfortable. I’d complain, but then I’d have to stop crying.

The cell bars crash down, but I’m only vaguely aware of it, lost to the blackness oozing from my heart. I feel the cold hard metal floor cooling my bare skin, shockingly unpleasant compared to the alien’s radiant heat.

Dracoth the monster leaves with haste, offering no words, no glances—nothing. Just the cell bars slamming closed, leaving us four women to ponder with downcast faces what comes next.

“Pink suits you, Princesa ,” Carmen mocks.

Fuck my life.