CHOOSE THE STORY FOR SEASON 4!

It’s been too long, hasn’t it? You thought we’d forgotten you, right? Wrong. Season 4 is nearly upon us. The only thing left to do is for you, our adoring and long-suffering (not to mention patient) fans and readers to pick the story you want us to 

write.

Read through the following story lines and then pick your favourite. It’s as simple as making cupcakes from play-dough. We’ve all done this, right? Right?

Polls close at the end of the week. Be nice.

THE CHOICES

1.  You wake, your face stuck to the salt encrusted wooden floor. You spit a putrid rag out of your mouth and your stomach lurches until you realise that the whole floor has rolled and you are in the bottom of a ship. A large scrubbing brush lands beside you as a gruff voice chases away any doubt that you are nowhere near the seaside pub you'd been staying at. "Look lively lad. Welcome aboard the Eternal. Captain’s waiting for you and the other volunteers."  With laughter ringing in your ears, you stumble up the stairs to join a huddle of bewildered youths, no doubt press ganged in the same way you had been.

2.  After being injected with a super steroid, Cows become self-aware, rise up against their human oppressors and raise an army of vegetarians to subdue and enslave carnivores. You are a member of a rebel faction fighting back against your bovine overlords. Moo!

3. You are the newest debutante author on the block. Your books about domination and submission have given you world-wide fame. Women around the world are buying your books at phenomenal rate. Only a woman could understand women this well, then the truth comes out....you are a man.

4. It finally happened. You knew it was going to happen. Everyone knew it was going to happen. It was only a matter of time. Zombies have taken over the world. Maybe not so predictably, these zombies have no interest in devouring human flesh. In fact, they think that's gross. Nope, these zombies want sex. It's all they want and they want it all the time. They also have herpes.

5. After a heavy night of booze, babes and banging, you wake up to find yourself in the middle of a field. This wouldn't normally be a problem, but right above you in the early morning sky is a blood red moon with a second green moon a little way north of it. Sitting up, you realise that the second moon is actually the Earth and you are... where?

6. Early in your career as a young scientist, you created a revolutionary new product that is now used in most homes around the world. You were lucky and retired at a young age, so now you spend most days in bed--plugged into online gaming or B-movie marathons. You're blissfully unaware that people are getting sick around you--developing strange symptoms, acquiring strange tastes--until the media starts blaming you and picketers line up in front of your sparkly mansion. You refuse to answer the phone or peel yourself away from your PS3 to make a comment, but when a home invasion of the weirdest kind makes you see reason, you're forced into a new role. What will it be?

7. You are a top notch investigational reporter and secret agent in 2042.  You've been assigned to unearth the programmer responsible for the creation of the robot assassins who have taken out all of the leaders in the solar system and have overthrown the galaxy, placing it into marshal law.  Your mission is to uncover the programmer, travel back in time and stop the program algorithm before it is completed in 2013, when all of civilized society is thrown back into the dark ages, before calculators existed! 

8.  You are driving home from a long and boring week of work. As you stop at a red light, your passenger door opens and a small child slips in, closing and locking the door. They slump into the foot well and look up at you with frightened eyes. "Please help me. They are going to kill me."  Before you can react, you hear the rumbling sound of motorbikes as they slowly cruise down between the waiting cars. You shift your briefcase on top of the child's head and stare at the red light hoping it will turn green before the Neanderthal on the Harley stops at your window.

9. You're an aging rock star who switches bodies with a marine biologist who's studying sharks.  Since you don't know what you're doing (and you're still a little drunk and high from your last party), you leave the safety of the cage you were in and get in a little trouble.

10. You're a demon working undercover in the 'streets' of Heaven, trying to expose the criminal actions of God and his band of angels."

11.  You and your girlfriend have just spent a week cruising around the islands in Thailand. You wake one morning to find that she has completely disappeared from the boat. Her snorkel gear is still wet, but placed carefully in its normal spot.  None of her possessions have been moved or taken. You find a note tied to the wheel, simply saying, "Return the Jewels and you'll get her back."  You've no idea what it’s taking about.

12. It wasn’t serendipity that brought her into your store naked. She had red hair, big tits and was on a mission. But neither one of you knew it was all about you.

13. You're a 19th century Canadian schoolteacher who finds out there are vampires in the village cemetery.  You decide to take on the undead by yourself.

14. You and a friend stand outside an old dilapidated house. Your friend dares you to walk through the house and bring something out to prove you went in. While inside you open the door to a closet and notice an opening to a secret passage. However there is an enormous spider hanging from the doorway, and you have a huge phobia of spiders. Just as you are about to shut the door and move on, a ghost flies at you with burning angry eyes. Do you fight the spider and head for the secret 

passage, or do you stand and fight with the ghost?

SO VOTE:

TIME DOUCHE CH. 4 - Greatest Rouse Ever

TIME DOUCHE CH.4 - GREATEST ROUSE EVER

By Cathleen Holst

You open your mouth to speak, but the brutish men tell you to shut it, informing you that you’ve made a grave mistake by coming here. “Oh, really,” you say, sitting up in bed and suddenly you see a flash, and it’s over.

You’re dead.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

TIME DOUCHE CH. 4 - Betray Marie

TIME DOUCHE CH.4 - BETRAY MARIE

BY Mandy Ward

You look from the brutes to Marie, wondering if you really ought to defend her. After all, she seems ready to sleep with just about anyone who takes her fancy and certainly doesn’t care about the common folk, despite her intention to live as one of them. So what if she’s sexy and curvy and everything you like in a woman? Underneath it all, she’s still as sluttish and unfaithful as a camp follower.

“I’m glad you guys turned up,” you drawl. “I discovered this bitch lying in wait for Napoleon. I think she was going to murder him.”

Three of them look at her and she whimpers, but stands her ground. The fourth frowns. “It looks more like she’s trying to seduce you.”

“Of course she’s trying to seduce me. She’s attempting to leave this place alive.” You bluster a little, hoping they’ll take it for anger when all of a sudden you’re actually rather scared.

“Why would a woman like this want to murder Napoleon?” the fourth man asks.

Great. Trust one of them to have brains and brawn. You were trying to get them to arrest her and then you were going to wake Napoleon to come to her rescue, but you’ll have to spill the beans now. “She’s a member of the royal family. I mean, for God’s Sake, look at her; the bearing, the accent, the figure!”

Marie draws in a deep breath and, almost as one, the men’s eyes are drawn to her ample assets. Yes, that’s right. Go on, scream for help and watch Napoleon appear to find four men smirking at your chest.

But you realise that only two of the men are leering. The other two have drawn their swords and, with only a second’s pause, they lop the heads off the two drooling brutes. Then they both drop to their knees, their sword points grounded and heads bowed. “De la naissance à la mort, que nous servons notre reine,” the brainy one says softly.

From Birth to Death, we serve our Queen. The translation makes you shudder. So she’s not given up on her birthright after all.

The blood from the slaughtered men pools out around their bodies. Marie delicately steps away from it, holding her skirts out of the crimson liquid.

“Thank you, gentlemen. It is a relief to know that I can count on such loyalty still. You may rise.”

They stand up. “What do we do with him, your majesty?” the brainy one says.

“He saved Napoleon’s life today, but was about to force himself on my person,” she says, her head tilting back slightly as if she’d smelled something rotten. “That is against the law and is punishable by death; but for the act of saving My Love’s life and returning him to me, I reward him with a quick death rather than being drawn and quartered.”

“Oh now, hang on! You were coming onto me, not the other way round,” you protest loudly as they advance towards you.

“What’s going on?” Napoleon emerges, chest bare and blinking sleep from his eyes. “Marie, is there a problem? Why are two of my men dead?”

Her lovely eyes go wide and her bottom lip trembles before she flies to his side, ignoring the blood that splashes up her skirts in her haste to reach him. “Oh Napoleon! This . . .this . . .thug tried to force himself on me!”

Lying bitch. You think fast, trying to come up with some reasonable explanation. In your pocket you can hear Thomas muttering something, but it’s not loud enough for you to hear properly. He’s probably just cursing me again.

“What?” Napoleon’s gaze drops onto you and you shiver at the fury in his eyes. “Captain, what is the truth of this matter?” his arm curls around Marie’s waist and pulls her to him protectively.

The intelligent one replies. “Sir, we were passing by your door when we heard muffled cries in here. We forced our way in and found this man—“ he points his bloodied blade at you, “—and his two confederates attacking Madame Marie. He insisted that she is the Fille de France and that she should be executed. His confederates suggested having some fun with her first and that was when we entered.”

The other man nods as Napoleon looks at him.

Oh come on, Napoleon, you’re smarter than that! Use your brain, they have blood all over them and are carrying bare blades, for Christ’s sake.

“We beheaded the brutes and were about to administer the same fate to their leader when you entered,” the Captain finishes.

You sigh as Napoleon looks at you. “You saved my life so that you could kill my love? How dare you.”

You try to appeal to his political side. “Look, I swear that I am innocent of this! She was trying to seduce me and she admitted to being Marie Therese, the French Princess. Of course she’s going to lie about it, she’s a noblewoman!”

He holds out his hand and the captain places his sword into it. “Stand back, my love, I must dispatch this ruffian!”

“A man in love is only as intelligent as his todger,” you mutter, sighing and attempting to put some distance between you and the enraged Napoleon.

The two soldiers place themselves between you and Marie, while Napoleon advances towards you. You back away and slip in the blood pool surrounding one of the bodies. Catching yourself against a chair, you pull yourself upright, turn and trip over the second body.

“Aha! I have you now.” Napoleon springs forward and lunges smoothly, the blade piercing your back, carving through your ribcage and as the point touches your heart. You think Oh, well, Nubleman isn’t going to get his time machine back.

Your heart bursts and blood flows out of every upper orifice, adding to the pool on the floor. Your last sight is of Marie. The damn bitch has a smirk on her face. What a nasty piece of work; I’m glad I didn’t do her now…

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - BIDDIN' WAR!

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - BIDDIN' WAR!

By Jason Campbell

“No bids?! My best years may be behind me, but what the fu-” your voice cracks with impending puberty.

Oh god no! Not puberty again, you think to yourself, I can’t go through this again. Anger, desperation, and frustration all wage war within you, leading you to drastic actions. A worn leather chair sits at the next cubicle over. You slide the chair over to the computer with eBay pulled up and sit down in front of the computer. Drawing again on your vast array of acting knowledge, you begin to channel your inner “hacker."

How hard could this be to hack? His password has to be something like soullessbastard or shallowcelebrity. Neither of those work. On the off chance you type p-a-s-s-w-o-r-d. The screen flashes and you have access to Dr. Skin’s personal eBay account. That was way too easy, you think. Undaunted, you push forward, scrolling through some of the evil doctor’s other auctions: a Baywatch actor, a has-been or two, and look! here’s an actress with multiple adopted kids. That sure explains the newly anorexic-looking body… but, yours isn’t there!

You logout and go back to the first page displayed, the one that had your skin for sale. There is no name on the auction, no registered seller. Sneaky bastard, Skin! The only way it seems that you are going to get your skin back is to bid on it. There is no way you can hide here for ten days to bid on it though. Using your own eBay account, you put in a bid for two million and one dollars. That done, you head towards the door, preparing to look for an exit. It is time to find a safer place to bid. As you reach for the door, you hear the computer ding behind you. When you get back to the desk you find that there is a competing bid for three million.

You’re a little shocked someone actually wants your skin as you enter your new bid for a dollar more. Seconds later it dings again, four million. Again you enter a dollar more which is the top bid for a millisecond, until the bid increases to five million.

“What the hell?!”

At this rate you will have used all of your last big paydays in just a couple more bids. You look for who your competition is. The account name says DWTSBergeron. The name sets off alarms in your head. Dancing With The Stars? Aren’t they always looking for washed-up has-beens trying to reclaim their former glory? Why would he need my skin? Does he have a host for it?

Ding – eight million.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Eight million and one dollars. You are nearing your last bid.

Ding – nine million. A couple quick key strokes and it’s nine million and one. You have nothing left if it dings again. One minute, then two, then five pass. Relief washes over you as you realized you’ve done it! You stand and head to the door again, but just as you step out into the hallway, you hear it, the sound of your skin being sold to someone else.

You want to drop to your knees and scream in wretched defeat, but with your new hormones, anger takes over and you storm out of the building, channeling your ninja assassin on more than one occasion to deal with the guards. You walk out of the front of the building, forgetting for a moment who you look like until you hear: “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, it’s Justin!”

“Oh fuck,” You shout as it dawns on you that you have just stepped into public looking like the most recognized face for girls under the age of 15. As if it was a call to arms, teenage girls pour out of every store, house, and vehicle in sight, and they all have their sights set on you. Like a knight riding over the horizon, a yellow taxi appears at the corner ahead of you. Using your new found youth, you sprint to the taxi; throwing open the door, you dive in, screaming at the cabbie to lock the doors.

“Quick, take me to CBS Television Studio.”

“Yes, right away Mr. Bieber. Oh just wait until I tell my daughter who I picked up today. She will never believe me!” The cabbie responds.

“Sure, sure, just get me out of here and I will sign autographs and take pictures.”

You look into the rearview mirror as the cab pushes its way through the mob of girls. It’s then that you notice that your ears are not perfectly even anymore. One sits a little lower than the other. The same thing has happened on your hand. Your middle finger is sloughing away from the bone. The cabby catches you fingering him and slams on the brakes. You are catapulted into his safety glass.

“I do not appreciate that, Mr. Beiber. I don’t think you want to walk -- Oh my God! What is wrong with your face?” The cabbie asks. His face is curled into a grimace. You look into the rearview mirror. Half of your face looks as if it is melting away.

“Nothing, just get me to that studio!”

The rest of the trip to the studio is a blur as you pull at your skin, trying secure it back into place, trying to make it look normal. When you arrive at the studio you look as if you have aged fifty years in the last ten minutes. You throw a wad of bills at the driver and storm into the studio. The Dancing With The Stars stage is to your left. You don’t make it more than two steps when you feel your nose slide right off your face. Michael Jackson has nothing on you as more pieces start to slide off your body. By the time you reach the doors to the stage, there is very little left holding you together.

The door swings open as you reach for the handle. There in front of you stands Tom Bergeron. He shakes his head at what is left of your body.

“You should have listened to the nurse,” he says.

“What? How do you know about the nurse?” you gasp as you fight for breath.

“Where do you think I find most of my clients for my little side business? All the has-beens and wannabes want to be on this show.”

“Dr. Skin?” You ask, just before the blackness engulfs you.

THE END.

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - BUSTIN' LOOSE!

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - BUSTIN' LOOSE!

By James McShane

What the hell? you think. Where do these guys get off with auctioning your skin? They have no right. Bastards! Isn’t stealing your soul enough? Dr. Skin and whoever else he has on his team are messing with the wrong Legend. This far, no further. A line has been drawn in the sand and pity the poor fool who crosses it. You feel empowered by your inner strength.

Then you look down at what Skin gave you and collapse into a heap of teenage angst. You cry for your mother, and she appears to you in a weepy dream.

"Get off your ass and take back what God gave you," she says. "It serves you right for thinking the grass was greener on the other side, child of mine. I AM on the other side, and trust me, there ain’t no green from where I’m standing. It’s all dark and cold...and evil. Oh Lord – here he comes again. Don’t let him take me! Not the pit bull! Please, no – not the pit bull..." She screams loud enough for you to stop your bawling.

That’s my mother, you think; as full of motivation as she was of Jim Beam. But deep down you realise she’s right. You must get back into your own skin. But how? The doctor hasn’t left you any obvious ways in which you can do this. No copies of “Skin Grafting for Dummies” anywhere. You look around and suddenly you spot what just might be your way out of there.

Dr. Skin has had the electricians in. There is a tool box beside a busted socket. You scurry over and rifle through its contents. You pick out a screwdriver, some double-sided sticky tape, a small hammer and packet of cigarette papers. You wonder if you have any weed at home. You may need a massive spliff once you get back. This has been one mother of a day. And it’s not over yet.

You reach the tube that holds your skin and bang on the glass with the hammer. You remember a part in a film where you played a member of a chain gang and channel your inner convict. You’re not so much Cool Hand Luke as Feck-All Use Justin, but you give it your best shot and eventually a small crack appears in the tube. You use the screwdriver to wedge it open. In a matter of seconds the pink goo that was protecting your skin seeps out. The crack opens wider and you reach in to grab your real skin. Now you’re holding it like a comfort blanket. "My Boobie," you say as you stroke your skin. "I’m sorry I mistreated you. Let’s skip this joint and get you back on me. I’ll find a real doctor who will do a proper job. Then we can go back to having threesomes again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Boobie?"

Now you think about how to get your soul back. You throw your skin over your shoulder and secure it with the sticky tape, so it won’t come loose. You head to the vault that contains your soul and introduce the latch to your new friend, MC Hammer. You break it open easy enough and enter the vault. Once inside you’re inundated by the voices of imprisoned souls, each crying out for freedom. They fill your head until it’s about to explode. You cover your ears, but that’s no use. You look for your own soul, but can’t make it out. The doctor hasn’t labelled them. You scream so loud the other souls echo your cry. What’s left of your mind is escaping from every pore of that teenage wank-stain’s skin.

You take your hammer and break every soul-filled container. Each freed soul enters your body and fights for dominance. You run outside the vault and slip on the pink goo, banging your head viciously on the concrete floor. A hole appears beneath you. You feel yourself falling into it. You look down and see your mother. She’s waving at you.

"Come on down," she says. "Me and the pit bulls need some company." You fall further down and pass each of Dante’s Nine Circles of Suffering. You wonder if there’s room service.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - IMPROV

WELCOME TO HELLYWOOD CH.4 - IMPROV

By Tomara Armstrong

You grab your prepubescent member and scream like the quasi-girl you’ve become.

“You will get used to it, my dear,” Dr. Skin smiles.

“No! I want my soul back.” You snatch at the jar in his grip, but he pulls it out of your reach.

“Sorry… no refunds or exchanges. You agreed to these conditions.” Your eyes widen as he plays the recording of you nodding your head in acceptance to the photo of Justin Bieber—a crazed smile on your face.

You struggle to rise from the bed, but restraints snake over your body. Dr. Skin places a firm hand on your shoulder and instantly your mouth seals shut. “You need your rest.” You're trapped tightly to your bed. Your eyes dance wildly. The nurse shoots you with a syringe and the lights go out.

The doctor’s blood red eyes permeate your dream state, floating in and out of focus. In the jar clutched to his chest, your soul flickers like a thousand fireflies. He laughs and laughs as you feel your body expand and contract inside your Justin Bieber skin. You’re almost certain you’ll explode at any moment… but you don’t.

Sunlight tickles your toes and you sleepily open your eyes, blinking. You’re alone in a hospital room—strapped to your bed. Balling your fists, you grind your teeth. How am I going to get out of this one?

You close your eyes and scan your repository of acting roles. What can I use? You’ve played an invalid, a school teacher, a love-sick yoga instructor, an android sex fiend, a psychic pizza delivery person, a cat, comic book super villains, a ninja assassin, and a computer. You smile—glad you were never limited to romantic comedies. What can I use? you ask yourself again.

Outside your door, you hear footsteps, the ruffling of papers, and a heavy hand on the doorknob. You slink into your sheets, fake sleep, and wait for the turn of the knob and the footsteps to near your bed.

“Good morning.” The nurse/receptionist nudges you. “How are you?”

Your eyelids flutter open and you exaggerate a yawn. “Better, thanks.” You smile. She looks at you suspiciously. I shouldn’t have smiled, damn it. You look away and shake your head. “What did you give me?”

She busies herself at the workstation on the other side of the room. “Oh, just something to take the edge off. I am sure it’s difficult to accept the change, at first, but you will get used to it. Are you in any pain?”

“No… how come I am not in any pain?”

“Recovery time is hard enough without having to deal with the pain of the procedure…”

“What’s hard if there is no pain?” You ask with a laugh.

“Your body could reject the new you,” she turns to you in all seriousness.

Your jaw drops open, “Reject?”

“Oh yes, so we want to monitor you for several days --”

“For several days?” You’re trying to remain calm and channel your inner “lovesick yoga instructor," but you feel the sides of your mouth twitch and your jaw tighten.

“Yes, to watch for signs of rejection.” Your head is spinning now, but she continues. “First there is sagging at the eyes, mouth, and around the ears. Then it turns to drooping and gaping, like the skin is trying to slink off the body altogether.”

“What happens if my body rejects it?”

“Oh, no worries dear. We will replace it.” She smiles at you. You attempt a smile back, but don’t want to overdo it.

“These restraints are very tight. Can you please loosen them for me? My foot keeps falling asleep and it’s driving me crazy.”

She hesitates momentary, and you do your best to appear non-threatening. “Sure,” she smiles.

The restraints drop away, and you sit up, stretching your arms. “So much better, “ you say, pointing and flexing your feet, warming up your muscles. This new skin feels pretty good.

You channel your inner “ninja assassin” so well, you aren't even sure when you begin. The body of the nurse now lays on the floor, out cold, and you are standing on top of your bed waiting for the cameras to flash a perfect ninja still.

You quickly jump down, push the door open, and tiptoe out into the hallway. There are other recovery rooms like yours, but you pay them little attention. Down the hall, the door labeled “Skin Lab” is cracked, emitting a light pink glow.

You waste no time entering the lab and slowly lock the door behind you.

In the room, tubes stretch from floor-to-ceiling. Most are empty, but a few contain a thick pink liquid and trapped air bubbles.

You stare open-mouthed and run your hands over the warm tubes that weirdly resemble an old lava lamp you used to own as a kid. As you make your way to the back of the room, you notice a door marked “Vault” that emits a yellow glow—much like your soul in the jar Dr. Skin was holding.

You rush to the door and press your hands against the latch. It’s locked. The tube closest to you immediately grabs your attention.

Your old skin is floating in the pink goo in all its imperfect glory. Dark holes for your eyes, nose, and mouth cause your new skin to crawl and a great uneasiness overcomes you.

Near the bottom of the tube, a small computer screen is illuminated:

Celebrity HAS BEEN full body skin

Item Condition: USED in fair condition

Time Left: 10d 3h 42m

Bid history: 0 bids

Starting bid: US $2,000,000.00

Your max bid: US $

Shipping: $250.00

Delivery: Get in time for the holidays!

Estimated between Tue. Nov 30 and Mon. Dec. 6

Returns: 3 day money back, buyer pays return shipping| Read Details

You gasp as you see the picture from the other night’s paper is attached—even more shocking—there are no bids.

You’re furious. Trying to regain your focus.

You decide to...

A. A. Turn your back on all of this “skin-level” nonsense and save your soul?

B. Bust out your skin and attempt to find a way to get back INTO the “old” you?

C. Begin a bidding war with any/all bidders and win your skin back via eBay auction?

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO USE THE BATHROOM

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 - MAKE UP AN EXCUSE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM

By MJ Heiser

Looking into Malloy's face again was not something you wanted to do right now. Despite the fact that this time he would be clothed (and you would therefore be saved the sight of his naked nastiness), there's little doubt he will recognize you, and having both him and Saleen the Overwhelming Amazon united against you wasn't a pleasant thought.

"I -- I have to go," you stammer. You clap your hands over your stomach and work hard at making your face turn green and queasy.

"What?" Saleen asks.

You don't give her even a second to object. The security system beeps, giving Malloy clearance to enter Saleen's quarters. You scramble in your best impression of a diarrhea-addled duck walk towards the bathroom. You let the door whisper shut behind you, and let out the breath that had been growing stale in your lungs.

From the main chamber of the living quarters, you hear Malloy's entrance.

"Saleen."

"Malloy."

"I thought I heard another voice."

"Er . . .yes. In the bathroom."

"Ah."

"Is everything ready?"

"Of course. Our spies are set."

"Their disguises and credentials are immaculate."

"A little self-praise, Saleen?"

"Perhaps."

You realize you've put yourself in the unique position to get to the bottom of this mystery. You almost wish you could see them as they talked and conspired about offing someone important.

"It's deserved, I suppose. So, what about the person in your bathroom?"

Uh oh.

"I checked the security clearance. There was no native error."

"Did you check your own intuition?"

"What are you implying, Malloy?"

"Saleen, my trip to the infirmary was due to sabotage. I have a General Alert issued for the person responsible."

Saleen doesn't sound impressed. "Unless you waited until five minutes ago to issue the General Alert, the security clearance would have caught it."

Malloy's voice takes on the measured tones of someone speaking to a mental deficient. "I. Was. In. The. Infirmary."

Damn it.

Several seconds tick by in pure silence, and once again, you forget to breathe. You wonder what's going on out there. Are they typing communications into their wrist sets? Are they creeping up on the door to the bathroom, laser pistols drawn? Or maybe -- please -- have they shrugged it off and decided they should just sit down and watch some 5D space tube?

"Hey in there," booms Malloy's voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

Nope, not watching space tube.

"Hey," you say, trying to bury your voice in a groan of defecatory effort.

"You've been in there a long time, friend," he growls. You can tell he's trying to be playful. The thought of Malloy being playful is as ludicrous as the thought of a slug being swift.

"Oh, yeah," you say, deciding to play this to the hilt. No telling what madness drives you to whip down your pants and sit on the can. "I'm sure it was the cafeteria grub today."

"I think you should open this door so I can, you know, check you out, make sure you're okay."

"No, no, I'll be fine -- you two should just go on." --With your devious plan for assassination.

"I don't think so. Either open the door or I'm going to blast it in."

"Wait, wait!" you stammer, only now realizing just how bad an idea it was to pull your pants down. You rise to your feet and try to pull them up, but your hands are trembling too badly to get a good grip.

"Three . . .two . . ."

"Hold on a sec!" you grunt.

"One!" Malloy crows triumphantly, and with a loud laser shriek, the mechanism keeping the bathroom door locked becomes simply inoperable. The door is wrenched open, and soon Malloy fills the space with his considerable -- but fortunately, clothed -- bulk.

He arches an eyebrow at you. You're standing in front of the toilet with your pants around your ankles. The security shirt Saleen had given you doesn't cover you anywhere near enough. "Well hello, sweetheart," he says, gazing fondly at the place south of your navel before bringing his gun to level with your face.

Your last thought is: Huh. I die with Malloy staring at MY junk.

THE END

Oops...RETURN TO CHAPTER 4

RED PLANET STOWAWAY CH.4 THE STOWAWAY'S NEW CLOTHES

Red Planet Stowaway CH.4 - The Stowaway’s New Clothes

By Nina Bau

The guard, sputtering, cussing, and flailing, tries his best to escape the poop soup, but the harder he fights, the deeper he sinks. With a final growl and declaration that your mother should be violated in multiple orifices, he succumbs to his fecal fate.

Before you can say, “Neener, neener, neener,” the approaching footsteps stop right outside the door. There’s no way you can make it to the service hatch in time and hiding in poop is out of the question. You decide to call on your limited acting experience – playing a doomed turkey in a 3^rd grade Thanksgiving play – and hope for the best.

The door opens and the dark-skinned woman from earlier enters.

“I thought I heard something. What are you doing in here?”

She’s tall and athletic, damn near Amazonian. Her dark brown eyes flash no nonsense and you have no doubt that if you don’t tread carefully, you’ll find yourself taking your own diarrhea dive.

“I… um… was... on patrol. Thought I heard something, too.”

“What happened to your uniform?” she asks.

You look down at your ensemble and realize that your black boots and dark slacks are almost identical to the guard’s uniform, except you should be wearing a regulation NOSSA patrol shirt over your white t-shirt.

“I got poop on the shirt? Had to toss it?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

She eyes you up and down. You feel a pool of sweat gather on your upper lip.

“Telling. Definitely. That’s what happened.”

She eyes you a moment longer before sighing and throwing up her man-sized hands in disgust.

“This is unbelievable. First, Richardson gets called upstairs for an emergency, then I find Malloy naked and knocked out in the locker room. I had to slip the guards 40 Zircons just to get them to agree to carry his hairy ass to the infirmary - and now this. I thought Malloy ran a ship locked tighter than a virgin’s knees on prom night. He vouched for you – said that in a command full of alien-lovers, you were one of the few that could be trusted. You don’t want this peace treaty signed anymore than we do, right?”

You simply nod.

“Good. Follow me. We’ll get you another shirt and prepare your credentials.”

You follow her back into the corridor and the locker room. She rummages through several lockers before finding what she’s looking for. Tossing you a security shirt and cap she instructs, “Put this on. Let’s go.”

You do as you’re told, following her back into the corridor and up the metal ladder you noticed when making your Malloy escape. It leads to the upper level living quarters. You approach a door and watch as she presses her hand against an identification scanner. A red light travels up and down her hand before turning green. The door slides open with a hiss.

When you’re both inside, she turns to you.

“I’m sure Malloy went over everything, but you look like the type that needs reiteration. No offense.”

“None taken.”

In truth, she could insult your intelligence, hygiene, and sexual aptitude – you just need to buy some time, find out what was going on, and hopefully escape with your life. From the little you’ve gathered it seems Malloy was a part of a conspiracy to sabotage the peace treaty between Earth and the aliens. This alliance means a great deal to your planet. The aliens are light years ahead in medicine, technology, and renewable energy. But there were plenty of humans who did not trust the aliens and would rather the planet go up in flames than align with them.

“It’s important that the assassination look as if it were at the hands of their supreme leader. There’s no way the International Council will agree to an alliance if the aliens are responsible for the death of someone as important as…”

Before she can finish, there’s a knock at the door.

“Saleen? You in there?”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Malloy!

You’re more annoyed that he interrupted the mysterious Saleen before you could get the details on their sinister plans than you are afraid of Malloy. One kick to the twig and berries and he went down like an intergalactic hooker on a pleasure ship.

“Keep your pants on, Malloy. That is, if you’re wearing any. I’m coming.”

Saleen heads for the door. She’ll reach it in ten seconds and open it faster than that. You have to decide what to do next before she does.

A. Make up an excuse to go to the bathroom before she opens the door, and hope to stay in there long enough for Malloy to leave?

B. Let Saleen open the door and confront them both, threatening to turn them over to the G.B.I. (Galactic Bureau of Investigation)?

C. Let Saleen open the door and hope that Malloy doesn't recognize you in your spiffy new guard uniform, hoping to play it off like you're a part of the plan?