Bogie by Doug Klein
Pain.
Darkness.
A momentary flash of light, directly in front of him. A burst of light from the shadow world he was in. And then another. Like a pulse, repeating over and over, then back to the black.
Air rushed into his lungs as consciousness found its way back to him. His heart pumped at a high rate, and he tried to move. Daggers of burning agony flashed throughout his body. He lurched slightly, making it worse. He took a moment to breathe again. Moving slower, he tried to lift his arm, but it would not budge. He could feel it, oh could he ever. Something must be broken. A sudden realization dawned on him. This place, this room. He did not know where he was. What had happened? His mind raced, still a scatter of loose thoughts and flashes of pain.
Breathe. And so he did.
He was a pilot. He could remember that. The pounding within his skull made him wince and made his focus fade, but the pilot pressed on. The last moments he could remember were his flight over the mountain range. He had been on a routine scouting mission. To monitor and report on any activity that he could observe. There had been reports of activity in this desolate area, and he was sent to verify the information. The flight had gone on without incident until...
An explosion.
Enemy fire? How could they have detected him? But there was an explosion. And then...then he found himself here, in a dimly lit room, strapped down, and with pain coursing throughout his body.
The room suddenly flooded with a piercing white light. It singed his eyes and he flinched, causing him to moan softly. As the white fire slowly dissipated, his vision cleared, and he saw a man standing at the entrance to the room. He stood like a monolith, cloaked in a large gray rubber suit that ran from head to toe. The head was encased in a rubber hood, with a ventilation mask covering his face. The Gray Man spoke in a language that was unfamiliar, and it did not seem that he was speaking to anyone in the room in particular.
The Gray Man in the suit was coming closer. Through the pain, he reached into his mind for a word that he could use. The dialect the man had used was somewhat familiar, but he wasn't a linguist, he was a pilot, and he hadn't much use for foreign phrases. What could he say? Was there anything? Yes, yes, there was, it was a word he thought in their language meant "help". He opened his jaw, which cracked as it tried to form the word. The pain made it so he could not waiver when he spoke, but he was able to make it as audible as possible.
The Gray Man in the suit leaped backwards and fell to his backside. He scrambled to his feet and reached for a device in his belt. With furious speed the Gray Man was upon him, and the device was slammed into his side. A searing pain shot through his body as he convulsed violently against the restraints. For what seemed to be an eternity, waves upon waves of agonizing jolts reverberated through him. The Gray Man finally pulled the device away and stepped back.
Pain.
And then none.
No pain. No feeling. whatever the Gray Man had done, he was paralyzed. Was it permanent? He could not tell. But the pain had gone. He found his head turned to the side, looking at the giant mirror in the room. He hadn't notice it before, but there it was. He could see himself in its reflection, but he peered beyond it and saw another man standing there. In a room behind the mirror. How quaint.
This man looked like military. His clothing and the insignias splattered on his shoulders meant something. But that was not what grabbed his attention. This man had a look on his face of pure disgust. Hatred. Fear. There were other men in the room, but none had such a look laid out on their face. He stood out with his incandescent rage.
Why? Why must this man be burdened by such unnecessary emotions? He thought on it for just a moment, before he could no longer peer past the mirror. Something had changed. His vision blurred in and out of focus. He then only saw the mirror, and then he knew the truth.
The Gray Man had cut him open. The pilot could see in the reflection, his organs being pulled out of his body. The gray color of his skin had begun to fade, a sign he was losing lots of blood. His blood, a dark hue of blue, coated the arms of the Gray Man, but he paid no mind. He was set to the task of removing everything and anything in sight. In the mirror, the pilot looked at his own face. His elongated head and large black bulbous eyes regarded him with a coldness even he did not know he possessed. He knew now, he was to die, here and now. In this unfamiliar room, at the hands of this nightmare. The last seconds of his life would be at the hands of this terror, under the eyes of pure anger from behind the mirror. Pity. It was to be a simple mission. Simple. He watched the Gray man take his still beating heart in his hands. The time had come. With an eerie precision, he watched the blade slice through the tissue. Time had frozen, as the Gray Man held his heart, its blood emptying from the severed veins. Not everyone gets to see this, he thought. And then he was gone.
The man behind the mirror turned to the others. His look had not changed, and he furrowed his brow before he spoke.
"Men, what you have just witnessed is the first autopsy we have been able to do on one of these so-called grays." The man spoke with agitated authority. A younger man within the room found his voice and spoke with a slight quiver.
"Autopsy, sir? I do believe it showed signs of life before..." He was unable to finish his sentence. He found the high-ranking officer had stepped close now, close enough that he could feel his breath as he spat his words back in his face.
"Autopsy on the gray that was recovered at the crash site. Or do we have a problem? A miscommunication that we need to address, Sergeant Barlow?" The man's eyes twitched at the sheer incompetence of the young officer. Shaken, the officer regained composure and straightened his body and stood at attention.
"No, sir. Understood, sir." There was no tremble in his voice this time, and his superior backed off and turned to address the rest of the room.
"Aliens, or extraterrestrials, or whatever you want to call these damn things, are here. We need to make sure the public does not know. We cannot have a panic on our hands, but we must act accordingly with this information as well. The lab will be running tests, any results if we deem it necessary, will be released to you. This is classified to the highest level, gentlemen. Now let's be on our way. This whole area is about to be under quarantine." The man gave Barlow a stern look before scanning his eyes over the room. No defiance was offered.
The men exited the room one by one, until only the angry man was left. He gave the alien's corpse one last look of contempt, and then headed out of the door. Other Gray Men were passing him in the hallway, going into the room to collect what they could, and destroy whatever was left.
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