This is part 2 of an ongoing blog style story that I write when I feel inspired to.
ET sits quietly, staring at the blue piece of machinery on the table in front of him. Bruce is still standing, looking longingly at the red haired human. He opens his beak to say something, then thinks again and closes it. This happens several times.
The red cephalopod on the floor begins to stir. He sits up and feels his forehead with the back of a tentacle. He stares blankly into space.
“Get him,” says Electric Type as he motions Bruce in the direction of the confused creature. “Sit him up here.” Bruce shuffles over, lifts him up off the floor, and drags him over to the chair. He doesn’t struggle. His pure white eyes turn longingly to the box on the table.
“First of all, you are both idiots,” states ET. Both cephalopods stare back at him, clearly irritated, but more confused. ET reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black tube, which he places between his lips like a cigarette. It’s an inhaler, which provides him with medicine, making it easier to breathe on alien planets. He turns the end of it to release the chemicals inside and breathes in.
“Bruce, I don’t know how you got this slab of junk, but you’re lucky you even made it here alive. And you, who are you?” he turns his attention to the shaking man in front of him.
“My name is Glibze,” he says, slowing to think of his own name. He stutters, “I’m not dead?”
“I don’t believe in violence. I don’t have the stomach for it. This thing is just a stun gun.” He twirls the pistol around on the table. The blocky font on the side of the handle reads “Knuckle Duster.” ET pauses for a moment, breathing in again. “Do you know what this is?” he asks barely looking back at the synthesizer. Glibze looks straight at it, as if drawn by an unseen power. “Okay, you have no idea. Right now we are in big trouble. There’s got to be 100 assassins following your trail here,” ET looks at Bruce, who hangs his head. “This is the single most powerful artifact in the Universe. The last remaining piece of the Screx Empire. No one has played it and survived in the last 1000 years, except for one person. And he’s the only person that’s going to be able to save us from the hoard of assholes that want this thing.”
Bruce and Glibze remain silent, clearly thinking about what they just heard. ET plays with his gun, spinning it on the table with his finger. Bruce starts to say something then stops, nervous to ask. Glibze asks for him, “Who?”
ET looks at them in disbelief. “You idiots. It’s me.”