Page 9 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

Standing in the shadows is amonster. Seven feet tall, covered in red scales that gleam faintly in the dim light. His face is angular, reptilian, with ridges running down his cheeks and a pair of sunset orange eyes that lock onto mine. Those eyes. I’d know them anywhere.

“Kirk?” My voice comes out as a squeak. It’s him—or some twisted version of him. The same orange eyes, the same intense gaze. But this? This isnothuman.

“Did the Grolgath send you?” he demands, taking a step forward. His claws click against the marble floor, and I swear I can feel the ground vibrate under his weight.

My brain short-circuits. Grolgath? What the hell is he talking about? All I know is that I’m face-to-face with a giant lizard-man who looks like he’s two seconds away from ripping me apart.

“Stay back!” I yelp, fumbling for the can in my hand. I don’t think—I just act. I point it at his face and press the nozzle. A stream of paint hits him square in the eyes.

He roars, staggering back, clawing at his face. “What is this?!”

I don’t stick around to explain. I bolt for the balcony doors, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. I don’t look back. I don’t think about how he’s probably twice as fast as me.

I just run, leaping onto the ledge and launching myself toward the scaffolding on the building next door.

I hope I make it.

CHAPTER 4

KARC

Paint fumes burn my nostrils and eyes. The acrid chemical stench masks any scent that might identify my quarry as friend, foe, or Grolgath infiltrator. My scales itch beneath the remnants of my holographic disguise, and I wipe futilely at the neon green paint dripping down my face.

The figure in black darts to the edge of my office. No hesitation. No fear. Just a perfect, graceful leap across the void between buildings.

"Impossible."

My heart pounds against both sets of ribs. No human would attempt that jump. This proves Giscard's people have found me. Why else would a Grolgath break in just to deface my office?

The black-clad form lands on a steel girder ten stories up the construction site next door. Such fluid grace. Such perfect balance. I catch myself admiring the athletic display instead of giving chase.

"Not this time, shape-shifter."

I launch myself across the gap. My enhanced muscles propel me through the chill night air. The girder groans under my weight as I land. The entire framework shudders.

My quarry stumbles, loses footing. A feminine yelp of surprise echoes off the bare concrete and steel. She catches herself on a cable, dangling precariously over the drop.

Wait. She?

The feminine curves beneath that black outfit catch my eye. No Grolgath would choose such a form - their kind lacks the finesse to properly replicate the female shape. A fact that's caused more than one infiltrator to fail their mission.

Her fingers slip on the cable. A gasp of genuine terror escapes her lips. The drop wouldn't kill one of my enemies - they'd just reshape on impact and slither away. But this intruder's fear rings true, raw and primal.

My claws flex. Every warrior instinct screams to seize her, to demand answers about her intrusion. But the defaced portrait gives me pause. What spy wastes time on petty vandalism when they could access classified files or plant surveillance devices?

The steel girders creak as I shift my weight. Her body tenses at the sound, muscles straining to maintain her grip. No shape-shifter would show such weakness. This must be human work - probably some activist making a statement about corporate greed.

The night wind whips her clothes against her frame. Such a small, fragile thing. My rage cools despite the insult to my office. Whatever her purpose here, she's no threat to Project Veritas.

I stride to the edge of the girder, my clawed feet gripping the steel with ease. Below me, the woman dangles, her gloved hands slipping on the cable. Neon city lights reflect off her black bodysuit, turning her into a shadow against the glittering urban sprawl.

"Looks like you could use a hand," I say, my voice dripping with condescension. I crouch, bringing my scaled face level with her masked one. "If I pull you up, are you going to be a good girl and behave yourself?"

Her shoulders tense. Even through the mask, I can feel her glare. "Okay, okay," she mutters, deliberately pitching her voice lower. Amateur mistake - Grolgath would never need to disguise their voices.

"All right, but if you're not good, I'll have to spank you," I warn, extending a clawed hand.

"Don't you wish," she growls, grabbing my wrist.

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