Sometime Before the Present: Texas, 1953 ...

  The diner hums with a quiet, easy rhythm.

  Low chatter drifts between booths, the clink of forks against plates filling the spaces in between. A country song crackles through the radio, tinny and cheerful, as a lone ceiling fan stirs the thick, grease-scented air. Behind the counter, the waiter wipes down the already clean surface, his motions slow and deliberate, killing time between orders.

  Then the bell above the door jingles.

  Black boots step over the threshold, their weight settling against the checkerboard tiles with a solid thunk. The stranger pauses, tipping their hat back just enough to reveal an ebony face, sharp cheekbones, and dark eyes that don’t flinch under the weight of a dozen stares.

  Alex.

  She moves with an easy, almost lazy confidence, her boots carrying her straight to the counter. The air shifts. Conversations die. Nobody says a word, but the tension spreads like a crack, growing wider by the second.

  Alex doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. She picks up a menu, flips it open, and skims it like she’s got all the time in the world.

  “Pie,” she says finally, voice smooth and warm. “Pecan.”

  The waiter stills. He doesn’t reach for the order pad. Doesn’t turn toward the kitchen. Just stands there, gripping his rag, staring at her like she walked in dripping with mud and feathers.

  A muscle ticks in Alex’s jaw. She glances up. “Pie?” She repeats, slow and deliberate.

  Silence.

  She turns to another customer exasperatedly, a man two stools down. “Is he deaf?“

  The man exhales sharply through his nose and shakes his head. “You ain’t supposed to be here.”

  Alex tilts her head slightly. “Says who?”

  The waiter lifts a lazy hand and taps the sign behind him. WHITES ONLY.

  She follows his finger, eyes flicking over the words. Then she snorts. “Well, I’m not here to marry your brother. I Just want some pie.” She pulls out her wallet, flicks it open, and slides a bill onto the counter. “I’ll even tip if it’s any good.”

  That does it.

  The waiter moves fast, faster than she expected—vaulting over the counter, landing solidly in front of her, fury carved into every tense line of his face. A commendable affair if she wasn't hungry and in a mood that bode no nonsense.

  He reaches for her, fingers curling to grab, but never getting the chance.

  Alex moves first.

  Her grip is iron, one hand twisting his wrist, the other slamming the side of his head against the counter with a sickening CRACK. The force rattles the salt and pepper shakers. A strangled grunt escapes his throat. His knees buckle.

  The diner erupts.

  Chairs scrape against tile. Men surge to their feet, hands hovering near their belts. A woman gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth, knuckles bone-white.

  Alex doesn’t let go.

  She tightens her grip, twisting the waiter’s arm further. He howls, pain raw in his voice.

  "We don’t serve your kind," he spits.

  Alex raises an eyebrow. “My kind?”

  The others nod. There’s a shift in the air, a brewing storm, bodies tensing like coiled springs. The waiter glares up at her, hatred burning in his bloodshot eyes. Then he turns his head and spits. Hot, wet saliva lands on her cheek.

  Her expression doesn’t change. She exhales slowly, lips pressing into a thin line. Then—

  Crunch.

  Her fist drives clean through his skull.

  Bone shatters, a wet explosion of blood and gray matter splattering across the counter, across her jacket, across the horrified faces of the onlookers. The headless body crumples in a heap, blood pooling thick and dark beneath it.

  Silence.

  For a moment, nobody moves. Then a woman screams.

  Alex flinches at the sound, reflexively putting a bloody hand to her ear, then cursing profusely when she realizes a chunk of the waiter's head is nestled at the entrance to her ear

  The woman bolts for the door, hands scrabbling at the handle, tugging and rattling, trying to force it open.

  Alex exhales, slow and measured, before reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief. She wipes the blood from her face, the spit, and the small, wet chunk of something that had lodged itself near her ear.

  “I hate making a mess,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

  The woman keeps yanking on the door, the rattling sound a grating, repetitive noise against the tense silence.

  Alex sighs.

  “You.” She gestures at the escaping woman. “What is your name?“

  “Freda.” A broken voice replies.

  Alex nods in acknowledgement. “Freda. Can you make pie?”

  Freda stands frozen, eyes wide and wet, like a deer caught in headlights.

  Alex waits.

  Then, slowly, Freda nods.

  Alex brightens, smiling like she didn’t just crush a man’s skull with her bare hands. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Get to it.”

  ~~~

  The pie is warm, fresh from the oven.

  Freda stands behind the counter, hands trembling as she watches Alex brandish a spoon. The diner is silent—nobody daring to move, to breathe, to do anything but watch.

  She can't help but shrink in on herself at the suspicious look Alex is giving her, spoon cutting into fresh pie. She thankfully diverts her gaze to the bit on the spoon for a moment, before depositing it in her mouth.

  Her chewing is precise, palates searching and testing out every flavour. Freda had put in her best work into that pie. She takes in Alex's face scrunched up in thought–her brain working hard to keep up with her tongue; and says a little prayer.

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  Finally Alex swallows, grave stare slowly morphing into a genuine smile. “Best pie I've had all year.” She scores. And Freda lets out the breath she had been holding since the waiter lost his head.

  Alex hums, setting the spoon down. She pulls a thick stack of bills from her jacket and drops them onto the counter. “Plus tip.” She winks.

  Freda reaches for the money, fingers shaking.

  Alex wipes her mouth, adjusts her hat, and steps back from the counter. She moves toward the door, hesitating for a second.

  A dead man slumps forward in a booth, chin resting against his chest. Others sit just as still, hands slack and eyes vacant.

  Alex exhales, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She steps over, carefully straightening one man’s posture, folding another’s hands neatly on the table, tilting a third’s head upright so he no longer looked like a broken marionette. Presentation mattered.

  Satisfied, she strides toward the door, gripping the handle. It twists easily under her touch, swinging open like it was never stuck at all.

  She steps out into the night, boots clicking against the pavement, the weight of a warm pie tucked under one arm. Behind her, the bell jingles one last time. Then, silence.

  A blizzard is in full swing—roaring winds, flying snow, the whole nine yards. But even the storm seems to pause for a second when a massive spaceship punches through the sky and slams into the frozen earth with a resounding thud.

  The ground rumbles, snow flurrying in every direction. And then, with a hiss of pressurized air, a glowing ramp extends.

  Three figures descend, stepping into the howling wind like they own the place. They each have a matching pair of glowing blue gemstones smack at the top of both brows, and all look equally unimpressed with their current surroundings. One of them, the biggest and grumpiest, takes a deep breath, and immediately gags.

  “Midgard.” He spits, turning his head so his saliva lands dramatically in the snow. “You can always tell by the stench of their inferiority.”

  His taller, slightly more dramatic comrade sighs. “On the contrary, Nod,” he says, tilting his chin up as if gazing into the past. “I once met a Midgard woman many moons ago. The most elegant, kindest woman I ever laid eyes upon. And I have traveled a thousand stars”

  Nod grunts, already bored. “I wonder if she still lives.”

  The third one—Nelzux, the one actually doing all the work—rolls his eyes, doesn’t bother looking up from his scanner. “Unlikely. This species does tend to expire rather quickly.”

  Nod gives a half-hearted twirl, scanning the area with all the effort of someone pretending to look busy at work. “No crystal.”

  “No,” Nelzux mutters. “But there’s residue.”

  Nod stares at him, expression blank.

  Nelzux takes a deep breath, summoning patience from the depths of the slain Sovereigns. He tries again. “It was here, but now it’s gone.”

  “Oh.” Nod nods sagely. as if he wasn’t just struggling with basic comprehension. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

  Nelzux clenches his jaw and turns to their third member, completely checking out of all conversations Nod adjacent. “Kyp. Do your thing.”

  Kyp, their resident psychic and general enthusiast for doing things, raises his arms like he’s waiting for an invisible hug. His eyes flutter shut. The gemstones on his forehead pulse once—twice—then—

  A shockwave of blue energy explodes outward like cosmic WiFi, sweeping across the planet.

  Nelzux and Nod calmly pop in their earbuds. They’d learned the hard way that Kyp’s “cosmic sonar” came with deeply unpleasant side effects.

  Kyp twitches, fingers curling as the wave of energy stretches beyond the horizon. His eyes glow blue, rolling under his eyelids as data floods his mind.

  The pulse slams back into him like a cosmic rubber band. He stumbles, catches himself, then grins.

  “I found it. South.”

  Nelzux yanks out his earbuds. “Then we cloak the ship and continue on foot.”

  Nod recoils, horrified. “You want us to mingle with the Tellurians?”

  “Blend in,” Nelzux corrects, already pressing a button on his scanner. Behind them, the spaceship shimmers before vanishing entirely, leaving nothing but disturbed snow.

  Kyp, who had clearly been waiting for his moment, claps his hands together. “Then we need clothes!”

  Nod blinks. “We have clothes.”

  Kyp gives him a patient smile, the kind you give to children and particularly dense adults. “Midgard clothes.”

  A long silence.

  Nelzux eyes him suspiciously. “Fine. But no more distractions.”

  Kyp tries—and fails—to contain his excitement.

  ~~~

  A little bell jingles as they step into the clothing store, announcing their arrival. Warm air wraps around them, a stark contrast to the bitter cold outside.

  Nod takes one step in and freezes. His entire body tensing as his wide eyes scan the store’s racks of horrifyingly colorful garments.

  “What is this place?” he bellows, like he’s just walked into a haunted house.

  “Can I help you?”

  Three alien heads snap toward the voice.

  A young store clerk—mildly confused, not nearly afraid enough—leans against the counter, taking them in. He doesn’t look scared. Just… curious.

  Kyp does some quick calculations. Earth cycle: 35. Male. Not a threat.

  Nod, ignoring all rules of personal space, stomps forward and leans way too close. The store clerk, to his credit, barely flinches.

  With a wet squelch, Nod’s gemstones retract into his forehead, leaving his skin smooth and unblemished. He straightens, clearly pleased with himself.

  “We seek to blend in with you humans,” he announces.

  The store clerk blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Clothes,” Kyp says, stepping in before the conversation goes completely off the rails. “We need clothes.”

  The store clerk takes a beat to process that. Then, with a little shake of his head, he steps out from behind the counter. “Uh. Right. This way.”

  ~~~

  Nelzux stares at his reflection.

  He’d like to see what the clothes looked like behind as well, but was disappointed to find out the mirror—some kind of Midgard technology—only worked when he was actively looking into it, which was inefficient.

  His outfit, however, was... acceptable. The black ‘jean’ the Tradesman had offered him had a rip on the left knee—A flaw he had been assured was intentional and necessary for the overall appearance of the garment. He had paired the ‘jeans’ a ‘tee,’ and something called a ‘bomber jacket.’

  Kyp, on the other hand, was thriving, if the way he was preening at his reflection was any indication.

  His own black jeans didn’t have any tears on it, and had instead proceeded to add two more garments over the white dress shirt the storekeeper had suggested to him. A grey sweater and a long dramatic dark grey overcoat, stopping just above his thigh.

  Nod, to Nelzux’s relief still looked like a clown.

  Fully committed to whatever bad decision he had made, Nod stood before them in baggy black pants, a too-large purple hoodie with the word ‘Thug’ emblazoned across it, and sunglasses indoors.

  “The picture on the wall said it was 'Hip'.” He had said in response to Kyp’s revolting stare. Now they were standing outside the store after rendering the storekeeper unconscious–Kyp had insisted that he not die–when he wouldn’t accept Crulions as currency for payment.

  “Where to now?” Kyp asks, still deeply disturbed by Nod’s outfit.

  Nelzux pulls out his scanner, scowling at the blinking dot. “South. Like you said.”

  Alex stares into the fridge.

  Ice cream? Cookies? Beer? Soda?

  One of the benefits of having a metabolism that could digest anything as fast as possible meant she could consume every one of these things without any repercussions.

  As a firm believer of dessert before dinner, she grabs the mint ice cream. Kicking the fridge shut, she sticks a spoon into the tub. Mint had been one of her favorites since its discovery as an ice cream flavor in the 40s. She had consumed a helping of it daily–to the chagrin of Akio, for almost 30 years.

  A blue pulse of energy ripples through the house, and suddenly the entire house shakes. Lights flickering The TV crackles. The unseen force pulsing through the walls.

  Alex barely has time to react before her ears explode with pain. The ice cream tub slips from her grip, crashing to the floor. Blood drips from her nose, her ears. The noise is unbearable. She gasps, barely able to think before her knees buckle and she crashes down.

  Then—blackness.

  The pulse ripples back out the way it came, lights and TV stabilizing.

  There is a brief crackle as A music video starts playing. "I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight" echoes softly through the room.

  A little too on the nose it seems, but Alex is in no position to appreciate the irony.