Copyright © 2015
All rights reserved.
I hate it down here!
Cold and damp in the labyrinth.
who feed-off corpses;
who fed-off rats before:
Been a brutal conflict.
Alien Grays have been ruthlessly hunting-down,
the last remnants of free man,
Jungles of South America,
Grays hunt Furai:
day and night.
Tonight’s different though.
we get to punish these motherfuckers;
we get to eat meat,
A Gray Warrior’s small,
about four-and-a-half-feet tall,
even without its energy-shield.
Gray Warriors only weigh about 80-pounds,
but so does a pit-bull.
Daley will kill 4 Grays;
and the men of several units,
will witness this bloodlust.
There will be:
When the games are over,
man will dine on Gray flesh.
Grays are tasty.
Grays can be eaten rare or even raw;
its biology immune to Earth bacteria.
Dead Grays are slow to rot,
(not that any have ever been given a chance to rot.)
Eat the whole-fucking-creature!
80 pounds of pure joy!
How to Kill a Gray
Daley’s the first-known man to actually kill a Gray;
the first to eat one.
Killing a Gray is difficult.
Three obstacles to overcome when killing a Gray:
1. Its energy shield.
2. Its networked brain.
3. Its rail gun.
You can hit these motherfuckers with atomics!
A Gray will emerge unscathed from an atomic blast,
looking to kill,
Gray’s eyes even,
unscathed by the brightness of an atomic blast.
Any man would-be blind that close to an atomic;
human eyelids are ineffective,
in shielding the brightness of an atomic,
in close proximity.
Daley’s retinas have-suffered irreparable damage from these experiments,
in atomic counterattack.
At the beginning of the war,
man tried everything we could think of.
War implies two-sides engaged in combat;
not a war,
It made sense to try and nuke them at-the-time.
Grays are impervious to chemical weapons,
to biological agents;
nothing designed by man can penetrate Gray energy-shields.
Nothing but goop.
Someone came up with the idea:
maybe we can incapacitate a shielded Gray;
wait for its shield to run out of juice.
A Gray energy-shield had to have a battery,
Grays transmit energy through the air,
the way humans once broadcasted radio signals.
a week later its shield’s still on;
it’s just pissed-off.
Grays are a hive mind,
it tweets all its little buddies for help.
we still use that fucking-word.
a Twitter for a long time;
electricity for a long time,
at least on the battlefield.
To capture a Gray:
incapacitate it with goop;
block its energy reception;
block its distress call,
(unless you want to catch a bunch of them.)
Furai developed goop guns.
We call them GVANs;
I have no-fucking-idea why.
GVANs come in several-different varieties,
They are manufactured up-north someplace;
through networks of tunnels,
spanning North and South America.
No idea how that smuggling-operation works;
it’s not my AOR.
The most effective GVAN:
the GVAN Mortar.
a three-foot-long plastic-hollow-tube,
a bore of 2 inches;
a perfect guerrilla-warfare weapon against these animals.
GVAN Mortars fire a two-inch-diameter projectile;
looks like a giant superball.
Program the superball by squeezing it.
One squeeze turns a GVAN superball on,
a nano-tech AI-smart weapon.
LED display illuminates.
Then tell it,
what to do,
in plain English;
it responds in plain English.
Daley: “See those 4-Grays over there?”
Daley: “How do we incapacitate all of them?”
Superball: “Set-up 5-mortars;
drop 5 of us,
How much time do your men need to escape?”
Daley: “Give us 30 seconds.”
we set 5-tubes in the ground;
drop 5 of these superball-marvels into the tubes;
GVAN mortars are controlled by the superballs.
The mortar automatically:
inclines at the correct angle;
waits the right amount of time for us to escape;
Once in the air,
these superballs can redirect and self guide,
on even a fast-moving target;
they never miss.
Once a superball gets close enough to the little Gray-bastards;
it explodes in the air.
contained in a superball,
when the chemical’s exposed to air.
After the superball bursts:
a deluge of sticky mess rains down.
One of these amazing superballs,
creates about thirty-gallons of goop.
When a Gray’s encased in goop;
it gets pissed.
It always sees the superball coming;
its reflexes are very good;
it fires its rail gun at the launch-source.
and an area about the size of a city-block around the tubes,
but then The Grays are done.
The Grays are stuck.
Frozen statues of what looks like Styrofoam.
can’t Tweet for help,
goop is infused with lead and metal blocking both:
energy reception and distress signal.
A Styrofoam-Faraday cage.
In about 8 hours,
Gray shields run out of juice.
we carry these poor,
out of the area quickly;
bring the Grays to our labyrinth;
in eight hours we have,
“dinner and a movie.”
The men get to watch Grays fight to the death;
have tasty-food during the spectacle,
and a feast afterwards.
It’s not a fair fight;
more like a bull fight.
We are men;
Grays are animals.
We get to use tools;
Grays do not.
A Gray Warrior’s mute,
but I’ve witnessed terror in its eyes,
the moment right-before the coup de grace.
Gray Warriors are noble,
in a way;
until that last moment.
Grays are not prepared for death;
they never see death coming.
I don’t care how brave a creature is,
at that last-moment when it sees death’s unescapable,
it will be afraid.
Gray-arena-death-matches aren’t just food and entertainment;
they’re also part of a psychological-warfare campaign,
and scientific research.
We’ve shipped many captured-Grays up-north.
We don’t know what man will learn by studying these things;
we’re trying to understand the Gray.
There is no currently-known-way for man to communicate with Grays.
“What the fuck are you doing on Earth?
Why did you kill 5-billion humans on a Monday?
Do you hate fucking-Mondays?
Why have you fuck-wads enslaved most of humanity?”
As far as PsyOps go,
the Furai have a new-weapon against these bastards:
a “thought box”,
is what we grunts call it.
When we kill one of these motherfuckers,
the Gray transmits a signal;
its last thoughts into The Ether.
We capture these thoughts of terror,
in a “thought box”;
then store them:
the last few-minutes of a Gray’s life,
in an Ether shielded room.
We can’t allow these thoughts to escape into The Ether yet,
or we’d be swarmed with Grays.
I don’t kill the Gray quickly.
I chop an arm-and-both-feet-off with my katana;
leave one good-arm to be sporting;
then throw the Gray’s detached-appendages in the deep-fryer,
for snacks during the spectacle.
Grays smell so savory when cooking;
sautéed in animal fat.
Grays seem to be pre-seasoned.
No salt or pepper needed:
Gray flesh tastes like it was pre-salted.
Maybe God made the Grays for man to eat?
Maybe that’s why they are here?
Maybe the Grays knew:
they’d end-up like every other fucking-tasty-animal on this planet?
Food for man!
The Grays’ last hours of terror are recorded in a “thought box”.
we bring the “thought box” to the surface,
release their thoughts into The Ether.
every fucking-Gray knows what it’s like,
to experience the terror of death.
Every fucking-Gray knows what its like to lose an arm,
watch them get deep-fried,
and consumed by a roomful of cheering men.
“Get the fuck off my planet!” I yell,
as I beat this motherfucker with my fists.
The Gray tags me with its one-remaining-arm,
as it tries to fight,
on its footless-stumps.
I headbutt the Gray;
break its boneless-arm,
(like a broken penis.)
I start eating its exposed-hand alive;
can’t help myself.
Others join in;
three-men on each leg-stump.
These things have no sex-organs;
For a moment I wonder,
“is it a male or a female?”
Would I care if it was a cow or a bull?
Especially not now;
I’m so fucking-hungry.
I hope the “thought box” is recording all this,
I want every creature,
in man’s galaxy to know,
what will happen to it if:
it challenges man.
I’ll bring this “thought box” to the surface;
set a timer;
release the dying-thoughts of these four-delicious-Grays.
For a moment,
I wonder if the thought-box is recording my thoughts?
As I kill the last of the four-Grays,
(after chopping off its arms and legs;)
I pick up its appendage-free torso,
by its bald-fucking-head;
right before I break its neck;
I yell into its terrified eyes,
“You don’t belong on God’s Earth!
Man are the image of God!
Everything else is a-fucking-animal!”