Page 2 of Technically Abducted
At first I think it's just my LED strips glitching—they've been acting weird lately. But the light is wrong, too bright, too blue, and it's coming from everywhere at once.
"Oh, come on," I mutter, watching my screens flicker. "Not now. I literally just—"
The light gets brighter, and suddenly I can't feel my chair anymore. Can't feel the floor. Can't feel anything except this weird weightless sensation like someone just hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete on reality.
When the light fades, I'm definitely not in my apartment anymore.
I'm standing in what looks like the world's most sterile tech support office, facing a seven-foot-tall blue guy in space-age business casual. He has golden eyes, skin that's literally glowing, and an expression that screams "I've been dreading this conversation."
I stare at him. Then I look around at the pristine white walls and surfaces that definitely weren't in my apartment thirty seconds ago. Then I look back at him.
"No," I say firmly. "Nope. This isn't happening."
"Finn Sullivan," he says, consulting what might be a tablet. "Human systems engineer. You have been selected for assessment under the Nereidan Compatibility Program."
I laugh. It's not a happy sound. "Right. Okay. So I'm either having a psychotic break, someone spiked my energy drink, or I'm dreaming. Those are the only logical explanations here, because the alternative is that I've been—" I stop, the words catching in my throat as I really look at him. The blue skin. The height. The way his skin literally glows.
"No," I repeat, but my voice cracks. "This is not real. Aliens aren't real. This is not happening to me."
"The transportation was necessary to facilitate proper evaluation," he replies, and his voice has this formal, definitely-not-human quality that makes my stomach drop.
I run my hands through my hair. "Okay. Let's say for one completely insane second that this is real. That I've been... what did you call it? Selected? By aliens?" My voice is getting higher with each word. "PUT ME BACK."
"Your technical expertise is required for research purposes," he says, struggling to stay formal. "The assessment will conclude in seventy-two hours."
"Seventy-two hours?" My voice cracks completely. "No. Absolutely not. Send me back. Right now. I don't care about your research or your assessment or whatever sci-fi nightmare this is."
I start backing toward what I hope is a door, gesturing wildly. "I was in the middle of fixing someone's livelihood! I have three emergency repairs running, and Rosa is going to think I completely abandoned her!"
The panic hits me in waves now, making my chest tight. "This isn't real. People don't just get abducted by aliens. That's not a thing that happens to normal people. That's not a thing that happens to me."
"The assessment parameters require—"
"I don't give a damn about your parameters!" I snap, my voice getting shrill. "I need to go home. I need to get back to my fucking computers. What if Rosa thinks I just ghosted her? What if Juniper's business fails because I disappeared?"
I'm spiraling. I can feel it happening, that familiar panic when everything spins out of control. When people leave. When systems break down. When nothing makes sense anymore.
"Just... just send me back," I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds. "Please. I'll do whatever assessment you want, but do it on Earth. In my apartment. With my setup. I can't... I can't be here."
"This facility does not connect to your planetary communication networks," he says carefully.
"What do you mean you don't connect to— How am I supposed to—" I stop, staring at him. "You're serious. You actually abducted me. This is actually happening."
The sarcasm kicks in then, my brain's attempt to cope with completely losing its shit. "Great. Fantastic. So not only have I been kidnapped by glowing tech support, but you're telling me I can't even send a goddamn email to let my clients know I haven't vanished into thin air?"
His glow shifts to what might be embarrassment. "Communication protocols with your species are... limited."
"Limited." I let out a laugh that sounds slightly hysterical. "You've got the most sophisticated technology in the galaxy, but you can't figure out how to send a text message? That's like having a Ferrari that can't turn left."
I start pacing, the snark helping me feel slightly more in control. "You know what? Fine. FINE. Since apparently I'm stuck here until you figure out how to work the return button, let's talk about your research methodology. Because abducting people without their consent? That's not research, that's kidnapping with extra steps."
"The selection process—"
"The selection process is garbage," I interrupt, feeling the familiar anger that comes when systems don't work properly. "You want to study human technical expertise? Try sending a LinkedIn message first. Maybe a phone interview. Revolutionary concepts, I know."
I stop pacing and look at him directly. "So, Mr...?"
"Tev'ra. I am a systems specialist with the Nereidan Research Collective."
