"Truth is always strange, stranger than fiction."
----- Lord Byron
Officer Charlie Yates awakes to a blaring alarm, flashing red to the beat of chaos. Officer Yates sits up, ignoring the whiplash from the swift awakening and the loud click of her left leg prosthetic as she does so. After awakening, she scurries over to the nearest desk, tuning into the newest alert on her walkie-talkie.
"Code Rojo 00-92-23! Unidentified Objects- being detected via radar- at least 107 of 'em! I repeat Code Rojo 00-92-23!" server 39-26 alerts. Gerald, she remembers.
Officer Yates is immediately off-put by the message. Code Rojo, Code Rojo, CODE ROJO! Officer Yates switches gears quickly, fetching her uniform and helmet. Once suited up, she runs to her jet terminal, getting ready to take off. Yates pauses. There are 107 unidentified flying objects, 107 unknown entities, meaning 107 possible enemies. Well, it seems my horoscope was wrong today; I am not making any new friends. She presses on the accelerator, lifting off of the landing pad.
Once in the sky, she actually sees nothing, in fact, she doesn't hear anything either, it's her instinct that tells her to veer to the right, not her senses. The woosh of a torpedo-esque object rocks the cabin, Yates wonders what would have happened if she hadn't moved right. As the disturbance zooms past, she catches a glimpse of indistinguishable markings, almost hieroglyphic in looks. One blink and it's gone, going down, falling victim to the hands of gravity. Quickly, she tunes her radio to the nearest headquarters.
The woman speaks: "If anyone can hear this, I'm reporting a sighting of a foreign flying object. It was torpedo-like with its speed and shape, and I'm pretty positive that it's a hostile force. I am no longer in any immediate danger, though, as the object plummeted into the ocean below."
Yates then suddenly feels slightly lightheaded. The land of sprawling imagination and creativity beckons her to come, "Come, come, sweet child. Come lay your head down here, and take a rest." Yates' eyes flicker up and down, she commands herself to stay awake. Alas, even the strongest need a rest. The last thing Yates sees is her curly locks falling to cover her eyes, alarms beeping, auto-pilot on.
"Sleep Tight, Little One, tomorrow'll be full of surprises," a voice hums, and with that Yates is fast asleep, smiling with the innocence only a child could radiate.
