My name is Kyle Repa, former NASA astronaut and Navy Captain. This record of the previous six months is being set down for my lawyer, Wilhelm Dobbs.
I returned home from my last space mission in the spring of 2023. Re-integrating with my wife and township had gone very smoothly at first. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. Truthfully, I’d never felt more mentally unstable in my life. You’ll understand why as I set out my story. I’m someone my wife Laura would have described as, rigidly even-keeled. I suspect she married me due to having dated a string of directionless drinkers in college. I was, in contrast, an easy ticket to suburbansville. I prided myself on my dependability. You don’t damn-well become an astronaut without being predictably under control. The events that have transpired since that last mission have created quite a dilemma for the public, in terms of their understanding of my character. From the distortions and slanders I’ve seen about me in print, it’s not a wonder. I suppose it’s become quite a dilemma for me too.
I was never supposed to tell this story. Certainly not on the record. This is going to hurt NASA and confidence in public programs in general. This can’t be helped. Nefarious influences have taken root there for some time. They hoped that giving me a wad of dough would be enough to shut me up. I was in fact, well compensated by the agency until I was forced on the run. When I got back home, they offered to continue sending my paychecks for the duration of my life with the understanding that I had officially been placed on inactive duty status. Pretty swell deal I guess. I wasn’t too happy about being sidelined though. I was a workaholic. Obsessive-compulsive, Laura would say. Something happened out there on Planet Telamak. A transformative experience, that is only now slowly making itself evident. Of course, you’d never believe a word of it. I wouldn’t have either unless it all happened to me. I’m a scientist, god damn it!
I demanded to go back out to perform further research. Who the hell tampered with my data? What beings we had encountered there? What the hell happened to my memory? At the very least, it was my duty to perform a thorough search and rescue mission to find my partner, Harold. My superiors assured me Harold was safe and sound on a long R&R in Coos Bay. But I damn-well knew he never made it back. All of his contacts have gone off-line. Disappeared. Like he never existed. When I staked out his house, I saw nobody but strangers coming and going. I was eventually spooked off the scene by a man, who had to be a FED. I saw him approaching my car through the rear-view mirror. I sped off just as he was nearing the driver’s side door. The son-of-a-bitch thought he had me. But that wouldn’t be the last I’d see of the likes of him.
I have a new mission now. And I’m calling my own shots. They can’t stop me from getting to the bottom of this. I gave them my life. My country deserves the truth. The damn public deserves to know just what the hell is going on out there and what damn secrets are being kept. They won’t keep me quiet. Even if it costs me my life!
My vision started going haywire a few weeks back home from Telamak. Bizarre, little fractals at first. Static and buzzing. I had been on countless flights and a handful of touchdowns on other worlds. At first I didn’t make any connection between my brain hiccups and the mission. I shook it out of my head and washed it down into my belly with Schlitz. Laura was the first one to call it out to me. I froze up crossing Brentwood walking from the Post Office to the market. She made it to the sidewalk and realized I had fallen back. She turned to see me squinting my eyes, legs buckling at the knees and groping in the air at what I thought were slithering snake-like creatures. There wasn’t a damn thing there, according to her. Fearful of a neighbor passing by to witness the scene, she rushed over to pull me along.
“What the hell are you doing? Having a heart-attack?”
I straightened myself out real quick. “Just the damn sun for Christ-sake. Now lets get this over with.” And then we proceeded to buy pineapples and other assorted knickknacks.
Other times I was gripped with fear. Moments of paralysis on my lounge chair, in front of the television. The set flashing disjointed patterns and glitches. I prayed it was only a broadcast test. Newscaster faces mutated into wild animals that barked orders at me. Serpents came off the screen, lunging at my face. It was horrifying. I knew I couldn’t shriek in terror with Laura off in the next room. She began keeping a very close eye on me, monitoring me for out of character gestures or mannerisms. All I wanted was to feel comfortable in my own home after such a wrenching ordeal in space. I received no comfort at all. Laura acted as if she were living with a stranger. Perhaps she was. I began to question myself at certain points. I can see now, that was all by design. Building me up into something better. I was chosen for a purpose. To do some good.
The first few days after being dismissed from NASA duty, hit me hard. I never envisioned Telamak as being my last mission. In fact, I expected to keep flying for another 10 years at least. Nothing made sense. I went through a battery of physical and mental tests back at the base. I was confused about having lost a significant portion of my memory. I was never given any sort of sensible explanation. My pushing to stay on active duty only alienated me more. I was forced to turn in all my building cards and told my belongings were packed into a box. The man who discharged me, Forester, insisted I should be proud of all I had accomplished. He vaguely suggested that the findings provided from my mission would provide a great service to the country in the very near future. “Rest,” was my next mission. Or better yet, like Harold, I would just disappear altogether.
Laura was disturbed at first as well. She shared in my vexation as I marched back and forth in our kitchen, reciting my lists of contributions made over the years.
“Not even so much as a proper send-off in front of your colleagues,” she bemoaned.
I, hardly hearing her, continued my pacing. This frenzy of resentment encircled the house for several weeks. No man should be forced to suffer such an indignity, least of all, a space pilot. Little did I realize the new door that was opened – a new mission had initiated. To hell with the space program and the secrets keep from me and everyone else. The time is coming for blowing the lid off the whole damn thing!
It took some time for me to come to terms with the new mission. My mind was calibrating over to a whole new operating system. And trust me, this was no simple process. Largely the problems derived from the resistance of my materialist mind. My own inability to see that there was far more possible in this universe than we are allowed to consider. Sure, I had spent the tail end of my career manning secret space explorations to new worlds in NGC 2350. Civilizations of high-intelligence had drawn us to them via a complex system of coded signals. There was a general understanding among senior pilots and the brass that some intergalactic trading was taking place. Whole new routes of trade opened up across the stars. But I was never to know exactly who these beings were or what the arrangement amounted to. National security, Cosmic Top Secret, blah, blah, blah.
I mean the amount of shit I did under classification was ridiculous. When I started out, NASA was still thought of as a Public outfit. That all changed after ‘Global Conflict I’ broke out. NASA took on an organization similar to the Federal Reserve, we rarely had to report findings to Congress, lest of all the general public.
My point is, I had a concept of alien life, for some time. But my understanding of their communication abilities, I was completely unawares. Let me put it this way, if they want to contact you, they will do so in a very direct manner. They rarely have any reason to do so, therefor, how would I know the strange messages I began to receive were from them? They can communicate just fine, it was my thick human skull that presented the problem. The abstract pieces of the puzzle came together slowly as I learned to relax and take the inflow of information openly.
My first reaction was violence. Coupled with the anger I felt at losing my career, these unwanted intrusions into my mental space were taken as a provocation. Fits and screams came in the night as a flood of images poured into my cerebral cortex out of nowhere. Laura was quite startled by it all as well. I shot off the side of the bed with a yell.
“Aaaagghhh – Mother of Christ! Call it off! Call it off, you bastards!”
Flat to the floor, I scrambled underneath the bed to retrieve the firearm hidden there. The images blinded me, so I was operating in the dark. I backed myself into the corner, sweat pouring off the dome of my head.
“Kyle! Kyle, what’s the matter?” Laura screamed back. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
“We’re under attack, can’t you see that? Beams and tentacles on all sides!”
Well no, as it turns out. She couldn’t see a damn thing. I was all alone in my visions. Laura was not to be made apart of this mission. I thought she could adjust to it, just like always. After all, I never was able to talk work with her. I tried to convince her of the same parameters then at play. I even told her that one day she would know everything. That didn’t seem to satisfy her. More and more she isolated in the sunroom whispering back and forth with her damn mother. It was only a matter of time before she started getting her own bright ideas about what was going on with me. To hell with it, how much can a man explain himself? I had a job to do.
The first strong message that came through had to do with the prohibition of operating motor vehicles. For me, that is. I’ll be honest; I didn’t damn well understand this direction at first. But now, I can certainly see the necessity. Another thing Laura chastised me for, daily. She was accustomed to me charioting her into town for her ‘run around’ trips. I had to tell her, my driving days were over, until further notice. By all means, of course she could take over the vehicle. She didn’t like that explanation at first but in time, she saw the advantage over me it presented. I had other things to worry about and it was best that she left me to it as much as possible.
I got acclimated with the times and places the extraterrestrials most wanted to communicate. The moments just prior to falling into deep sleep were most effective for contact. If I did my best to concentrate on an image, I would exit my body and enter a state of astral projection. It was within this alternate plane of existence where the extraterrestrials first presented themselves to me. The best I can come to describing them would be to say they have a striking resemblance to the jellyfish. I would have to add a few additional observations that make their structure unique. The transparent thin-helmet shaped dome, which equates to the brain center, contains a singular eye-like screen for vision. The eye-socket has no lid but rather, grows or contracts in what seems to be akin to the operation of a telephoto lens. It has limbs for handling objects familiar to me as claw pinchers. Their most incredible feature is surely the ability to amorphously change orientation and distribution of shape seemingly at random. They shift from opaque to transparent in part or in whole for reasons beyond human logic. Their bodies take a variety of transitioning color forms that I have come to understand, coordinate to emotional expression. When I really consider the matter of their appearance, I most want to relate a correlation with a moving, multi-media art sculpture. It really is the damndest thing. When I asked it how I should refer to it, I was presented with the name Goolaas.
The astral plane I was brought to had the ethereal nature of the very deepest depths of the oceans crossed with the gravityless quality of space. Bizarre shapes similar to benthothuria funebris, swim past and through other amoeba-like oddities and particles in this vast zone of dreamy darkness. All my internal organs felt lose and unattached to my body. A pleasant side effect occurred in the genitals, which vibrated and tingled with a pulsing sensation. This was accompanied by a feeling of drunkenness on ether or a high dose of nitrous-oxide. There were times when I turned my head and had the impression of observing a 3-dimensional film from the inside. It must be stressed that even all these observations fail to capture the actual experience. I was kept within that space only so long before I had the feeling of my mind actually shattering into so many pieces. The stimulation was tremendous, even for an astral body to partake.
So, what is the point of all this you might be wondering? Yes, I too wondered the same thing as this all began to take shape. A truly bizarre rift, in my once exemplary but otherwise, ordinary life. The simplest way for me to understand why I was chosen is the fact that I went to their damn planet in the first place. I placed myself right within their sphere of influence. I like to think I also possessed specialized skills of a sort that gave me advantages over the common man.
It’s obvious now that they needed a human operative on earth to prepare the way for them. To execute simple tasks. Send the proper messages. To, eliminate obstacles. The astral world was like a bridge – a meeting place between two worlds. It was very important that they began communicating with humans, to get the truth out. I was told I wasn’t the only one working towards this goal but I was going to do very special work that would save humanity. I had been picked to do a job, which they believed I could accomplish due to my having landed on their planet, after all. They were choosing special people who knew how to handle intense pressure and keep a singular focus. And believe me, once I understood what was really going on, there was no question about whether I would act. I was compelled to act. All of humanity was at stake. The average individual, like my wife, would never believe what terrors lay ahead if something wasn’t done to prevent them. In spite of everything it cost me, I’m beginning to become grateful for having been chosen.
The information arrived in short bursts over a period of several months after having been released from NASA. A little bit more, every few days. In the meantime, I had to keep these revelations to myself until I was given the proper direction. I went about my business in town and working in the yard. But the more information I was given, the harder it was to remain composed. I believe they were only giving me as much as I could handle at the time, understanding the difficulty I would face as my entire worldview was rearranged.
I began to observe many odd anomalies throughout the day. The appearance of body “doubles”, or auras moving in and out of strangers walking by, even around animals. The periodic fractalization of the sky. I made the mistake of pointing this phenomenon out to a passing dog walker. A 30ish brunette woman and her little Pug. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes. Her look, a reaction to my look, as I realized she saw not a thing and it was only me that could see it. I hurried off in quite a fever from the scene. After that, I knew I had to keep my visions contained. After the initial fear of these sights passed, I took to small fits of laughter as a response.
I’ll admit to being very suspicious of these alien, ‘Goolaas’ characters. I even questioned their reality at all or if I was merely imagining them. But with their frequent appearance and dissemination of intricate story-arcs, I became comforted that it was far beyond the possibilities of my mind alone. Surely, I was in contact with a vastly higher form of intelligence. When I had been sufficiently prepared, they dropped the big bomb on me. Truthfully, I had already assumed there were a multitude of other civilized beings inhabiting the universe. And this, I was assured was the situation. What I needed to concern myself with immediately was the brewing conflict between the Goolaas on Telamak, humans on Earth and another alien race identified as the Arkokai from planet Phadonna.
There was an advantageous galactic trade agreement in place for several decades in which the Goolaas was providing planet earth with ozone reinforcement in exchange for precious metals and other natural resources.
The Goolaas are peaceable species and were always forthright in their dealings. Unfortunately, their cosmic neighbors the Arkokai were not quite as scrupulous. With an eye on invasion, the Arkokai negotiated a deal with key UN States that would completely undermine the Telamk. In exchange for betraying the Goolaas, The Arkokai would protect Earth’s atmosphere and provide laser weaponry that the Goolaas would never have shared. The Goolaas understood the way of humans – warring and greed driven. The superior weapons technology possessed by the advanced alien species would threaten a large swath of the universe if turned over to earth. I suppose it was only a matter of time.
I hadn’t been sent to Telamak to deliver resources. Harold and I were sent on a covert sabotage mission. This truth was only revealed to me by the regression techniques of the Goolaas. They showed me things I had no memory of. I was mentally taken back to a clandestine government laboratory, where Harold and myself had been subjected to heavy doses of hypnotic mind control. We were programmed with the latest scientific methods. The United States, Korea and Russia had noodled around with Manchurian Candidate experiments for several generations. These programs could now be implemented fairly quickly. What used to take months could now be achieved in a few short sessions. The use of torture to break down a subjects will and mind, was set aside in favor of more predictable computer to mind hacking and a subtle time sensitive drug serum. We received our final injections along with a batch of vitamins just before mission launch.
If my Goolaas correspondent hadn’t telepathically relaxed my nerves I’d have gone ballistic upon learning of this ultimate betrayal. I was aghast. Oh, how I had been duped. Reduced to a mere pawn in their sick game of galactic imperialism!
Once on the surface of Telamak, the sight of our guide triggered Harold and I into assassin-mode. We were effectively running through a script, like pre-programmed computers. M own consciousness was no longer in command. My controls had been effectively, ‘switched over.’
After taking our trusted guide hostage, we temporarily brought down a significant computer defense system. This created enough vulnerability, to allow the Arkokai to hack valuable intel for militaristic exploitation. Harold was killed before we could escape. The crew onboard had no knowledge of the deception and assumed it was the Goolaas had turned on us.
Besides the loss of Harold, which was insignificant to the Brass, everything went according to plan. The Goolaas technology had been hacked and the new terms with
the Arkokai were firmly established. An immaculate deception!
So began my awakening. The world and order as I knew it came crashing down before my eyes. Of course I was disenchanted at first, to the point of lethargy. The Goolaas had ways of curing that too. Being that I needed to begin my tasks, a merciful beam of euphoria was sent to me one morning that broke the depression.
I was set forth on my feet with a cascading energy coursing through my body. I nearly plowed right through Laura, who was standing in the doorway, as I made it down the stairs. I bolted out to the work shed out back to receive further instructions in total privacy. Moving forward I would be called out to the shed to receive all my important communications from the Goolaas. They couldn’t risk Laura catching wind and causing a scene. My first directive was simple – digging complicated patterns of holes in the back yard. The pattern was projected into my mind and I was to recreate it exactly. This took some patience but was easily accomplished over the course of the morning and afternoon. Of course, I had Laura’s questioning to contend with. That was the only significant barrier to accomplishing the mission.
“You mean you’re not going to explain this?” she shouted at me. “I’m making you an appointment with Dr. Frazier. That’s it! This is just getting to be too much for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I muttered. I had a good sweat going and couldn’t afford to break my concentration on the pattern. It felt good to get working with my hands and perform an honest days work. I hadn’t left the house for two days at that point. After a couple of hours of confusion and anger, Laura took the Mitsubishi into town.
“ You keep working on your crazy secret project, I’m leaving god damn it!”
I wasn’t told the exact reasons for digging the holes. Only that the Goolaas needed it done as a part of a bigger plan. I was a cadet in their army now. The time for questions would have to wait. In fact, I’m still waiting for those answers. Laura was gone until well after sundown. This allowed me to stakeout some other properties I was directed to dig holes on throughout the night. There were 13 total patterns, each pattern containing 23 holes. Needless to say, I returned home that night tired, sweaty and filthy. Besides that, there was the great feeling of accomplishment and honor in getting the damn job done. I was reclaiming my life. I believe Laura woke to the sound of my boots on the bedroom floor but she said absolutely nothing.
Unable to move the following day, I heard the stirrings of the neighborhood from Laura.
“That’s it Kyle! You either get help or I’m going to stay with mom,” she threatened. “Do you hear me?”
“I wish you could understand it all. You wouldn’t worry if you did,” I replied.
“The whole god-forsaken neighborhood is talking about it. We’re damn lucky they all think it’s some high school kid’s prank,” she screeched. “I even told them our yard was vandalized too. Some of them are calling the police.”
I was certain then that my work wasn’t going to be like before. I was deep behind enemy lines without cover or back up. I didn’t have an organization to hide behind. It was just going to be me, putting my ass on the line. I later received some assurance from the Goolaas that if I were detained for any reason they had ways to intervene. Later events would draw this claim into question.
The town newspaper in Woodfield carried the story of the mysterious lawn holes, describing the incident as “bizarre” and “unexplainable.” The article reported the authorities had no leads on suspects at the time of publication. “I’ve never seen anything like it in 27 years,” the Woodfield police chief went on to say. Sure, I damaged private property. I’m not proud of it. But it can’t be overstated the importance of getting that message out there. The totality of the message was encrypted across all seven patterns, ordered in sequence by home address. Obviously, these journals are meant to lay all of my deeds on the line. The time has now past for playing it safe. I have nothing left to lose anyhow. Throwing caution to the wind is what’s called for now.
The Woodfield Chronicle was a good outpost for all of my covert operations in town on behalf of the Goolass. A reporter, Rudolph Adler, began an on-going series tracking what he felt were a group of local vandals, coordinating unpredictable strikes against the city and the citizens. One outrageous headline read – UNDER ATTACK. There was an attack going on all right, it was simply too damn bad they remain clueless as to the true perpetrators, even to this day. I love Woodfield. I called it my home for 18 years. Before I went on the run that is. But I’m jumping ahead.
After a few days had passed, the next mission came down. Out in the work shed, they transmitted a series of icons to me and said to spray-paint them around town across advertising billboards. Similar to the hole patterns, the purpose was to subconsciously release esoteric symbolism to the public at large. Again, under the cloak of night I was able to carry out my objectives fairly easily. I purchased the cans of paint from multiple stores as to not implicate myself. Without the aid of a motor vehicle, that meant a whole day of walking. I limped back home just before sunrise. Sleeping well into the afternoon, I awoke to an empty house. Laura didn’t even leave a note. I knew I was on thin ice but was caught between a rock and a hard place. I had to carry on with my work for the Goolaas. I felt that the whole thing was bigger than whatever struggles I would have to face. If the Goolaas didn’t succeed, all would be lost anyhow. That was my motivation at the time, anyway.
As before, The Woodfield Chronicle ran another story. The inclusion of photos was a bonus. The copy mainly consisted of angry or confounded citizens being quoted off the street. The police said, “we have little to go on at this time. We obviously have a serial vandal on the prowl, hell-bent on committing property damage.” They asked for any leads to be called into the station. It was later revealed that after viewing the available surveillance footage, the figure seen could not be properly identified. They did claim to believe the “perpetrator” was in fact a male, but that’s all they could say for certain. After that, I began to get a little bit too proud of my work. I figured I would continue to outsmart them all. Turns out I made a few miscalculations.
It wasn’t too long after the spray-painting that I started to experience even stronger visions than before. The Goolaas let me know that it was going to be important for me to see what was really going on around me. I didn’t understand what that meant at all, and I was certainly shocked when I found out. The Arkokai were very quick to embed among humans here in America and our allied nations. These aliens, like most, are excellent shape shifters. It was soon revealed to me that the filthy vermin were literally surrounding us. The first occurrence of this happened right outside my home. As I was retrieving the mail one afternoon, I noticed a sedan parked along the street. I spotted the driver holding a pair of Leica Geovid Rangefinding binoculars. Intuitively, I knew he was spying on me. When the binoculars were lowered, I was shocked to get a view of a completely non-human entity. Here I was, looking at what should’ve been a man in a suit but instead, in place of a human head was something more like an orb of swirling water, with odd particles circulating within. No sooner did I make visual contact with it, did the car pull out of the neighborhood – in reverse.
From that day forward, I was gifted with an enhanced sight that allowed me to perceive the true nature of everyone around me. This was irrefutable proof backing up all that the Goolaas had assured me of. The colonization was already underway.
With the knowledge of some of business and politics most elite players, Arkokai began immigrating to earth even before the betrayal of the Goolaas. With the ability to take on human form at will, the Arkokai had long planned to integrate into high positions of world affairs. The elites gladly excepted this condition on the terms of their being able to splice alien DNA into their bloodlines and given free travel to the Arkokai planet, Phadonna. The alien DNA would solidify the bond between the races and give select humans huge bursts of evolutionary powers.
The Goolaas suspected that cohabitation is not what the shifty Arkokai ultimately had in mind. In fact, humanities elites were most certainly in on the plan as well. The endgame being, that the Arkokai and the human/alien hybrids, once having consolidated their powers would enslave the rest of earth, obliterating human culture and customs as we know it.
This knowledge was the catalyst for my radical shift in urgency and slight mania. There was literally no time to waste from that point onward. Rather than be paralyzed by the fear, I allowed the energy to thrust me into action.
In a burst of inspiration, I got the idea to call a late-night radio show dealing with para-political subject matter. I figured this would give me access to the widest possible audience sympathetic to my cause. I presented the notion to my Goolaas contact with excitement. The response I received was cryptic at best. I wasn’t able to decode a clear “no” on the issue, so I proceeded with the strategy. I felt there was an urgent need to quickly mobilize as much assistance as possible.
On reflection, the effected outcomes following the interview are difficult to measure. Admittedly, there were consequences, counter-productive to the mission. I hadn’t anticipated there were listeners who only listened in to collect valuable intel. My ESP abilities not having been fully developed at the time, I suffered a few miscalculations of judgment along the way.
After a confirmation with the show producer, arrangements were made for a Friday night call on Cryptic Convoy AM. I’m pretty sure Laura was eavesdropping on the conversation that night. I was sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, being that it was after one in the morning. I felt her presence possibly lurking on the stairwell. I could only keep my voice lowered so much, as I was on the air. She was damn well going to find out the truth sooner or later. In my estimation, the interview went very well and I was able to get my points across. I would say the host and some of the live callers were sufficiently alarmed by my story.
After a confirmation with the show producer, arrangements were made for a Friday night call on Cryptic Convoy AM. I’m pretty sure Laura was eavesdropping on the conversation that night. I was sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, being that it was after one in the morning. I felt her presence possibly lurking on the stairwell. I could only keep my voice lowered so much, as I was on the air. She was damn well going to find out the truth sooner or later. In my estimation, the interview went very well and I was able to get my points across. I would say the host and some of the live callers were sufficiently alarmed by my story.
To protect my identity, I provided a false name. I gave a general outline of my career as an astronaut and detailed as much of my mission objectives as were informative. Having established my credibility, I explained the Telamak mission and its fateful undertaking.
“OK, so let me get this straight. You’re saying that our government has made a secret deal with an alien race for resources and that these aliens are here on the planet right now?” questioned show host Clyde Patton. “This is an extraordinary claim, even for this program.”
Patton and I spoke for a good 45 minutes of airtime. I kept secret the actual nature of my missions on behalf of the Goolaas, not wanting to incriminate myself. I felt that I towed the proper line that led the audience to draw the obvious conclusions. The main idea to get across was that the average citizen had better start to get used to the idea that the very essence of freedom and humanity as we understood it was under direct attack.
“We are in fact facing an immanent threat initiated by rouge elements in the business and political world. We’ve seen this sort of thing before but this is of a different nature to the extent that they’ve opened us up to a very unsavory alien culture,” I explained.
I suggested small groups of concerned citizens form local groups that might start to develop some means of future defense. I assured the listeners that the Goolaas were on the case and were already doing what they could to thwart the invasion. I stressed that assistance from the human population would be absolutely necessary to completely turn back the coming onslaught.
As frightening as the show seemed to come across, Patton was rather blasé off-the-air.
“This is great radio, pal,” he exclaimed. “Fucking great! Keep it coming. Two segments to go.”
I hung up the phone exhausted. After taking a few pulls of whisky to calm my nerves, I headed to bed. As I climbed the stairs, I heard a small bang in the upstairs hallway. Must have been Laura, slipping back to the bedroom. It was no use. She had heard it all. There was no turning back.
Three days after the radio broadcast I was visited by two men, claiming to be from NASA. Laura had let them in, as I would not have allowed it. She herself must have set up the intervention to begin with. I was livid but did my best to conceal my resentment. How dare they step foot in my home, after everything that I was subjected to. I steeled myself from revealing that I was up on their black project shenanigans.
“So, how have you been feeling Mr. Repa,” asked the little, balding bastard named Collins. “We understand that transitioning into retirement can bring about unusual emotions.”
“I’m damn fine, that’s for sure. Got plenty of projects to focus on. Things that have been on the back-burner for many years.”
This invasive line of questions went on for another five or ten minutes. Collins and the other one, Maloney, playing off each other like a couple of bad detectives. How was my health? Was I receiving my benefits? Did I know about opportunities to volunteer? I deflected their intrusions on my privacy as politely as I could.
Then Maloney finally cut to the chase. “Well Mr. Repa, we just want you to know, that should you ever need to speak to anyone about any difficulties you may experience, any difficulties at all, feel free to call this number and we’ll make sure it gets taken care of,” he said as he handed me a business card.
I knew the game they we’re playing. They figure if I start to unravel, I’ll drag my sorry ass into see their shrink and spill my guts out for him. The room will be bugged for sure. Those two spooks will be listening from the room next door.
Smiling, I accepted the card and stood up from the sofa, signaling the end of the meeting. Laura, was presumably in the kitchen with her ear pressed to the door, hanging on every word.
I peered out of the blinds, making sure they had driven off before I let it be known that I was no damn fool.
“So Laura, was this whole circus your idea?”
“What on earth are you talking about,” Laura asked in her best, confused sounding voice.
“If anyone thinks I’m going to fall for a trap that obvious has got another damn thing coming, I’ll tell you that much!
Laura stormed back into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of Goldschläger from the top cabinet. That’s when I knew she was in on it.
“You know Laura, when you start looking at them like they’re the crazy ones, then you’ll be onto something. Me? I’m more sane now than I’ve ever been! I was crazy before, for being used like a patsy for their underhanded dealings.”
“Whatever you say dear,” she said patronizingly.
“Oh, to hell with it, I’m going for a walk.”
And out I went. I should have known it was all over then. But I held out a sliver of hope that the Goolaas would allow me to project Laura with me to the astral plane. That was the only way she would accept it all. But the Goolaas had no understanding. Perhaps marriages on Telamak were of a whole different nature than earth relations.
When I began sleeping on the roof, that’s when my marriage fell apart completely. I felt that placing my body out in the open during sleep allowed for quicker and more effective astral projections. I caught Laura packing her suitcases the following morning.
“You’re going to your mothers, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of you’re goddamned business! I’ve had enough. The girls at the doctor’s office said you never showed up for your appointment. You’re scaring me and you won’t get help.”
“Help?” I replied. “It’s our friends and neighbors that need help. The whole damn country!”
“You don’t have anymore friends, Kyle!”
That remark related back to a guest that dropped by for a card game a week previous. Charles was a fishing buddy of mine going back to college. This was an inopportune time for a visit, as it turned out. My Goolaas contact kept intervening into my thoughts. I spent a large duration of the evening in the work shed, receiving a new mission. Laura must have made some comments in my absence. When I came back to the table, Charles started in on the “how are you feeling,” questions. I must have been fairly brusque with him and proceeded to get damn defensive when I suspected my wife’s meddling.
“I don’t need the frickin’ NASA job, damn it. I have plenty on my hands here. You’ll see that my role now is more significant than it’s ever been! Just you wait.”
The friendly banter escalated until I asked Charlie to leave. I felt he had drunk too much to be reasoned with. Besides, I couldn’t risk saying anymore that would break my confidentiality.
I refused any houseguests after the incident. My associates had been small in number to begin with. Laura, having many gal pals, refrained of having them at the home due to my “erratic moods,” she claimed.
“Suits me just fine,” is all I replied.
She was giving me a week to get out of the house while she stayed with her mother. She already had the divorce papers prepared the day she left. So, that was that. The end of the marriage was only the beginning of bigger troubles to come.
It is my belief now that Laura immediately began working with NASA and other government agents, turning over sensitive information about my activities. The damn woman practically buried me. After all we had been through. I was nearly numb to the pain at the time. Betrayal had become commonplace. I began to expect it.
I had no problem vacating the home and getting a new base of operations set up in complete privacy. I had just hoped to grab more personal items and put some files in order before setting off. Fate would have it another way. On the morning of April the 20th, two days after Laura’s departure, I was startled by a knock on the door. Stupidly, thinking it was Laura, I opened the door to find the same damn phony NASA spooks standing there. My ESP senses lit up like a Christmas tree. I managed to slam the door on them quickly and pull together an impromptu plan. They were there to bring me down, probably with drugs to incapacitate me. Then I’d be sent out to some place like Montauk for a complete brain wipe.
I sprinted upstairs to throw as many necessities as possible into a duffle bag. I heard the weasels still outside calling out for me.
“We’re sorry to disturb you Mr. Repa, we just want to talk.”
“Talk my ass!”
I made my escape out the backdoor only to realize I needed to head in the direction towards the front. And so I did. It was Collins who made the move on me. I was prepared for that so I decked him solidly on the jaw as he came close.
“What in god’s name,” shouted Maloney. From out of the corner of my eye, he seemed too flabbergasted to move. They hadn’t expected me to put up a fight. I dashed down the road, leaving them behind to mount a pursuit. I had a weapon stowed away in case of the worst. Luckily, I made a few sly turns that must have thrown them off my trail. The Five Moons Motel would be my new homestead. I had plenty of money to cover myself for a while. There was only the question of how long I could safely stay at any one location from there on out. A life on the run had begun. I was going to have to stay one step ahead of them if I was going to have any chance of carrying on the mission. Little did I know.
My first order of business at the motel was to re-establish a connection with the Goolaas. In my room, I laid down on the bed and entered a relaxed state. It took longer than usual to project, probably in part to my elevated stress after such a close call.
I admit to being fairly panicked at that point. I pleaded with my Goolaas advisor for answers and guidance. I was assured there was a plan in place and not to worry. I was in the middle of an epic struggle of cosmic proportions and my vigilance was necessary through the darkness. Much more work needed to be accomplished and I envisioned myself playing a vital role.
I was directed to being a new project, this time a letter writing correspondence with local government officials. The letters were to be designed as cryptograms, encoding messages from the Goolaas. Dale Hetick, was the man I was told to address the letters to. Dale was an at large member of the Woodfield City Council, with a background in robotics. I never knew exactly what the letters said but I was told in general that they would provide directions for sussing out Arkokai that may have taken possession of his City Council colleagues. When I began to consider the matter, Council President Mark Tisdel, stuck out as a prime suspect.
Furiously, I assembled a series of cryptograms using a stack of old magazines and newspapers. I wore surgical gloves to prevent any possibility of leaving fingerprints. The letters were spaced out over a period of several weeks. The only response from all that work came to me again, from the pages of the Woodfield Chronicle.
CRYPTIC LETTERS SENT TO COUNCIL MEMBER OFFICE, read one headline.
The report stated that the letters were sent to the local police and would possibly be forwarded to the FBI for expert analysis. This left me quite confused. If the purpose was to secretly signal Hetick about the alien invasion, the letters didn’t seem to accomplish that task very well. I questioned whether I should take matters more fully into my hands by approaching Hetick more directly.
But before I took that risk, I decided to attend a City Council board meeting to lay eyes on them myself. It was a Wednesday evening around six o’clock in the evening when I made my appearance. I wore a trench coat and baseball cap to remain inconspicuous. Sitting on the hallway bench, I spotted all the Council members as they began arriving. I was hardly prepared when the truth appeared before me. Not only was Tisdel an alien, but so too were Thomas Wiggins from District 4 and Vice President Stephanie Morita. Within their human shell lived an inner-aura of extraterrestrial make-up. As a small conciliation, Hetick was present and displayed no trace of alien possession.
Terrified, I slipped into the meeting hall, finding a seat towards the back. From there I watched and listened to the proceedings. All seemed normal from the outside. Suddenly, I felt my entire mind invaded by the Arkokai being that inhabited the body of Wiggins.
“What do you think you’re doing here? We can destroy you at any time. I can snap you mind right now!”
There was a searing pain in my head that accompanied the psychic threats I suffered. Within moments, the voice of Morita burst through as well.
“You little prick! Don’t you know your friends the Goolaas are doomed. Humanity is doomed. You should kill yourself now and get it over with,” her voice screeched at me.
The intensity of their all-out telepathic assault ratcheted up every minute until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Without being able to mount a defense, they simply broke my will down. I leapt from my seat in a panic but also with a sense of anger.
“Damn you bastards! This Council has been infiltrated. They’re going to kill us all!”
This caused a tremendous stir, as you can imagine. Human, Susan Bower from District 3 leapt underneath the conference table in fear. The cameraman on-site whirled the lens in my direction, capturing my writhing mania. I burst out the door before anyone could get to me. Fleeing on foot, the voices left my mind once I reached about 200 yards distance from the building.
Not only was I on the run in the physical realm but the psychic realm as well. Showing up at the Council meeting was a serious miscalculation brought on by an increasing lack of sleep. Without a defense shield to protect me, I was absolutely defenseless against their mental attacks.
Impulsively, I downed a half a bottle of vodka back in my room at Five Moons. Shame and fear overwhelmed me. For reasons still not understood, the Goolaas did not communicate with me for the next week. Waves of paranoia crippled me. The need to relocate became evident. I packed up my duffle bags and set fire to evidence tying me to the cryptograms. Unfortunately, in my delirium, I set a fire that spread, engulfing the entire room. A night of running ensued. With no hope of successfully hitchhiking, I headed to the Greyhound station. I bought a ticket to Kootenai County, Idaho.
It was soon evident that it would be easier to outrun the authorities than the Arkokai. I began to spot the aliens all over the place. Working at the drug store, driving taxis, walking in the park. They were everywhere. It became truly maddening. One particularly uncomfortable incident occurred on my bus ride to Idaho. An older male passenger in front of me signaled to me that he was a hybrid. Looking back at me, the eye sockets in his head disappeared and I saw the alien hiding within. I was frozen to my seat. Smiling, he turned back around. He telepathically tortured me for the whole ride until I could barely refrain from screaming or attacking him. They were truly merciless and without conscience. Another one followed me into a truck stop restroom. I had to push past the son of a bitch just to escape. I made a decision to further arm myself as soon as I arrived in Idaho. Something more than a mere .22 was needed. I wasn’t going to accept that abuse much longer.
Things only got worse in Idaho. I secured a cheap room in a small town near Boise. Immediately I was under siege. Black helicopters began circling overhead at all hours of the day. The second night at the motel, two strange men came knocking on my door. One tall man, one short man. They said nothing verbally, instead using the invasive psychic attack.
“We’ve had enough of you, you dirty human scum. Working with the Goolaas will be your end,” chided the little man. “But you’ll suffer a long time, to show you how wretched your kind are.”
“The new pets. The new pets. The new pets,” rambled the tall one.
The mental pain brought me to my knees. It took all I could muster to slam the door shut on them. I desperately wondered where the Goolaas were and why I was being left in the lurch. It may have amounted to another test of my loyalty – seeing if I would crack under the pressure. Deep behind enemy lines, losing sight of my objectives. Little did I know, there was another mission right around the corner.
Terrified of leaving my motel room, for fear of being ambushed by more Arkokai, I hunkered down for several days. Then, on the fifth day, the phone rang. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Unsure of what to do, I let it ring long enough to realize it wasn’t going to stop. Mustering my courage, I yanked the receiver up to my ear. I never could have guessed who was on the other line.
“Who the hell is this?”
“This is Justin Bonner. I have something important to tell you. About the mission.”
Yes, it was that Justin Bonner. The silly assed, pop star from the tabloids. My mind reeled at the possibilities.
“Listen, I know this must be strange for you but bear with me. I’ve been working with the Goolaas too,” explained the teen millionaire. “I’ve been tasked with symbolic, multimedia communications. You know, like hiding messages and shit like that. That’s how I’m warning the public about this fucking alien takeover.”
I was aghast. But, I came to see the logic in it. Genius, really. While agents like myself were being tasked with regional operations, these celebrity types could spread the message far and wide. I became very excited and animated, pacing the floor in circles. My feelings of loneliness and abandonment disappeared. I was back in the thick of it.
“The phone might be tapped, so just listen. Get a pen and some paper,” said the little superstar. “Alright, so here’s the plan – I’m going to come out and see you. That way I can tell you the plan in person. You have to watch out for the drones. The motherfuckers have eyes in the sky all over the place. Every time you walk into a store, your face is being scanned for facial recognition. The Arkokai are compiling a database of dissidents. They want to gather us all up into an underground black site for interrogations and torture.”
“My god, it’s even worse than I thought.”
“Oh, and before I forget – if you hear from your wife, don’t tell her where you are. She’s turned. Full fucking hybrid, man,” he revealed. “She’s working directly with them. Another hybrid in NASA got to her. They’re together now too. Living at your old place.”
“Son of a bitch!”
“Don’t worry about it old-timer, we’ll get ‘em back. Now, write down this address.”
So, there I was - in an Idaho motel, informed by Justin Bonner that my wife was an alien-human hybrid, shacking up with a former colleague. On the plus side, I was back in connection with the Goolaas, with another mission on the way. I was given a time and place in Moscow, Idaho for a rendezvous with the famous pop singer. My vitality had been restored, despite the frightful news. I drained the remaining liquor down the wastepipe and took a shower. There would be no more wallowing in misery. I was an American hero, god damn it. I wasn’t going to take their shit lying down anymore!
I arrived on the college campus just before dawn, as instructed. There he was sitting at a bench, wearing a yellow hoodie. I peered around the perimeter to see if I could sense a trap. I had thought then, “what if he’s a double-agent, working for the Arkokai?”
“It’s not a trap Repa,” said Bonner. Or did I just think it? In any case, I sat down next to him.
“Don’t worry. The cool thing about being super famous, is you get bodyguards to go wherever you go. Mine aew around the corner just in case.”
He popped open a laptop resting on his lap. There was a picture of George Cleever, the famous actor turned politician. It was a Presidential election year and he was leading in the polls. He seemed like a real phony to me. Little did I know.
“You see this tool?” pointing at Cleever. “This is the guy. He’s been put at the head of this thing with the Arkokai. A fucking hybrid. He’s going to become President and set the whole ball rolling. The internment camps, tracking chips, curfews, precognition police. That’s just for starters. And he’ll be doing it all while he’s flashing his big, toothy grin across the screen.”
“Just tell me what you need me to do,” I replied stoically.
“You’re going to kill him, that’s what the fuck you’re going to do! Bam! Bam! Right through his Hollywood head.”
The world seemed to stop at that moment. The kid kept talking but I didn’t hear a thing. I suppose I had something like an out-of-body experience. My astral self left my physical body and beamed up to Telemak. My usual contact (who I only knew as KLAAR) was there to greet me. As per the norm, there was no communication by way of human language; rather, I was given an impression that was felt. What I received was warmth of calmness and reassurance. The fear of having to commit a murder pushed me right out of my body. The Arkokai knew I had to be comforted. I was held there for what seemed like a long time but when I snapped back into my body, Bonner acted as if nothing unusual had happened.
“These are the other guys we have to get,” I heard him say. He had a new document up of names and faces. All of who were hybrids or completely alien possessed humans. “Look, it’s not that big a deal. I’m going to take out at least half of them,” he said in between bites of a banana. “The Goolaas gave me some badass lasers, dude. I’ll give you one. It’s going to be awesome.”
I was given my list of targets along with locations and research on each objective. Bonner had to have been getting help. There was no way that nit-wit was planning this alone. I left the question of his involvement unasked. I figured it was best to only focus on my piece of the puzzle. It was clear the Arkokai had active agents from all sectors of life. Best not to confuse myself with all the moving parts. They call it ‘compartmentalization’ in government work.
Bonner walked me to his parked limousine as the sun was rising in the east. A very fidgety man unrolled the passenger window and said to get in. Seated on the leather seat, the shifty-eyed man handed me a paper bag. As I went to look inside, the man sprung forward, his eyes popping out of his head.
“Don’t fucking open it in here! No, man. No, sir.”
So, I didn’t. Bonner told me not to worry about his jittery associate. He was under a lot of pressure to keep Bonner safe all-day and night with very little sleep.
“It’s the laser,” whispered Bonner with a devious smile. “Know let’s go smoke some aliens!”
He handed me a small communication device that he said had been specially encrypted by his best tech guy. Whatever that meant. I was an astronaut but I hadn’t kept up with every new gadget that came out. Celebrities always got products before the rest of us. Maybe it was even developed with alien technology.
The kid gave me a hug and said, “we’re like brothers now.” Then, on second thought he reconsidered that I might be more like his uncle. That seemed to please him somehow. I just wanted to get on with the mission, happy to get any help I could. When the limo pulled off, I kicked myself for not asking for a ride back to the motel. I would never see Bonner again.
Later, when I finally made it back to my room, another strange occurrence took place. I was resting on the bed at the time when I heard a scurry of footsteps just outside the door. As I sat up, my eyes caught a small slip of paper being slid through the crevice. By the time I opened the door to see who it was, there was no one in sight. The white slip had one sentence scrawled on it. Our ‘freedom’ is a carefully crafted illusion.
A chill went up my spine as I read it. I was maddened by who sent this message to me. The Arkokai? The Goolaas? Bonner? Another secret agent? The source of the note remains a mystery. I spent the following day studying over the brief provided to me from Bonner and his team. There was meaty intel on my targets whereabouts and activities. Places and times they were most likely to be alone. Besides Cleever, I was looking at a University professor in Oregon, a CIA agent located in the Pacific Palisades and a prominent San Franciscan CEO of a network of Internet blogs. It was obvious that I needed to make a move. I would head to my closest target in Oregon first.
Before the trip, I drafted several letters addressed to various radio personalities stationed across the country. Included in the letters was an overview of the story I have outlined here without the inclusion of the specifics related to hit list. I wanted to keep the pressure on the elites by exposing their plot to as many people as possible. The letters were taken to the local Post Office because I didn’t trust the woman working the desk at the Five Moons Motel. When I checked out she looked at me in a very suspicious manner. I got out of there as fast as I could, avoiding eye-contact with anyone.
I successfully mailed out the letters but was accosted by a group of Arkokai hybrids just outside the Post Office. There were two men and one woman. They followed me for several blocks attacking my psyche from a distance. They made horrible threats and insults to my character. Explicit details were told of my wife’s sexual encounters on my old bed with her Arkokai lover. It was awful. They also made sexual threats against me of a nature I care not to repeat. They assured me that the mental attacks would follow me everywhere I went and I would be sabotaged at every turn. When I finally had enough of it, I turned on them and used a psychokinetic ability I had no idea I possessed. I screamed in a very forceful manner while at the same time overturning a nearby trash can with my mind alone. I witnessed their alien eyes lose their strength and they turned and ran. This incident heightened my confidence in dealing with these parasitic beings. I wondered if perhaps I could damage them to the same degree as they had me. It was a gleeful but short-lived thought.
Events only got stranger and out of control from there. Everywhere I went, there were hidden Arkokai aliens in the mist. I spent a large portion of my bus ride to Oregon locked in the bathroom for fear of onboard Arkokai. Angry passengers forced me out on two occasions. If only they could see what I could see. I used whatever psychic defenses I could but was eventually worn down into exhaustion. If I attempted to use my newfound PSI ability, there’s no telling what the outcome would have been. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene and possibly draw the attention of the authorities. I gritted it out to Oregon.
I ran from the bus station as far as I could into town. If I had been thinking clearer, I would have found a bed and slept off the strain. Unfortunately, something within pushed me to proceed directly to locate my target. That was an error. By that point, my mind and body were in no condition to handle the mission. But I stubbornly went ahead anyway. It’s possible that the Arkokai were responsible for my impulse to press on. I had been promised sabotage.
The professor had office hours posted between three and four in the afternoon. If I found him alone, that would be the end of it. I figured it would be all fairly easy to accomplish in such a low security environment. I should have recognized the warning signals that came crashing in all around me. Along my route I witnessed what I can only describe as a holographic projection into my 3D reality. I saw visions of total war and destruction. The Arkokai battling the Goolaas with many innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. This future reality cut in and out of the present time reality in a completely jarring way. In every instance, the Goolaas seemed to be on the receiving end of the worst of the casualties. The Arkokai dismembered and brutalized their victims in the most vicious manner. I felt if I did not take out my target that this was the assured future that awaited planet earth. I had never been so frightened in my life.
Covered in sweat - feet and legs aching, I arrived on the grounds of the University of Oregon in Eugene. In a vision, I saw the school as nothing but a bombed out shell. I preformed a cursory check of my bag, double-checking my possession of the laser gun. Removing if from the duffle bag, I stuck it in my paint waist along my backside. That was it. I was going all in. After a quick check of the building diagram, I made my way up to the office of Professor August Brownfield.
The minutes that followed my walking into the building get hazy in my memory. At his office door, I drew out the laser. There was a moment of mental preparation in which I summoned sufficient nerve. I called to mind the notion that Brownfield wasn’t really Brownfield at all but a god damned barbarous alien, hell-bent on destroying everything I lived for. Kicking the door off the hinge, I let loose a barrage of blasts that lit up the room in radiant violet. It was shortly after the fire broke out in the room that I noticed there was no one actually in the room. My mind, splintering as it was, could hardly comprehend the blunder at hand. Flames had reached the edge of the room when the emergency overhead sprinklers went off. A small crowd of teachers and students spilling into the hallway accompanied the alarms. I snapped into some semblance of coherence as I was spotted as a suspect to the fire.
“Some one call 9-11 – that guy’s got a laser!”
I made a mad dash for the stairwell, pushing past a number of witnesses. I ran all the way to a quick service burger shop and slid into the bathroom. It was there that I dosed myself down with running water to calm my frayed nerves. Things couldn’t have possibly gone worse. I complete disaster. The heat was surely on me then. How could the Goolaas have let me walk into certain disaster, I wondered? Shouldn’t they have been able to signal to me that the target was not where he was supposed to be? I felt abandoned all over again. What was I to do next?
I eluded capture for the remainder of the evening. I made use of a ball cap from my duffle bag to navigate through town to a motel. I found a properly filthy rattrap I was sure wouldn’t ask me too many questions. Once in my room, I turned on the local nightly news to catch the story developing.
ATTEMPTED MURDER TURNS TO ARSON, read the graphic on the screen.
The fire didn’t spread too far out of Brownfield’s office evidenced by the film footage. Then my picture was brought onto the screen. Cameras were posted on every floor of the college. I gave that possibility too little consideration. The reporter stated the police were still working on a positive identification. Then came interviews with the witnesses at hand.
“It was crazy. We heard the sirens go off and the water started coming down. When we got out into the hallway I saw this weird man just standing there next to the fire, said Freshman, Donald Wright. “Then the girl next to me saw the laser – she screamed and he took off running.”
The walls were closing in on me good. It wouldn’t be long before word of the incident reached Laura and my old NASA pals. I’d be identified in no time. The mission was done for before I managed to even get one of my targets. I felt disgraced. For reasons I don’t understand, I slept in the bathtub that night. In my dream, my body was being served as a dinner buffet to a large table of Arkokai. The bastards were drinking, smoking and otherwise having a hell of a time at my expense. I awoke from one nightmare into the next. My waking nightmare - former NASA astronaut, embarrassed and defeated. On the run from the law. Had the chance to thwart an alien invasion but failed. Lost wife to the enemy. I’ll be damned if that’s how the story ends. Panic was not an option any more. To hell with orders. It was time for me to what my gut told me and let the chips fall. One way or the other I was going down. I hoped that the Goolaas might dirty their tentacles a bit and raise a counter-insurgence. Maybe there’s a reason they didn’t. That information was apparently above my pay grade.
What was there left for me to do? Could I conceivably have outrun the police from Oregon, down through the state of California? I made my bed. I decided to lie in it. Around that time was when the hardcore psychotronic harassment started up. A V2K method using microwave signals beamed right into my brain. An incessant barrage of clicking and pulsing brought me to me knees. Sharp, insufferable pain that will make you cry like a baby. I stormed out of the room to try to escape it. That’s when the voices started in on me. Whispers layered over screams, all saying the most horrible things. Most often the voices were trying to convince me to go and off myself.
“You can stop it all fuck face! Just do it! You’re fucked!”
I nearly did give in. Then a better realization came. If this was going to be the game they wanted to play, I’d take as many of the sons of bitches with me as possible. It was the only way I could bring any honor back to myself. To decrease the frequency volume of the voices, I employed a verbal mantra. This helped enough to regain some functionality back. Then I vomited on the sidewalk and this too provided some measure of relief. With a clear head, I stormed back into the motel room and grabbed my laser.
On the floor beside the bed, sat a package I had never seen before. A label across the top read – NEW MISSION OBJECTIVE – OPERATION: BANG, BANG - JB
I opened the box up carefully. Inside the box were a bundle of dynamite sticks and a vest. How the hell did this get in here, I thought? At that moment I had lost all sense of time and place. BANG, BANG. BANG, BANG.
It seemed to make sense at the time. Although, I was under considerable stress and hyper-tension. All fear had gone and I did the only thing that made any sense to me. I strapped on the dynamite vest and identified the closest TV station in the phone book. Luckily I had a zippered coat handy to conceal it. I wrote a note in an automatic trance of sorts and have no recall of what it said. Leaving the motel for the last time, I set out with laser in hand to find as many alien hybrids as possible.
There is a current sense of disassociation with my actions in Oregon that day. I recall a feeling of confidence overcoming me. Albeit, to a foolish degree. I may not have been able to act had I not felt that way. It was a good, long walk to the TV station, during which I had no conscious thought. There was just a white blankness. Although, my legs carried me on with a great urgency. There was a disconnect between my mind and body that afternoon. Maybe the Goolaas had something to do with it? I have since, received no answer to that question. I simply marched to a destiny that now seems prearranged.
Arkokai were everywhere I looked as I walked through the city. Some taunted me, others moved away from my path. None were able to stop me or invade my thoughts. It was as if there was a shielding around me. Getting into Channel 9 was all that existed. Much has been reported about what transpired between 2:23 and 3:03 that day. I can’t say if it’s accurate or not. I only know what was real to me at the time.
I grabbed an Arkokai hostage just a few blocks from the station. Together we scurried into the main lobby. The Arkokai was a male, aggressive and vile. At no time was he not threatening my life with torture and mutilation. I was anxious to dispose of the creature but felt I needed a dramatic leverage to get into the newsroom.
“Matt Lewis! Bring me Matt Lewis or the alien dies!” I demanded to the receptionist.
There was immediate panic and disruption from that moment forth. The poor receptionist was completely human and had no idea what was going on. She had no idea the whole building was crawling with aliens and hybrids. I hope she can forgive me.
She fumbled on the phone to call for Lewis, the nightly news anchorman who had filed reports confirming my identity as the college arsonist. He was a high-level Arkokai agent. Sure, on the outside he appeared to be your typical spray-tanned talking head. All I know is the bastard was concealing an armadillo head with fangs. He prayed on human flesh and blood. Only the top Arkokai agents were allowed to consume natural human blood. The lower ranks subsided on an artificial blend.
When Lewis showed his horrible face, there was camera rolling on us just as I had hoped. I meant to expose the whole damn charade on live TV. Off in the wings were security guards with their weapons drawn on me.
“The jig is up Lewis! You’re not going to get rid of me quietly! The game is over!” I declared. I don’t think I had ever displayed such emotion in my life. As I said, I felt possessed by a tragic hero complex.
“OK. OK. Just stay calm,” said the graying, square-jawed imposter. “We can figure this all out. Nobody has to get hurt. Just put down the laser.”
“I don’t negotiate with Arkokai scum! You all should know that by now. Take me onto the set.”
And so, we clumsily fumbled through the hallway and into an elevator. The hostage, Lewis, his cameraman and myself. The disbelieving security guards ran for the stairs.
“You’re that guy that burned the college building, is that it?” asked Lewis.
“I’m an American, doing his duty to stave off an alien threat here on earth,” I said into the lens.
“You’re crazy man! Just let me go,” the hostage pleaded.
“You are a part of a grand deception against humanity that seeks to create a slave race under the dictatorship of the Arkokai. I was used by my own agency in a conspiracy to betray our former alias, the Goolaas,” I explained for the benefit of the audience watching at home.
“So what do you want to do? Get on the television, is that it,” Lewis asked. He was patronizing me then. Trying to confuse me into forgetting he was a blood-thirsty Arkokai.
Before I could respond, the elevator doors opened up and we came out into the hall. Lewis’ co-anchor, Maria Donovan was there along with more camera people, the guards and a handful of other lookers-on.
“Get the fuck back, all of you,” I ordered. “Get us in the damn set room Matt.”
“Everybody stay calm, we’re just going to do what he says right now,” Matt added.
Once we were all collected into the set room, I took center stage at the news desk. Walkie-Talkie communication began talking place between the guards and police arriving outside. I had to act quickly or blow another opportunity.
“Get your ass up here Matt,” I motioned him up to the table. “You too Maria. We’re breaking the biggest story of the century, right here on Channel 9.”
Maria was hysterical. She was not an Arkokai. I tried to calm her with an explanation.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. This is breaking news. Matt Lewis is an alien. He’s part of a worldwide takeover of the planet. The Arkokai, a war-mongering race of extraterrestrials are working with elite members of world governments and business leaders. Members of the media, like Matt here, are part of the takeover. This coup is assured unless we coordinate a resistance, starting today. I have been in touch with friendly allies from planet Telemak. Allies, I was manipulated into betraying by NASA and agencies above it. The time of lies and games are over. It’s time to take a final stand to save humanity!”
I pointed the laser at Lewis’ head, demanding he reveal his true face to the public, right then and there. “No, please, don’t!” screamed Donovan.
“This is fucking insane,” said a panicked Lewis. “You have this all wrong, I’m just a journalist!”
At this point, there’s a big discrepancy between what I saw and heard, and what the cameras recorded. This is something I can’t reconcile at all. I’m quite certain that Lewis turned to me and flashed his alien Arkokai face. What I heard him say was, “You damn fool! Do you really think you can expose us that easily? You’ll never make it out of here alive, Repa.”
Video shown to me in the aftermath depicted nothing of the sort. All that the viewers saw was Lewis whispering to me, apparently pleading for his life. In the next instant an aggressive police SWAT team burst into the room, guns drawn. Donovan leapt to safety underneath the news desk.
As they surrounded the set, I opened my jacket with my free hand, revealing the dynamite. I could see that behind the SWAT masks were the faces of more Arkokai invaders. Igniting the explosives seemed the only option left to me at that point. I was fully prepared to do just that before I suffered another horrendous V2K attack. Lewis was clearly the perpetrator. As I writhed in agony, the laser ended up pointed at the ceiling where I let off three or four blasts, raining debris and sparks down onto the set. Thousands of laughing voices layered in my brain. I had been sabotaged once again. The studio staff members bolted off the set in frenzy. Lewis took the opportunity of my disorientation to tackle me onto the stage floor. There was a brief struggle for the laser, resulting in several more random discharges that hit the wall. Before I knew it, SWAT personnel beset me on all sides. Unable to detonate the dynamite, I lay motionless, receiving one hell of a beating until I blacked out. When I came to, I found myself in a isolation cell without light.
The Woodfield Chronicle ran a front-page story on the debacle, calling me a “disgraced national hero.” Quotes from my wife told sordid details of our marriage, “torn apart by extreme and destructive behavior.” I expected nothing less from her or any of my prior associates for that matter. What does still surprise me, was the lack of intervention or aid from the Goolaas. I have not received a single message from them since my detainment. The heavy doses of daily pharmaceutical cocktails I have been forced onto may have something to do with their inability to telepathically reach me.
As I stated from the onset, this retelling of my story has been prepared for my lawyer, Wilhelm Dobbs, for possible use in my defense. I have also asked that this document be released to any and all interested media outlets or to individuals who simply wish to know the truth. I can only hope that what happened to me will be better understood in the near future. I intend to begin a correspondence with Rudolph Adler, the reporter at the Chronicle. Perhaps, in time, I can persuade him of my innocence. Dobbs is working on arranging interviews on my behalf in the event that restrictions on my imprisonment are loosened up. Until the Arkokai reveal themselves, I fully expect to rot away in this cell. The most severe punishment I face is in failing to accomplish my mission. I am a man who has failed at very little in this life and there is no greater pain for me than this. It is only so easy to second-guess my decisions along the way. It takes everything I have not to continue replaying each scenario over in my mind in order to reach a different conclusion. What is done, is done. I will accept my defeat as graciously as possible. Humanity is now in someone else’s hands. I can only hope that person will prevail, where I fell short. Our planet is too good to turn over to the evil intentions of a perverted and debased alien species. We must never surrender to the bastards. My life may as well be over. It’s my brothers and sisters of the future that keep the fight alive within me.
No matter how dark the night of our soul, may righteousness and strength find a way to shine through.
P.S. – Dobbs, do what you can to reach Bonner, he may still be active in the resistance and can corroborate my story. If nothing else, work on Laura some more to release my old belongings. You have my permission to sell off all my flight metals and memorabilia to raise funds for my defense. There should also be quite a large collection of vintage stamps and coins that should be worth something as well.
P.P.S. - Has Cleever secured the nomination yet?
Keep giving them Hell.
Sincerely, Captain Repa.